The U.S. Food and Drug Administration unveiled 36 jarring labels Wednesday aimed at escalating efforts to warn smokers of the fatal consequences of cigarette smoking. These labels represent the agency's exercise of its new authority over tobacco products and the most significant change in cigarette warnings since companies were forced to add the mandatory Surgeon General's warning in 1965.
January 15, 2011
Pope approves use of condoms in fight against Aids
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/
After decades of fierce opposition to the use of all contraception, the pontiff will end the Catholic Church's absolute ban on the use of condoms.
Pope Benedict XV will accept that in some circumstances it is better for a condom to be used if it protects human life Photo: REUTERS
He will say that it is acceptable to use a prophylactic when the sole intention is to "reduce the risk of infection" from Aids.
While he will restate the Catholic Church's staunch objections to contraception because it believes it interferes with the creation of life, he will argue that using a condom to preserve life and avoid death can be a responsible act – even outside marriage.
Asked whether "the Catholic Church is not fundamentally against the use of condoms," he replies: "It of course does not see it as a real and moral solution.
"In certain cases, where the intention is to reduce the risk of infection, it can nevertheless be a first step on the way to another, more humane sexuality."
He will stress that abstinence is the best policy in fighting the disease, but accept that in some circumstances it is better for a condom to be used if it protects human life.
"There may be justified individual cases, for example when a male prostitute uses a condom, where this can be ... a first bit of responsibility, to redevelop the understanding that not everything is permitted and that one may not do everything one wishes.
"But it is not the proper way to deal with the horror of HIV infection."
The groundbreaking announcement will come in a book to be published by the Vatican next week based on the first face-to-face interview given by a Pope.
In the interview, he admits he was stunned by the sex abuse scandal that has engulfed the Catholic Church and raises the possibility of the circumstances under which he would consider resigning.
Most significant, however, are his comments on condoms, which represents the first official relaxation in the Church's attitude on the issue after growing calls from cardinals for the Vatican to adopt a more humane approach to stopping the spread of HIV.
Although the Pope's ruling is aimed specifically to stop people infecting their partners, particularly in Africa where the disease is most prevalent,
it will inevitably be seized upon by liberal Catholics in Britain who oppose the Church's long-standing stance against contraception.
High-profile Catholics including Cherie Blair have stated publicly that they use birth control.
The move by Pope Benedict is particularly surprising because he caused controversy last year by suggesting condom use could actually worsen the problem of Aids in Africa.
He described the epidemic in the continent as "a tragedy that cannot be overcome by money alone, that cannot be overcome through the distribution of condoms, which even aggravates the problems".
Nov 2010
Pope’s child porn 'normal' claim sparks outrage among victims
Belfast Telegraph -
The Pope
Victims of clerical sex abuse have reacted furiously to Pope Benedict's claim yesterday that paedophilia wasn't considered an “absolute evil” as recently as the 1970s.
In his traditional Christmas address yesterday to cardinals and officials working in Rome, Pope Benedict XVI also claimed that child pornography was increasingly considered “normal” by society.
“In the 1970s, paedophilia was theorised as something fully in conformity with man and even with children,” the Pope said.
“It was maintained — even within the realm of Catholic theology — that there is no such thing as evil in itself or good in itself. There is only a ‘better than' and a ‘worse than'. Nothing is good or bad in itself.”
The Pope said abuse revelations in 2010 reached “an unimaginable dimension” which brought “humiliation” on the Church.
Asking how abuse exploded within the Church, the Pontiff called on senior clerics “to repair as much as possible the injustices that occurred” and to help victims heal through a better presentation of the Christian message.
“We cannot remain silent about the context of these times in which these events have come to light,” he said, citing the growth of child pornography “that seems in some way to be considered more and more normal by society” he said.
But outraged Dublin victim Andrew Madden last night insisted that child abuse was not considered normal in the company he kept.
Mr Madden accused the Pope of not knowing that child pornography was the viewing of images of children being sexually abused, and should be named as such.
He said: “That is not normal. I don't know what company the Pope has been keeping for the past 50 years.”
Pope Benedict also said sex tourism in the Third World was “threatening an entire generation”.
Angry abuse victims in America last night said that while some Church officials have blamed the liberalism of the 1960s for the Church's sex abuse scandals and cover-up catastrophes, Pope Benedict had come up with a new theory of blaming the 1970s.
“Catholics should be embarrassed to hear their Pope talk again and again about abuse while doing little or nothing to stop it and to mischaracterise this heinous crisis,” said Barbara Blaine, the head of SNAP, the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests,
“It is fundamentally disturbing to watch a brilliant man so conveniently misdiagnose a horrific scandal,” she added.
“The Pope insists on talking about a vague ‘broader context' he can't control, while ignoring the clear ‘broader context' he can influence — the long-standing and unhealthy culture of a rigid, secretive, all-male Church hierarchy fixated on self-preservation at all costs. This is the ‘context’ that matters.”
The latest controversy comes as the German magazine Der Spiegel continues to investigate the Pope's role in allowing a known paedophile priest to work with children in the early 1980s.
Haitian Mobs Kill Over 45 Voodoo Priests Accused of Spreading Cholera
Haiti mobs lynch voodoo priests over cholera fears
BBC NEWS-
Voodoo priests in Haiti are being lynched by mobs who blame them for spreading cholera, the country's government has said.
At least 45 people have been lynched in recent weeks as Haiti continues to be ravaged by a cholera epidemic.
Haiti's communications minister has made an appeal for the lynchings to end and called for a campaign to ensure people understand how cholera spreads.
More than 2,500 Haitians have died from the water-borne disease since October.
Another 121,000 people have been treated for symptoms of cholera, with at least 63,500 admitted to hospital, figures show.
The outbreak has also prompted angry protests aimed at the United Nations, whose Nepalese peacekeepers have been suspected of introducing cholera to Haiti.
UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon has announced an investigation into the reports, although the UN initially denied the suggestion.
Blame gameAlthough many Haitians still practise voodoo or use aspects of voodoo in their religious worship, the latest violence erupted out of fears the traditional priests were using their powers to spread the infection.
Continue reading the main story
“Start Quote
Max BeauvoirVoodoo priestPeople have been blaming us, saying that we cast spells and did evil things which brought the earthquake as a punishment”
Officials counted 40 people killed - mostly voodoo priests - killed in one region of Haiti, the AFP news agency reported, with five others killed elsewhere.
"The victims... were stoned or hacked with machetes before being burned in the streets," communications ministry official Moise Fritz Evens said.
Haiti's communications minister said she abhorred the killings and insisted that the answer was to improve general education about how cholera is transmitted.
"Voodoo practitioners have nothing to do with the cholera epidemic. We must press for an awareness campaign about the disease in the communities."
A highly prominent voodoo leader, Max Beauvoir, told Reuters news agency police were not doing enough to stop the violence.
"Since the earthquake some people have been blaming us, saying that we cast spells and did evil things which brought the earthquake as a punishment," he said.
Haiti's cholera epidemic has provoked widespread fear across the country. Anger spread when suspicions emerged that the Nepalese UN peacekeepers could have brought the disease to Haiti - where it is extremely rare - from their country, where it is endemic.
Poor sanitary conditions in much of quake-hit Haiti have contributed to the rapid spread of cholera, which causes diarrhoea and vomiting. It can kill quickly but is treated easily through rehydration and antibiotics.
The country was hit by a 7.0-magnitude earthquake in January 2010 that devastated most of the capital, Port-au-Prince, and killed at least 250,000 people.
Childhood Game of 'Crossfire' - Way More Expensive Than You Might Think
Recently looked for this game online through Amazon. $249.99 ? Available for $159 USED !?!?! That will make you feel like an old person. We should begin constructing bootleg Crossfire's to sell online, or to sell in the parking lot of Dave & Busters.
http://www.amazon.com/Crossfire-Shoot-Out-Board-Game/dp/B00000IWE4
New Vending Machine Dispenses Gold
Get rid of that cash and credit card, and walk around with gold bullion in your pocket of course!
Abu Dhabi Hotel's Vending Machine Spits Out Gold
Thursday, 20 May 2010 11:50 by Roe Kalb
The Abu Dhabi five-star Emirates Palace Hotel has decided to place an innovative vending machine in its lobby. But this vending machine isn’t you're average soft drink or snack dispenser – this machine gives out gold. Real, 24-karat gold bars.
The Emirates Palace Hotel bullion ATM is the first gold vending machine in the world.
This tempting Gold To Go machine sells 24-carat gold bars weighing 1, 5, and 10 grams, as well as gold coins from Canada, Australia, and South Africa. Each in its own gift box.
The gold vending machine's prices are updated every hour via a link to the manufacturer, which tracks gold prices. The company says the prices are competitive because there are no staffing costs for the machine.
Users can navigate menu choices on the (naturally) gold covered ATM via a 19-inch touch screen, and can pay for their gold with cash or credit card.
Gold To Go's security features include a camera and an ID scanner, meant to prevent money laundering. According to Ex Oriente Lux, the manufacturer, the machine is "largely burglar-proof and tamper-resistant."
http://blog.israelidiamond.co.il/post/Abu-Dhabi-Hotels-Vending-Machine-Spits-Out-Gold.aspx
Looks like it's available in Las Vegas Now Also
January 09, 2011
A Look At Rumsfeld Today
Frankie Richards / Owl's Ghetto Times
The former Secretary of Defense is still the man when it comes to working out and just pure manliness. Our crew visited the local YMCA in Taos New Mexico to check out the scene there and to see how the retired public servant is doing. We quickly found out that Donald Rumsfeld was one of the more popular figures there and that he is the current senior weightlifting champion. On the wall there is a prominent picture of him wearing a Navy wrestling shirt and a weightlifting belt at the gym. We caught up with some staff to ask some questions.
"I love that old guy," says Clayton Watkins, the front desk clerk. "You'd never know that he was hunting for Bin Ladin a few years ago. He just came in the gym in his leather jacket, and I gave him a little stick about it. He challenged me to an arm wrestling match right there on the spot. I was able to beat him in that little match, but he then challenged me to a "speed squat thrust" match which I haven't even heard of before. He was able to take that one, because I really didn't know what I was doing. He was also very fast on the ground. Anyway after all of that, we had some high-fives and he just went on into the gym."
We talked to one of the senior gym members about Rumsfeld's workout regiment and his over-all quality of life after being out of the public eye. James McCann is a very fit senior and he spoke to us shirtless, wearing bicycle shorts and lifting gloves. "Rummy is like my brother. I have this one story about him... OK He was doing some bench-presses and I was spotting him and he told me to put on two more 5 lbs weights on the bar. I went ahead and I put on two 10 lbs weights and Rummy pretended like he didn't know what I was doing. When it was my turn I asked for the 10 lb weights and Rummy put on two 30 lb weights and called me a pansy as I was trying to lift it. He even called me a pansy after I told him that I think I just had a hernia. I had to drop the weight to my chest and call for help, and then he took it off me, I was calling for help and he whispered to me that he'd pay my medical bills... whatever I needed... he said. Bottom line is he helped me, and we just kick each other in the pants like that from time to time. Rummy is also the champion of senior one-armed push-ups. He can easily do 35 of those and sometimes he even competes with the younger guys, and they look at him like You're 79?, Get the hell outta here...Rummy has a little joke that he likes to use when people don't believe him. He shows them his pedometer and it says 'I'm almost 80 and I'm a bad-ass', Its a custom made pedometer."
"I love that old guy," says Clayton Watkins, the front desk clerk. "You'd never know that he was hunting for Bin Ladin a few years ago. He just came in the gym in his leather jacket, and I gave him a little stick about it. He challenged me to an arm wrestling match right there on the spot. I was able to beat him in that little match, but he then challenged me to a "speed squat thrust" match which I haven't even heard of before. He was able to take that one, because I really didn't know what I was doing. He was also very fast on the ground. Anyway after all of that, we had some high-fives and he just went on into the gym."
We talked to one of the senior gym members about Rumsfeld's workout regiment and his over-all quality of life after being out of the public eye. James McCann is a very fit senior and he spoke to us shirtless, wearing bicycle shorts and lifting gloves. "Rummy is like my brother. I have this one story about him... OK He was doing some bench-presses and I was spotting him and he told me to put on two more 5 lbs weights on the bar. I went ahead and I put on two 10 lbs weights and Rummy pretended like he didn't know what I was doing. When it was my turn I asked for the 10 lb weights and Rummy put on two 30 lb weights and called me a pansy as I was trying to lift it. He even called me a pansy after I told him that I think I just had a hernia. I had to drop the weight to my chest and call for help, and then he took it off me, I was calling for help and he whispered to me that he'd pay my medical bills... whatever I needed... he said. Bottom line is he helped me, and we just kick each other in the pants like that from time to time. Rummy is also the champion of senior one-armed push-ups. He can easily do 35 of those and sometimes he even competes with the younger guys, and they look at him like You're 79?, Get the hell outta here...Rummy has a little joke that he likes to use when people don't believe him. He shows them his pedometer and it says 'I'm almost 80 and I'm a bad-ass', Its a custom made pedometer."
Our crew waits as McCann gets a drink of water and then he comes back to tell us about Mr. Rumsfeld’s work out plan. "First of all," McCann starts "There is no warm up, no warm up at all, We just go right to bench presses, and He'll bench 100 lbs as long as he can, and then he goes right into what he calls 'Speed Squat thrusts,' then bicep curls, push-ups, and then on to just running suicides on the basketball court for a while... which is very impressive." McCann Tells us that he thinks that Rumsfeld trains at his house at times, and comes to the gym when he's feeling particularly social and that the community has been pretty happy with him enjoying their facilities at the gym.
(Rumsfeld in 2001 after inviting Putin to 'punch' him in the 'gut', 'as hard as you want'.)
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January 02, 2011
December 25, 2010
December 18, 2010
Study: 9 Out Of 10 Men Secretly Want To ‘Do’ Flo From Progressive Insurance
Progressive Insurance executives high-five each other over positive reviews of ‘Progressive Flo’
By John Doney/ Owl's Ghetto Times
Washington, D.C. – A new report released by the nonpartisan research group Institute of Mental Wellness has revealed what most American’s have been thinking about while watching television: almost all men want to or thought of having sexual relations with “Progressive Flo”, the eccentric fictional representative of Progressive Insurance.
Progressive Flo has appeared in Progressive’s national television advertisement campaigns since 2008 with better than anticipated reception, especially among the 18-72 year old male demographic. The study from the Institute of Mental Wellness released earlier this month indicates that one hundred percent of straight males between the ages of 18 and 72 have at one time or another thought about Progressive Flo in a sexual manner.
Among gay males of the same age group, an astonishing forty percent thought of Flo sexually at some time. As a whole, nine out of ten American males have had sexual thoughts about Flo from Progressive.
The study conducted by the Institute of Mental Wellness interviewed nearly 10,000 men across all 50 states, asking them about their views of Progressive Flo. Ninety percent overwhelmingly answered, “I secretly want to do Flo.”
Frank Burkens, the director of advertising for Progressive Insurance, has expressed deep satisfaction with his choosing the Flo character over the “Dick” character originally thought up by his creative team. Burkens noted that Progressive Insurance sales have risen nearly thirty-five percent since rolling out the Flo ad campaign.
Burkens commented, “I’m glad I chose Flo over Dick. I don’t think that many guys would have wanted Dick.”
(pictured above: 'Flo' - Progressive Insurance Spokesperson)
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December 11, 2010
Owl’s Ghetto Police Blotter
Farmville Home Raided By DEA
by John Doney / Owl's Ghetto Times
Farmville - A Farmville home was raided Friday morning by agents from the Drug Enforcement Agency. The small four-acre farm owned by University of Colorado sophomore James Duncan had been under investigation by the DEA for almost a year, said an agent who wished to remain anonymous.
According to reports, Duncan was placed under surveillance after receiving a tip that the 20 year-old student was purchasing suspiciously large amounts of fertilizer and ammonia. At first, federal investigators thought Duncan was possibly linked to a domestic terrorism plot, but the case was immediately turned over to the DEA after surveillance revealed a large amount of traffic coming from in and out of the house. Upon further investigation, DEA agents using thermal imaging equipment revealed heat signatures consistent with a large-scale indoor marijuana growing operation.
During the raid, DEA agents seized 500 marijuana plants with a street value of more than $1 million, expensive growing equipment, various high-end electronics, a stray sheep, a calf, and a tractor. Agents were surprised when they also found a small laboratory used for production of methamphetamines. While no methamphetamines were found during the raid, Duncan will be charged for production and manufacturing of methamphetamines as well as marijuana.
Neighbors described Duncan as a polite neighbor who mostly kept to himself, but noticed that cars were constantly coming and going from his house.
“I lost a lamb a few months ago, and Mr. Duncan helped me find it. That’s about it,” said neighbor Jill Jenkins.
Duncan was arrested during the raid and will be charged with distribution and manufacture of a controlled substance.
December 05, 2010
Local garbageman can't wait for TSA patdown
by Frankie Richards / Owl's Ghetto Times
San Antonio, Texas. John Wilkinson, 39, will be hoping to get a nice pat down when he travels from San Antonio to Baltimore this Holiday season to visit his family. John rues the days that he's been traveling by air and not being felt up by TSA agents. He tells us that he loves taking off his shoes when going through an airport terminal, and at one time he had special permission to take his pants off.
"I can remember now" starts John, " was going from San Antonio to New York and I was connecting in Miami. I made sure to wear some shiny metallic shoes that my cousin had given me for my birthday...just so they'd pay a little more attention to me. I was walking around scratching my ankle, looking at my shoes a lot, you know, doing anything I could to be suspicious. Anyway, this is how I set them up to get my pants off. I walked through the machine with my shoes on, and of course, it beeped, they asked me to take my shoes off, and I acted all hurt and embarrassed, and then I took them off. Then I acted like I didn’t know what I was doing and I took my pants off as well. Not only did the TSA not care that I took my pants off, but the other passengers didn’t care that I took my pants off either. I was so agitated and so distraught that I could have done anything. Anyway, when I took my pants off and went through in my underwear, I got the all clear. I actually kept walking and fooled around with my carry-on bag in my underwear for a whole ten minutes without anyone bothering me. I was in Heaven."
Mr. Wilkinson, father of two, told us that the US has the sweetest, busiest airport agents. But never let them pat the guys down like they do in Europe. We question him about other places that he likes to travel and how he likes the searching. "Well, I've been to Europe once, and the searching at the airport - I have three words for that, *Major, Major, Turn-on*. When I was in Barcelona at the airport there, I stuck a sandwich in my pocket because I didn’t want to let one of those sexy agents see me eat it. Anyway, I went through the scanner and low and behold this female agent came right over to me. I just gave myself up to her; she asked if I was an American, and then she started patting me down, bottom line, that sandwich in my pocket didn’t get soggy because it had mayo on it."
John Tells us what he hopes will happen on his trip to Baltimore, "I hear that they are grabbing guys' sacks at airports this year, I hope that happens to me, But it seems like I always get into these things late. I traveled on a short trip up to Dallas after 9/11 and I got an old man just checking my sleeves and they put me in one of those air blowing x-ray machines, now I appreciate people wanting to see my naked body, but I'd rather they touch me to make it a little more personal. I felt like a hooker who had not had sex in years, just getting paid for some guys to just stare at her and then leave her alone. Like I'm good enough to look at, but not good enough to touch. Anyway, I hope they get to touching. Also I hope they talk a little dirty to me. That can get my blood boiling. I'd like for one of them to say something like, "Arch your back," "Bend your fat ass over," or "Clench your butt cheeks". I’d like one of them to call me a dirty man, or an uncooperative bastard. That’s why I plan to go to the airport in my garbage man work clothes and generally be cantankerous until I get thoroughly searched, my wife hates when I do this, but I just tell her that we all enjoy the holidays in our own way.
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November 28, 2010
November 20, 2010
Beetle Bailey Court-Martialed
by John Doney / Owl's Ghetto Times
Former Army private dishonorably discharged, stripped of rank.
Camp Swampy, USA – Private Beetle Bailey, stationed at Camp Swampy AB, has been court-martialed by the United States Army for continuously engaging in conduct unbecoming of a soldier.
Army prosecutors had a detailed 462-page report on Bailey’s gross negligence of standard protocol both on and off duty. Among the charges against Bailey were sleeping on post, dereliction of duty, and insubordination. The prosecution claimed it was relatively easy to convict Bailey on all charges outlined in the report. A flagrantly public and well-known day-to-day account of his behavior was called in as the single most important body of evidence by the prosecution, and played a key role in the court’s case against Bailey.
While at first dismissed by the defense as hearsay and fanciful in nature, Bailey’s colleagues and superiors were extensively interviewed by Special Agents of the United States Army Criminal Investigation Command to corroborate the stories in the widely distributed publication that was essentially focused on his conduct unbecoming of soldier.
Bailey’s former First Sergeant Orville P. Snorkel also testified before the court for the prosecution, and described Bailey as a “bumbling idiot”, “!@#$%&”, and “an all around lout who disgraced the United States Army with his mere presence.”
During trial, Bailey fell asleep twice – once during the administering of the oath, and a second time while being cross-examined by the prosecution. The defense claimed that Bailey suffered from narcolepsy, but the prosecution was quick to refer back to witness accounts gathered by USACIC Special Agents that described him as negligent and apathetic.
Bailey’s own testimony did little to help his case, but instead helped prosecutors convince the court that Bailey was so glaringly indifferent to responsibility in general that he could not even fulfill the obligation to defend himself.
Prosecutors had sought a five-year prison sentence, dishonorable discharge, and stripping of military rank for Bailey, but were surprised by the judge’s decision to dismiss the prison sentence. The decision was based on the grounds that Bailey would be a further burden to society by having to be kept in prison, and that he would not suffer greatly because he would somehow be able to sleep during the entire term of his sentence.
During and after sentencing, Bailey was emotionless even after being handed the unusually lenient sentence by the judge. When asked by the judge if he had any last words for the court, Bailey replied, “Zzzzzzzz.”
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November 14, 2010
UT Arlington Student’s Head Explodes After Watching Movie In Dorm
by John Doney / Owl's Ghetto Times
Arlington, Texas - Martin Lawrence Michaelson, a 19 year-old freshman at UT Arlington originally from Moosejaw, Saskatchewan, died Friday afternoon in his dorm room in a freak accident witnessed live by hundreds on the internet. According to his girlfriend Gina Mann, also a freshman at UT Arlington, Michaelson died after “his head blew up because Michael Cera wasn’t in Kick Ass.”
Police reports from the incident have not been released due to an ongoing investigation, but hundreds of internet users subscribed to his webcam blog posted comments on his Facebook page corroborating Mann’ account of what happened.
According to Mann and Michaelson’s blog subscribers, Michaelson’s head exploded after realizing that actor Michael Cera was not anywhere to be found in the movie Kick Ass, which he had apparently downloaded from a file-sharing website. Video footage of the incident recorded onto a Youtube channel shows Michaelson and Mann in his UT Arlington dorm watching the movie until declaring at the end, “Double u tee eff. Michael Cera wasn’t in Kick Ass?” Immediately afterwards, Michaelson’s head vaporized with a muffling pop. Then, a hysterical Mann called 911 from her mobile phone and turned off his webcam.
UT Arlington police do not believe the incident was terrorism related, but have not ruled out foul play. A search of the accident scene yielded no weapons or explosives, and Michaelson was known as a “nice guy” who enjoyed watching movies, playing Frisbee golf, and eating pizza with friends.
Friends and family of Martin Lawrence Michaelson expressed grief and confusion over the incident, and a candlelight vigil was held outside of the dormitory building where he stayed.
Mann, the only firsthand witness of the incident, offered her own explanation of what happened to Michaelson: “I think he was just ridiculously surprised by the fact that Michael Cera wasn’t in Kick Ass. Even I thought Michael Cera was in Kick Ass, but I only saw McLovin and that up and coming poor man’s Dakota Fanning chick. I guess he couldn’t handle the notion that Michael Cera just happened to not be in a movie that Michael Cera would be the obvious choice for the lead role.”
A closed casket memorial service and funeral will be held at the Michaelson’s family church in his hometown of Moosejaw, Saskatchewan.
(Pictured above: Michael Cera whist not appearing in the film Kick-Ass)
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November 07, 2010
Owl's Ghetto Times - One Year Anniversary - Elle Enziguri
An Open Letter to The Owl’s Ghetto Times on It’s Owliversary.
Elle Enziguri/Owl’s Ghetto Times
When I joined The Owl one year ago, I expected the normal workings of a news blog and was prepared for little else. My agent suggested that writing along side other humans could only benefit my craft and in the best case scenario’s, actually make it readable. I was game, especially because any stint I completed in the newsroom would count toward my perpetually climbing log of court-ordered community service. One year later, it remains the weirdest publication to which I’ve contributed. The office still looks like it did that first day, and I’ve seen cockfight venues with better organization. Not ones to let instant and overwhelming success get to our heads, we remain obstinate against buying supplies or any other luxuries of the publishing world. There are three chairs, and a staff of six. Sometimes when arguments ensue over who’s turn it is to enjoy seating, an aggressive game of musical chairs solves the problem. We don’t bother ourselves with the grandiose luxuries that most blog sites so willingly grant themselves. We work like the Amish by candlelight and that’s the only way we’d have it. Integrity through sparse accommodation. Tear paper with our teeth instead of scissors. Office Depot means shit to us. First drafts are written with crayon nubs on Arby’s receipts. The public library remains our only source of internet and also serves as the word processor from which our articles come to life. And it is grand within the typeface.
Even though we’re rich bastards after an absolutely smashing first year, The Owl’s Ghetto times maintains its integrity. No, the literati world is of little importance to an Owl columnist. In fact, the only reason any of us would attend a publisher’s gala is to pick a few pockets on the way to super-stardom.
I would like to congratulate all at The Owl’s Ghetto Times for a wonderful year of news and editorials. The award-nominated Owl’s Ghetto TV continues to light the world with it’s animated insight flares.
Happy Owliversary!
Elle Enziguri
(A common home for an Owl columnist)
Owl's Ghetto Times - One Year Anniversary Stories - Pablo Adams
by Pablo Adams / Owl's Ghetto Times
What I remember about my first days at OGT was that I was driving a beat-up Hyundai with a duct-tape fender. I was totally destitute, poor, and definitely not 'ballin'. Now in just one short year, I am pushing a late model Honda, that's right, a Honda Civic, son. That's how you know that the kid is paid. My 'rags to riches' story is typical for all the OGT staff, from the reporters to the wacky cartoon department, and our "2010 New York TV Festival - Official Artist Prize". We all work together as a family. And by 'family' I mean 'violent animalistic gang'. Honestly I rarely see the other reporters. Sometimes at lunch, I will be cooking up a TV dinner and run into one of them in the breakroom. Usually Frankie or Elle or John (one of them) will hide my plastic fork from me. It's not funny, because its the only one that I have. I use the same one everyday because I heard it's better for the environment (instead of just throwing away a new plastic fork everyday). Maybe I should just buy a metal fork, but I can't afford that right now.
When I first met with the OGT editors, they told me to meet in this boardroom that looked like something from the 1970s. I'm still not sure now whether that is an ironic retro look, or they just couldn't afford to change anything after they bought the office from a liquidation auction. In our "lobby" there was a coffee can on the floor to collect the water leaking through the roof. But it wasn't a cheap coffee can, you know it was one of those nice gourmet coffees. As you know, we have had many editors over the short course of the year. My first editor was a British man who later died of a heroin overdose. The second editor was west African lady who quit editing to become a nurse. Now-a-days I don't even meet the editors, I just slip my story under their door and then run back down the hall to my office (careful not to get caught talking to anyone, for fear that they will notice I only own one neck tie that I wear over and over). As for my office, it's nice actually, it's 12 X 12ft and there is a fist- punched hole in the wall that leads into Frankie Richard's office, but we usually cover it up with a framed copy of the Desiderata, or a photo of Charlie Rose.
(Pictured above- the punishment 'think tank')
Owl's Ghetto Times- One Year Anniversary - Frankie Richards
by Frankie Richards / Owl's Ghetto Times
The First day at the owls ghetto office was filled with many wonderful and amazing things. I started my day off by leaving my house in Grand Prairie and driving to Arlington. On my drive through Grand Prairie I stopped at Traders village and marveled at all the different types of Scarface shirts and Scarface related items, I bought some novelty Scarface boxers that say "The Turd is yours" on the back. Back on the move, and now in Arlington I see the huge spaceship that the new "Massa" of Arlington is building. I bow solemnly and I drive slowly as I pass this magnificent building. My spirits perk up as I see the Walmart beside that area of supreme magnificence. I go pass a Plaza of abandoned buildings and railway tracks and come to the rent space that is owned by The Owls Ghetto. In the fourier there is a smell of urine mixed with a tarry kind of smell. I Pass two scantily dressed women with Vaseline all over there faces as I walk to my desk, above my desk I see a big "Welcome Frankie Richards" sign and I feel at ease and very welcome. I witness the two girls with the tight clothing telling a story to a reporter about new fetishes that they are forced to come up with, and that Jerry Jones was involved in sponsoring them They explained how rubbing their faces with Vaseline was catching on in the fetish world. I meet with some of the different writers that are on Staff and I am stunned by how Elle Enziguri strikes me as a proficient wrestler. I meet my shy self deprecating Cameraman, Cameron Mann. He tells me that he is a perfectionist and will never get anything done. I meet my Driver, the lovely Kakisha Patel. She tells me that she goes to New Delhi and rents a car for a week just for fun. I trust her with my life. I meet Darron Washington, bodyguard and sound guy. He tells me that he had just graduated from Lincoln Tech and he's here for an interview, I give him the job on sight. The crew all look ready and rearing to go and get the most interesting news that anyone has ever saw. After I get Kakisha to wipe the porn off my computer. I began to ask some questions of the 2 ladies of the night, that I passed earlier. I know that enjoy my new job and I welcome all the craziness that is going to ensue.
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Owl's Ghetto Times- One Year Anniversary - John Doney
by John Doney / Owl's Ghetto Times
So, I finally found and walked into the gray, nondescript building that the editor of the Owls Ghetto Times directed me to in vague terms via payphone. It was about 2 in the afternoon, and the streets I had maneuvered were filled with soccer moms and tweakers on their way to pick up their minions, but I was not afraid of them. What I was afraid of was this “Editor”. Who in the hell did he think he was anyways? However he turned out to be, he definitely built suspense like Alfred Hitchcock on Xanax at Legoland.
Walking through the lobby, I felt like a horny but scared middle school tween girl under the bleachers at the autumn harvest Sadie Hawkins dance in the James K. Polk Intermediate School gym/cafeteria, waiting to make out with a guy named Taylor who would also happen to show me new things that his man sized hands could do to me. I don’t know how it really felt, but there was this one time I was running from the police and I ended up in the confessional at this Catholic church, and some girl thought I was a priest and told me too much about a sin she committed and needed to confess.
Anyways, I got to suite 108, and walked in through the door with my chin up and my chest out, but my eyes and neck automatically lowered themselves to have a better look at the salt and peppered hair having fat man with the ball gag and leather chaps on all fours screaming muffled no-no’s in front of me. And, to the right, was the six foot tall dominatrix dressed to the nines in pleather with her boot heel in his Hershey highway, smoking a Capri next to a ficus tree. I flipped my lid when I saw the Capri and told her to put that shit out because she’ll get a fucking ticket. Verbatim. To my left was a Polynesian woman at a small desk on the phone, taking calls for a sex line set up for dominatrix stunts, and there was another door I had to go through which the big kahuna directed me towards with her eyes and a nod. I could have done with a little more of the Kenny G CD they had playing on the purple and pink Sony Baby Boom Box plugged in against the corner, but I would just have to wait until I walked out after talking to “The Editor”.
There I was, finally. In the office of the Editor. I stood and watched this guy slow himself down from a swing he had installed in the room. He finally stopped, straightened his legs and body, and leaned forward to dismount. He stood up, dusted off his brown corduroy trousers for some reason, and buttoned up his frilly white button up shirt. He then walked over to me and I noticed he was covered in a layer of moisture before he offered both of his hands for a very Bill Clinton-esque handshake. He just said, “Bill Clinton always offered both hands for a handshake,” and walked over to his ottoman which served as a chair. He then picked up a spray bottle next to him labeled “Enrique Iglesias” and sprayed himself a few times in his face and on his hands and chest.
“Don’t you hate it when mom cries?” he asked me.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I told him.
“You’re hired,” he darted back, as he pointed his finger at my face while quickly but fiercely shaking his Jeri curl covered head.
“So when do I start?” I asked him.
He leaned back against the wall and crossed his legs in front of him for a minute, then came up to lean forward and placed his hands under his chin. I noticed that the spot where his head was became shiny from the Activator in his hair, and then he closed his eyes and said, “How can you start, what has already begun?”
I didn't have an answer, so I sat there and stared at him for a minute.
Twelve minutes later, we were doing the same thing, and the goofy cat clock on the wall next to us meowed at 2:42. He opened his eyes, and my eyes went from cat clock to Editor’s eyeballs.
We had a staring contest for another twelve minutes and I lost.
I told him, “You win.”
He advised me to exit through the window as I got up to walk to the door, so I climbed out and landed in a holly bush before getting to the sidewalk. I picked up a pink fortune cookie on the sidewalk and stepped on it. I picked up the fortune and it just said, “Fuck yourself. Why don’t YOU try to come up with something clever or inspirational for a change?”
That is when I realized that I really wanted to listen to that Kenny G CD again really, really bad.
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October 31, 2010
Woman Can't Decide Which Candidate More Inbred Looking
by Pablo Adams / Owl's Ghetto Times
Mansfield, Tx
Local woman, Susan Colson, is thinking about her decision in the 2010 midterm election. She lives in Texas' 6th congressional district. In her district she has the choice of incumbent Joe Barton (R) and challenger David Cozad (D). She has her reservations.
Colson explains, "Sure, Joe Barton is a disgusting oil company stooge, and he's been in the same corrupt office for 25 years... but to be fair both of those guys look like child molesters. "
Joe Barton became nationally famous momentarily when he defended BP Oil Company execs after the notorious gulf spill, drawing much criticism.
Colson exclaims, "I'm not a Tea Partier, or a Liberal, but when I look into the eyes of both candidates, I just hear the banjo music from Deliverance. I wonder if Cozad is an old frat buddy of Barton... Haha... reminds me of Kerry and Bush, kind of. There's not really much to choose from."
Colson continued to say how she's basically tired of all the election "bullshit", and was shocked to see a wikipedia picture of her "Gerrymandered district".
"It makes no sense. We stretch from Arlington down to a back-assward-looking stretch into Trinity County in East Texas."
As of press time, Colson stated that she didn't want to say who she would end of voting for, but hopes that the pictures of both candidates will reframe from being broadcast on television.
October 24, 2010
Best (And Worst) Halloween Costumes for the Year of Our Lord, 2010
by Elle Enziguri / The Owl’s Ghetto Times
Halloween is a clear winner for the best holiday of the year. Unlike stuffy religio-holidays that celebrate the birth of a magic baby or stingy candle-lighting, Halloween puts the power into the hands of the people; party people. Neo-pagans will argue most tediously about Halloween’s roots as an End of Summer celebration, but to the modern partygoer it’s all about the costume. Bad costumes are more likely to turn into drunken messes than the cleverly planned. Here are a few tips for those still undecided merrymakers.
For God’s Sake, don’t try to go as a ‘sexy’ anything. Even if the whole idea is a play for irony, don’t do it. The end result will make you look like a jackass, a cheap whore, or both. No sexy nursery rhyme characters, no sexy forms of servicemen uniforms, or other inappropriate fair. This is a plea to all the dumb ho-hoes out there. The only people who really enjoy those raunchy yet childlike costumes are creepers. In fact, there’s reason to believe that cheap, desperate costumes are the leading cause of herpes. And hopeless kidnapping cases. Do not fool yourself into believing that it is clever to dress like a ’sexy Carebear’ for Halloween. It is not. At all. And dudes, while you may think that a Bob the Builder costume with a plastic hammer erection looks funny on paper, think again. No one will go home with that guy, and he will ultimately end up enjoying the services of his dog and a jar of peanut butter.
Retro is all the rage. Dip back into the 1960’s or 1970’s for chic costume ideas. Cheech and Chong are always a smash hit at parties, and often receive the best treats. Clint Eastwood’s High Plains Drifter gets equal respect and notoriety, and a badass spin on the classic cowboy costume. But don’t do the 1980’s. Not enough time has passed since that particularly awful decade, and day-to-day fashion has almost done the aesthetic to death. Give it a few years before jumping head first into that St. Elmo’s Fire costume idea. You wont regret holding back.
Be a classic. Many folks lose sight of the beauty that obvious costumes hold. At every party, there should be at least one robot. At very lucky parties, two robots will show up. And hopefully they do not know each other. A dude covered in tin foil and silver paint is all it takes for a dance-off to catalyze. Parties where this does not happen, are doing a huge disservice to the holiday. Robot-free galas are wicked lame. In other words, it isn’t weak to take a classic approach to the costume decision. Frankenstein still needs as much representation on the 31st as he ever did before. Dracula’s need to answer the challenge from the sexy teenage vampires. Don’t let the scales tip in the way of over-wrought, over-thought costumes. Mummies can dance the monster mash better than a Zombiefied Michael Jackson, because they are older than ‘old school.’
Don’t go as a viral video. This is almost as stupid as a tattoo of a viral video. There is such a tiny window for Meme relevancy that it isn’t worth it in the long run. Years in the future, knuckleheads who have made this mistake are going to have to explain a dumb costume to their kids when flipping through old photos. And the only part of this explanation the kids will understand is this: daddy was a drunk dumbass. Although seeing a grown man dressed as Keyboard Cat at the club sounds like a sight to see.
Embrace your inner dork. If something like a television show or video game holds special significance, then imagine if it would be a good idea to dress like that obsession. One of the best features of Halloween is the fact that everyone gets to be someone else for the night. Robots dance with unfamiliar robots. A friend of mine a few Halloweens ago got into a fist fight over a cab after last call in the city. There he was in the middle of 6th avenue, beating the shit out of Indiana Jones. No other holiday can present such a opportunity. Enjoy the festivities!!
Author’s note: If readers need specific ideas for their own costumes, please comment at the bottom of the page. The Owl’s Ghetto Times would like to thank our readers for their continued support this past year. The complementary costume consultations are on us!
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October 18, 2010
Frisbee Golf: A Real Sport
by Harriet Kovina / Owl's Ghetto Times
Veterans Park, Arlington, Texas
Andy Johnson loves to frolf.
“It just feels good, man,” he told me when I recently joined him for a game. “It’s just you and your discs. It’s like you’re free.”
Johnson, an average-looking guy dressed in cargo shorts, a polo shirt, and hair gel, is a junior at Southern Methodist University. He comes out to this Frisbee golf course every weekend because it is close to his parents’ house. He first started frolfing at 15 after a friend invited him along for a Saturday afternoon game. Johnson tells me that his friend “let me borrow his discs. It was a pretty cool move.” As he became more involved in the game and improved his skills, he amassed his own large collection of discs, each with its own purpose and range.
Johnson pulls three discs from a collection of more than 10 inside a large, fanny-pack-like bag that he carries when he’s out on the course. “You see, man, this one is a driver. It’s meant for long distances.” He gives the disc a toss, and it flies about 40 feet. He then holds up another, nearly identical disc and tells me that this one is for mid-range distances. Johnson throws this one, and it lands near the first about 40 feet away. Finally, he shows me a putter. As in club-based golf, a putter is for the short game. He gives this one a toss, and it lands with the others, 40 feet away. When asked why all the discs fly the same distance when they are supposed to have specific purposes, Johnson tells me that his game is off today, and that usually his discs go right where he wants them. We walk over to where his discs have landed, and as we pick them up, I still can’t tell them apart except for their different labels and colors.
After this brief introduction to the sport, I ask if I can watch Johnson play a few holes. We go to the beginning of the course, and he gives what I think is a driver a good, long throw toward a group of trees. He tells me that this is where the end of the hole is located. I take his word for it. We walk toward where the disc landed. We are about 30 feet from the tree that marks the end of the hole, so he gets out a second disc, the one that he told me was for middle ranges. He throws that one, and it lands pretty close to the tree. We walk toward the tree. Finally, he rummages around in his fanny pack and digs out the putter. He is two feet from the tree, so close that he could simply reach out and touch the tree with the putter, but he gives it a little toss, just for effect. The putter hits the tree and falls to the ground. We both look at it. That’s the end of the hole. Three strokes for Johnson.
It is time to start the second hole. As in the first time around, Johnson, takes out his driver disc and gives it a good long throw. When we catch up to it, he gets out his mid-ranger and throws that one as well, but this time things don’t go so well. We watch as it sails into the tree at the end of the hole. Wary but optimistic, we walk closer, hoping that the disc is actually safely on the ground. It is not. It is in the tree. I ask Johnson if this has ever happened before. “Yeah, man. This happens all the time,” he says. “Sometimes you really have to get creative to get the thing down.”
First he tries shaking the tree. It’s a pretty solid tree, and it doesn’t budge. Johnson then tries unsuccessfully to knock the disc down using a branch. He then digs a disc out of his bag and tries to hit the disc in the tree. This does nothing except get the second disc caught in the tree as well. Finally, Johnson sees no other recourse except to climb the tree to get the discs out. After much discussion about the best route to take, he’s up in the tree, climbing, slipping, swearing, but getting closer to his precious discs. Only 35 minutes in, and he’s got both discs and climbing down. Once he’s back on the ground, he tries to assure me that trees are just one of the inevitable obstacles of the game, but he seems less convinced after his climb. Johnson says that he’s ready for the next hole, but I think I’ve seen enough. I excuse myself and head back to my car.
As I walk, I hear a loud crack and faint cursing coming from Johnson’s direction. I consider turning to look at what is bound to be a new and insurmountable obstacle, but I don’t. I have to separate myself from the excitement of disc golf and be on my way.
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October 10, 2010
October 03, 2010
New Black Tea Party Gets Startup
By Frankie Richards / Owl's Ghetto Times
(Detroit, Michigan.)
Our crew visits with a rowdy crowd who gather here for a demonstration and a kind of coming out party.
There are signs with different slogans and different people dressed up in all sort of outfits vying for
attention. Mount Elliott & Palmer Ave., known for being one of the more violent areas in Detroit is getting
a sort of makeover today, and is showing off its more political side. Our crew caught up to some of the
demonstrators at the rally.
Tameka Hundley walks up to us, she is wearing all black dress clothes with a misplaced pirate hat, on the
pirate hat it says “This is that.” “Our nation is in mourning,” she says. “The Negro has died, and the New
Negro has already been born, and his name is Barrack Hussein Obama.” We ask her about her pirate hat.
“Well you wanna know about the hat ?” she starts. “Well we all came on the pirate ship, everybody here did,
and 'This is that' just means that this right now was that back then... you understand what I mean..."
At this time our crew backs off a little bit as she does some theatrical crying and mourning.
Patrick Haynesworth walks up to us and at first glance we see that he is dressed as a woman, on further
examination of his outfit, we can see that he’s dressed as a female slave. One of our more knowledgeable
crew members informs us that he’s dressed as Aunt Jemima. “My name is Mrs. Buttaworth,” he says
“I know you want to know all about me! I gave this country alota butta, all butta, butta butta all in the
cookin pan for cookin... Cooking their meat, rubbin all up on the pan so the food dont stick. I make their
griddle cakes go down easier... I make their birthday cakes all nice and fluffy and they treat me like trash."
He walks away.
We walk up to Cameron Carter and inquire about the sign that he has. It reads, “Make me do what I want
and then I’ll tell you to shove it.” He’s dressed in regular blue jeans and a T-Shirt, but his two small kids
are dressed in all black. “The sign means that all this time my government is making me do things that I
don't want to do ...and I don't say anything about... so when I do what I want to do, I’ll tell em to shove it,
like a paradox you know... The thing is we gotta keep this country the way it is. They're saying take it back.
We say we got it and we’re gonna run with it !” After the interview the two shy kids came over to us to tell us
that they were in mourning.
The loudest of these 700 demonstrators was Mark Ramirez. He was leading the cheers and trying to get
the attention of passers-by while jumping around in a full gorilla suit. A paper smiley face mask placed over
the gorilla mask. After being out there for a while and watching the whole crowd our crew reports that
from time to time he runs to an alley to relieve himself. He came over to us and introduced himself
“Yeah man, we’re all tired. We’re tired of Rush Limbaugh taking jabs every chance he gets at the working
man. That's why I'm excited to Hear Jessie Jackson speak tonight - That's the reason I have the smiley face on.
We’ve been getting a little support, but we mainly want people to support us.” Our crew offers him some
bottled water, he declines it and tells us that he had a few beers before he came out, and water would just
let him go to the bathroom more.
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The Scariest Wrestling Match in the Northwest Hemisphere: Here is The Hell in a Cell
Elle Enziguri - Sports - The Owl’s Ghetto Times
Sundays are fantastic this season. Fall is here, which means pro football and nachos. Last Sunday began the hotly anticipated season of Eastbound and Down, which means Kenny fucking Powers and Mexican beer. But two Sundays this month will host a time slot for WWE wrasslin pay per views. Tonight’s will be a doozy.
Every bout tonight will be in the style of the most brutal specialty matches allowed in the US: The Hell in a Cell. The original was 16 ft. tall, and weighed over 2 tons. Essentially, the cell is an enormous chain link box that fits over the normal wrestling ring. The reinforced steel structure is not to be fucked with. It has no exit, save for a single door that is padlocked shut after both contestant enter. Submission holds be damned, because the only way to end a match is by pinfall or total knock out. Indeed it takes an insane amount of damage to rule a pro-wrestler unconscious. This is tradition.
Hell in a Cell began as a grudge match title bout between The Undertaker and Shawn Michaels. The match revolved around ‘Taker’s time-tested reputation for brutality, and Shawn Michael’s complete disregard for his own safety. It was a special time in wrestling because the boundaries hadn’t been pushed quite as far within the mainstream market. Back then, Michaels was still living like a rock star and hadn’t passed his prime. Undertaker was still very fucking scary. This was a time when the WWE didn’t really concern itself with the party drugs of it’s employees. Salad days. Some could argue that the company was putting out a better product back in the day, but most will agree that while that product has changed, these matches tonight will still deliver plenty of ‘holy shit!’ moments.
Under the ring we will see use of weaponry of all types: ‘steel’ folding chairs, ladders for which to jump upon and maim adversaries, baseball bats wrapped with barbed wire, and maybe a stray pair of handcuffs for a heightened advantage. No guarantees on what will appear as a game changer tonight, but history tells us that the WWE is still giving us the fucked-up noise we want to hear.
Remember the time Undertaker hung The Big Bossman by his neck at the Hell in a Cell of 1999? How about the match where Mankind actually lost a tooth to the Cell? 'Taker choke slammed him through the cage’s roof, and he plummeted 15 feet to the ring below. That moment changed the whole damn industry, and made everyone raise their personal bar to “Extreme.” Will someone wear the crimson mask tonight, and emerge with a face completely covered with blood? Spartan props to anyone who does.
No, the Hell in a Cell match is certainly not for small children, unless they can appreciate gut-curdling violence. Some kids are into to that kind of shit, which we at the Owl’s Ghetto Times applaud, but understand that it isn’t for every youngster. Share this night with the little bastards in your home or on your block. You will be the toast of the neighborhood, and be the least likely to get your house egged next time. Enjoy the show!
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September 26, 2010
The Best Fantasy Football Coaches
by Elle Enziguri / Owl's Ghetto Times
There used to be two types of people in this country; those who watch football, and those who don’t. Usually, those who don’t like football walk around with an anti-sports chip on their shoulder. This is understandable, because the memories of all those wedgies in high school don’t go away easily. Nowadays, if pro football seems like too much of a jock activity, then one can choose to play fantasy football. The nerd element is injected into the game where participants create, manage and trade a team of individual players. One of the more important features when planning a fantasy football team is a fantasy coach. Though not required, it is important to team leadership, the owner’s peace of mind and to the whole damn team to have a good coach. A few examples and tactics are as followed.
The Loose Cannon: ex: Martin Riggs, Mel Gibson - bootleg video of locker room speeches will go viral and earn millions on internet dollars for the team. Non-traditional methods are the draw with this coach. While he may shoot his sidearm off during a mid-week practice and accidentaly wound a running back, Gibson‘s enthusiasm cannot be matched. Owners that dig living on the edge will be happy with a Gibson team. True, he sometimes confuses the team with strange and confusing racist rants, but everyone agrees he’s the goddamn best on the force. Possible drawbacks include: ravaged liquor cabinets of entire coaching staff and team, dozens of wrecked vehicles, and possible bomb threats.
The Dictator: ex: Pablo Escobar, Kim Jong Ill - Owners who fancy themselves as sadists can choose a Dictator/Crime Boss fantasy football coach. It’s a valid strategy. The pyramids were built under tyranny, and look at all the work that got done under those circumstances. The same could work for a fantasy football team. Escobar killed for far less than a blown field goal. Players on Kim Jong Ill-Matic’s team tend to completely disappear after a lapse in judgment on the field. Fear of death is an excellent motivating force. Each week, at least three spots are open on a dictator’s team due to murder. Obvious advantages and drawbacks to this strategy, but it is never dull.
The Den Mother: Paula Deen - Softies can coerce their team into high performance numbers with a coach like Paula Deen. A win for the fantasy team gets a reward of bacon grease butter cookies, straight from the culinary lair of Deen. Dangling snacky-cakes in front of a pack of running backs can encourage the stats to rise. In poor performance situations, Deen has the ability to punish with covert lard poisoning. Anyone who has never heard of covert lard poisoning should know that it is some fucked-up shit. Drawbacks include: fat, sloppy players, empty refrigerators and covert lard poisoning.
The Coach of Nightmares: Freddy Krueger - Influence your players’ dreams with the scariest coach in the league. Nothing says, “Win motherfucker” quite like a pre-game visit from Coach Krueger. He knows just what it takes to make that kicker hit his spots. The running game is much faster, and the defense is much stronger. Drawbacks include: insomnia for the entire team, sleeplessness, delirium, and grisly murder scenes.
Yes, a fantasy team just isn’t complete without a stalwart coach to organize the front. With a good choice as fantasy coach, rivals will take your team more seriously, and it is much easier to keep your head in the game. Knuckle up and make sure your coach can go the extra mile when it comes to keeping your players in line. Choose wisely and maintain dork glory.
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September 19, 2010
Missionary Saves Starving, Diseased Anti-Christ Child
A Christian missionary from Sugarland, Texas is to thank for saving a homeless toddler on the streets of Jerusalem during Rosh Hashanah.
By John Doney, Owl’s Ghetto Times
Jerusalem, Israel –Todd Pennis, a Jerusalem-based Baptist missionary hailing from the First Baptist Church in Sugarland, Texas, is no stranger to good deeds.
“I rescued my dad from inside the chimney on Christmas when I was 8,” said Pennis. “I also preach the gospel to the Muslims here. They keep fighting the Jews. I tell them they wouldn’t have such a problem with them if they just accepted Jesus Christ as their lord and savior.”
Pennis, a graduate of the Christ for the Nations seminary school in Dallas, Texas, was walking the dusty alleys of Jerusalem’s east side during Rosh Hashanah when he came across an unclothed, nameless toddler approximately two to three years of age. The male child spoke little Hebrew or Arabic, and did not claim to have a mother or a father.
“He was dirty, and looked like he hadn’t eaten since Easter Sunday. I felt sorry for him so I took him to my place to wash him up and maybe drop him off at an orphanage later,” Pennis added.
Pennis took the boy home to his family, which consists of himself, his wife Doris, and one-year-old son Jacob. After cleaning, feeding, and clothing the dirty orphan, Pennis noticed that the child he would come to call “Ishmael” had a pentagram birthmark on his chest, “666” birthmarks on his right hand and forehead near his hairline, sharp teeth, and pitch black eyes with darkened sclerae.
“I think God wanted me to save this child, because he had a purpose for me. I believe this child is the Anti-Christ as prophesied in the book of Revelation, who will usher in the Great Tribulation, before which the true Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ will come to claim his people in the Rapture,” said Pennis about Ishmael. “Can you believe that some heathens around here were going to let this boy rot and die like a common street rat? If it weren’t for me, there wouldn’t be a Great Tribulation or Rapture or Second Coming of Christ for our generation. Who knows what would have happened to Christians like myself if this Anti-Christ child just died and never came around to take over the world with his New World Order?”
Todd Pennis further explained that he does not want to be thanked by people in any way, but wants other Christians to know and understand that the gospel he preaches is quite real. As for young Ishmael, no Jerusalem area orphanages would willingly harbor the child; because other children were frightened by his presence, and nearby dogs and small animals would go into frenzied states and collapse. Until a new home is found for Ishmael, Pennis has decided to take in the orphan to make him a part of his own family.
Pennis noted, “God will provide. God is good. God is great. And God willing, Ishmael will find a permanent home.”
September 12, 2010
Army Chaplain Says That All These Murderers Will Burn In Hell
Baghdad, Iraq -
(Major) William McHenry is the head Army Chaplain. Very respected in his field,
he has a degree in theology from Duke University and graduated top of his class.
Before he was an officer in the Army, he was an enlisted soldier and served in the
Korean War. Major McHenry has no problem reporting his feelings. After becoming
the Army’s top Chaplain, he has been even more outspoken. Our crew contacted him
to ask about the ending war in Iraq and his view on theology and religion in the
military.
Owl’s Ghetto: Do Soldiers over there really need a Chaplain ?
McHenry: Yeah, we offer a great service over there, some of these kids need people to
talk to when the going gets tough.
Owls Ghetto: So do you get any weird questions ?
McHenry: A lot of them ask sex questions for some reason. You know, couped up with all
these guys here for months at a time they just dont know what’s happening with their
bodies.
Owls Ghetto: Interesting.
McHenry: Yeah, very interesting. Telling these kids that they can never have kids
ever again is a tough thing to do. It's hard to let them know that if they dont live a
life of chastity, they’ll be going to hell.
Owls Ghetto: So you tell some of them that they’ll be going to hell?
McHenry: Yeah, I roughly tell all of them that they’ll be going to hell. People are
killing people here, its not like they've just been telling lies or fornicating, most of
these kids here will burn in the fiery pit.
Owls Ghetto: So, do you cater to both male and female Soldiers ?
McHenry : Yes... I have to tell those females about the ins and outs of sex and having
babies. And the dangers of it all. I tell them that they will never have sex again.
They’ll be military nuns.
Owls Ghetto: What do you mean? Is this some sort of program ?
McHenry: Yes, we have a group called Military Nuns and Military Priests for Christ,
and when you're a part of that group you have to abstain from intercourse and your
war killings will be forgiven. Its like you're a clergy soldier for the Lord, therefore
you're free to kill as you like.
Owls Ghetto: So, have there been any problems for anyone who’s been a part of
your group and has followed these strange policies ?
McHenry: Yes, Lynndie England was one of the Military Nuns, and actually was given
special permission to take those photos of those prisoners. They leaked out somewhere
and then it wasn't good for her, so we gave her special permission to get
pregnant as well, but that didnt help her case either... We fight for our own.
McHenry takes out a picture of himself on a leash with England holding the end,
recreating the infamous Abu Ghraib photo. “Its a little joke.” he says.
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September 05, 2010
The Great Bottle Debacle: Throwing More Than Just Rotten Tomatoes at Bad Music Acts.
Elle Enziguri/ Owl's Ghetto Times
Does the ticket price of a concert include the liberty to huck garbage at an unsatisfactory performance?
Since there’s no chance at getting a refund just because a show sucks, concert goers choose the next viable option: Throwing shit at the stage.
Tila Tequila is threatening to sue the entire Juggalo family for the abuse she endured on stage at The Gathering last month. Once on stage, Tequila was pelted with empty faygo bottles, garbage and human shit, all while Tom Green performed an awkward dance to absorb some of the attack. Then Tequila was chased to her trailer as the hoards tried to tip it over. When the danger had been dispelled, she quickly had her face painted with theater makeup to highlight her relatively minor injuries. She says that she was hit in the face with a rock, but no evidence corroborates her claim of actually being stoned. In weeks previous to the festival, Tequila had been warned that her brand of slut-pop might not be well-received at The Gathering of the Juggalos. Seriously, in quite literally a gathering of Juggalos, this woman thought it would be a good idea to antagonize them while standing on a stage at 3am. That same weekend, Method Man, a well-respected member of the Wu and the Juggalo community was also hit with a bottle and suffered a gash above his eye. He insulted the fans, and they countered with an aerial attack. Juggalos don’t fuck around. They make it very clear that the performers are expected to behave to their satisfaction. Or suffer the slings and arrows smothered in hot shit.
Aside from the irregular cases of chicken carcasses and headless bats flying around, many performers are getting shaken by garbage missiles from the crowd. Recently, Axl Rose found himself yet again faced with a sea of pissed-off fans. Arriving more than an hour late, he stormed off stage, “Have a good night”, after two songs because angry fans threw water bottles during the Guns n Roses set. He wasn’t even hit, and just enough of an asshole to pull the plug and throw the deuces to Ireland. Everyone’s favorite crypster emo dorkwad, Morrissey quit on Liverpool after getting sloshed in the face with a cocktail as he bent down the crowd for a high-five. 50 Cent and his G-Unit goons were bottled off the stage at Reading Music Festival in the UK. He was bottled aggressively for almost twenty minutes before 50 threw his microphone into the crowd and ran away. The Reading festival has a tradition of unleashing a barrage of plastic bottles at unfavorable acts and musicians with shitty attitudes. Similar to a customer complaint box. The first incident of bottling at Reading was in ‘88 when Meatloaf was hit in the mouth with a full 2-liter bottle of cider. Sounds hilarious, but certainly not funny to Meatloaf. When Roger Daltrey of The Who was hit in the arm with a water bottle at Madison Square Garden, he was furious enough to quit the show. But Pete Townshend stepped in and encouraged the fans to throw money, cameras and girlfriends on stage. The band ended up collecting about twenty-five bucks cash from the stage at the show’s close. Positive spin. Even little Justin Bieber has been the victim of a full water bottle to the face. He was performing at a Christmas gig with his Gepetto, Usher and took one straight to the dome. The kid shook it off and continued to put on his show. Consequently, the tour now requires that little brothers not be allowed entry to the Bieber mosh pit.
Some musicians aren’t as victimized. At a calf-fry in Oklahoma, the singer from shitbird country band Cross Canadian Ragweed was hospitalized with twenty stitches after getting popped in the noggin with a liquor bottle. With a name like Cody Canada, I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t just respect the hell out of this guy. At the end of any Cross Canadian Ragweed show, the band plays a song and encourages fans to chuck their empty beer pitchers at the stage while they stand armed with baseball bats. They encourage their extremely tanked audience to throw shit at them. This is clearly an Oklahoma approach to an encore. Ill-advised and fucking stupid. And if the singer had actually hit the glass bottle with a baseball bat? Broken glass and hooch all over the crowd. Perhaps one brave Juggalo in disguise hurled the weapon. Maybe this is a case of covert war between the Juggalo’s and their redneck rivals. Call it Juggalo Justice. It rides again.
It isn’t normal to throw items at a performer when you’re enjoying the show. Iron Maiden never has problems with disrespectful fans. Bottling happens most at the shows where musicians are either A. Being total dicks, or B. phoning in a performance in a way that clearly makes the ticket price a total rip off. The harsh truth is that this dirtball ragweed may have deserved getting seriously bumped. No one can act like a dipshit on stage forever without getting hit with a few rotten tomatoes here and there. Metal and punk festivals are popular venues for bottling because emo and pop bands somehow end up on the bill. It is because of this kind of silly booking that bands like My Chemical Romance get heavily bottled a few times a year. It is almost like the promoters have a stage set up for violent heckling purposes, which is disturbingly dangerous and oddly fascinating. In 2007, Panic! At The Disco’s lead singer was knocked unconscious after getting hit with a water bottle. Metal fans will not be toyed with while waiting for bands with balls. Book better shows, gentleman. Ms. Tequila should have googled the term Juggalo before booking a gig that would give her so much shit. Like the late great Ronnie James Dio said, “The mob rules”.
(The Customer is Always Right.)
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August 29, 2010
The Wild Weird Web: A Few Tips for This Season's Baby Doll Trends
Elle Enziguri / Owl's Ghetto Times
Of the most awesome and powerful forces on earth, the internet certainly ranks. Along with all this easily acquired information that dumps old encyclopedia sets in the can, the internet can provide bizarre glimpses into the things humans create for themselves. In the end, we’re all a species of sick fucks, and the internet is a great mirror that shows all these transgressions right back at the world. Here’s what our fellow humans have been up to.
Reborn Dolls. The title is a little mystifying. Current trends show that the term reborn is most often associated with the reanimation of the dead. Zombies are reborn. Vampires are reborn and changed into the undead. These babies are technically the undead as well. Lifelike baby dolls that are modified to resemble real sleeping babies. They are very similar to the real girl companion dolls. The eyes and nostrils are ‘wetted’ with lacquer to give the illusion of life. Spooky, silent and forever creepy. After careful research and many subsequent nightmares, The Owl’s Ghetto Times has concluded that Reborn Dolls site could be one of the most disturbing corners of the internet.
“children must not play with them, both for the integrity of the doll and the safety of the child.”
Safety of the child indeed. The movie Child’s Play might not have even happened if that disclaimer were printed on the box of every Good Guy Doll. It covers everything from choking hazards to homicidal fits.
Reborn dolls can be purchased fully finished and ready to snuggle from the website, but also can be purchased in a “reborn kit.” This allows the consumer to play Dr. Frankenstein and customize his or her own doll. The process is called “newborning,” and it is usually practiced in a secluded part of the basement. The kit is a disassembled doll, which is basically a box of detached limbs, a torso and an unpainted doll head. Much like the kit used to make your own Tool tribute music video. Here’s a kit.
(Maynard James Keenan & Trent Reznor simultaneously facepalm.)
Imagine taking a tour of the new neighbor’s house, and in a back bedroom you see a crib. Expecting to see a sleeping baby, you creep up quietly to the crib. What you find is an infant that will never wake up. Chillingly realistic and cold. When you turn around, the horror continues as you see your neighbor in the doorway with a pick axe. The baby never stirs.
In addition to being generally menacing, reborn babies have also caused property damage. Cops have busted windows in cars to save reborn babies that they think are infants cooking in the heat. People with reborn in public are required to carry their tot at all times. Impersonating a baby takes a pretty stiff fine in most states. While shopping next time at the mall, watch carefully for babies that never blink.
(Never sleep again.)
On a lighter note, another wacko destination on the crazy side of Internet Town takes a playful approach to creepy dolls. Instead of weirding-out the neighborhood with realism, Krypt Kiddies are zombified baby dolls. Strikingly rendered, these dolls are just like their horror movie counterparts. The artists have even captured the wrinkled forehead of a scary baby gone bad. They are fully customizable, and given birth certificates to make the rebirth official. Additional veins are painted for no extra charge. Kiddies are the perfect accents to a drab guest bedroom, or the windowsill on Christmas eve. Cops wont try to break into a vehicle to save these little monsters. In fact, a Krypt Kiddie would provide excellent theft deterrent, while drooling blood from the back seat. Car thieves are naturally against disturbing babies with over sized fangs. Pick one to match your real child, and while the kid grows up, his demon twin remains the creepiest baby on the block. The price range can be quite steep: 300-600 dollars, so only the wealthiest Goths and Juggalo’s in town can own them.
Bottom line. Anyone who cuddles with a plastic infant occupies a corner of the creep market. But it is a valid market. So the question is, “Is it more socially acceptable to choose a doll that looks just like a living child, or one that looks like a demon spawn?” I suppose it comes to the end to perspective. Or the color of the drapes in the back bedroom.
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Wardrobe malfunction during Lady Gaga’s Monster Ball tour confuses sell-out crowds at Invesco Field in Denver
Witnesses of music demigod’s fashion faux pas are still wondering what they saw, some claim “vaginal fog”
by Jon Doney / Owl's Ghetto Times
Denver, CO - Whether it be a sellout crowd in front of tens of thousands of fans, or an appearance on the daytime television talk show du jour, Lady Gaga’s shock treatment of fans and curious onlookers alike is unpredictable at best. However, the questionably fashionable Lady Gaga found herself doing what she does best, or worst, depending on how one looks at it.
During the Denver, Colorado leg of the electro-pop musical Monster Ball tour, the dreaded ‘wardrobe malfunction’ reared its ugly head once more; this time for Lady Gaga herself.
After a powerful pyrotechnic piano solo by the pop diva, the set came together on stage to accommodate a flashy rendition of the gay-friendly track “Boys, Boys, Boys!”. In the moment of a high energy dance number, Lady Gaga proceeded to the front of the extended dance stage to “crab crawl” in front of a group of self proclaimed “Little Monsters” – mainly tweens and ornately dressed superfans. During the “crab crawl”, Lady Gaga’s custom made, diamond encrusted codpiece managed to come loose and basically expose the region it was meant to keep decent.
While the mysteries surrounding the Lady’s gender bending sexuality could have finally come to at least some sort of premature conclusion, the incident only bemused the throngs of shocked fans.
“I was dancing with my camera over my head and taking pictures of Gaga dancing with her friends and then her diamond panties fell off and all I could see was a foggy blurry spot where I thought her stuff should be,” said Lauren Trinell of Aurora.
Another eyewitness account did little to nothing to clarify anything, but mostly corroborate what the Little Monsters had seen with their own eyes. “I saw it too,” said Ricky Hadley. “It was in my face. It was this fog - the kind you see on TBS when they blur out girls’ boobs and vaginas in the movies like Striptease or Girls Gone Wild commercials. Fucking weird!”
The only account of the wardrobe malfunction that offers any different perspectives comes from a security guard working the barricades near the base of the stage. According to Jared Chatham, “it looked pixilated and shit like it was a face of an innocent bystander on an episode of Cops.”
Regardless of what fans and bystanders may or may not have seen, Lady Gaga’s wardrobe malfunction caused more confusion to question the official status of her Lady’s parts. Pictures have surfaced to document this incident as logically as possible, but to no avail. Biology and photo imaging experts have only concluded that whatever it was that was under Lady Gaga’s fickle codpiece remains a mystery. “It might be a vaginal fog of some kind that resulted in Lady Gaga’s own mutated genitalia. That is about all we have at this point. We are so confused.”
We will just stick with fog.
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August 21, 2010
August 16, 2010
Toyota celebrates 120 days of “not being BP” with corporate sponsored party that has no intentions of stopping by its own will
By John Doney / Owl's Ghetto Times
Los Angeles, CA – Toyota Motor Corporation’s domestic, international, and United States operations were treated to a soiree of epic proportions starting this Saturday at the Los Angeles convention center. The weeklong event consists of well-known musical acts such as Cypress Hill alumni Sen Dog’s rap group Reyes Brothers and Peebo Bryson, among others, and fully serviced bars provided by local catering companies and liquor sponsors. Patrons are also able to entertain themselves at car shows showcasing Toyota’s old and future models, complete with a quarter mile long “Toyota Proving Grounds” in one wing of the convention center.
The event, which a Toyota representative said was a “long time coming”, is said to thank customers, the media, and BP for taking the “shitstorm of absolutely shitty shit” that has plagued the Japanese automaker for months, and finally “throwing it back down the mouths of British Petroleum”.
During the opening ceremonies, Toyota President Akio Toyoda gave a rousing, uplifting speech to a crowd of wildly enthusiastic and loyal employees from many different cities and countries.
“People said I would shamed for dishonoring the great Toyota company, but I prove them wrong. Seppuku is reserved for those who cannot believe in themselves and shameful for others. The new shame is BP, and what they did to the sea turtle and dolphin hunting grounds of the great nation of United States of America. Tony Hayward is shame! He must seppuku! Long prosperity to Toyota and Prius!”, Toyoda exclaimed at one point to a large assembly of employees and shareholders who were as raucous as tweens at a Justin Bieber appearance at a suburban mall.
Afterwards, the riled crowd gave a queen’s welcome to the Reyes Brothers, who performed some Cypress Hill classics and their most famous track to date “Hit the Gas, Hit the Brakes”. Sen Dog stepped to the front of the stage where he proclaimed, “I got some souped-up Toyotas in my garage and I run those bitches like a motherfucking choo choo train, yo. But let me tell you, I ain’t got none of that bullshit BP gas up in my tanks. I’m burning straight Shell 93 and nitrous oxide in my Toyota Supra!”
The crowd went wild, likely from being intoxicated by heavily poured drinks from Tuaca, Grey Goose, and Bacardi sponsored drinking stations, but they were pleased.
Walking around the LA convention center, which rivals the size of the Pentagon in ways, one could not notice that many attendees had been shaking hands with a cardboard cut out of BP CEO Tony Hayward positioned in front of a sponsor backdrop littered with company logos such as Toyota, Virgin Mobile, Grey Goose, Bacardi, Tom’s Shoes, Just Brakes, and Urban Outfitters. A freelance photographer and a hired “paparazzi” troupe completed the look of the cheeky photo-op station by snapping photos of mostly drunk and lewd acts performed on the Tony Hayward effigy by Toyota employees. “Thanks Tony, for taking our shit, you fuck up!”, one partier exclaimed before low-five-ing his crotch.
Toyota expects 20,000 to 35,000 to attend the event organized by Toyota over the next several days, and plans even more partying and special guests.
“We will have some bands to entertain our guests, and obviously enough alcohol to feed a small navy, but the last day of events, which we understand has not been determined as of yet, will have some interesting appearances by very popular public figures. The only clue I can give is ‘chiseled beach bods from a reality show who like to party,’” said Toyota public relations representative Dillon Donaldson.
This will end well.
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The Deodorization of a Species: A Plea to the Stinky Folks
Elle Enziguri/ Lifestyle Science Editor/ The Owl's Ghetto Times
When I was a kid, my next door neighbor and I were playing at her house. She said to me, “I think your house smells like noodles.” A little shocked, I told her that I had always thought that her house smelled like noodles. It was at that moment we figured that all human beings generally smelled like noodles. Recognizable like smell of dogs, the odor of people is like noodles.
Many people have sensitive olfactory systems, much like that asshole X-jerk Wolverine. These people have hyper-keen sense of smell. The only difference is that Wolverine was the type of dude who just didn’t give a fuck, so he was used to living like a wild animal. And he probably smells like a rusty barrel filled with sweat socks and cigarette butts. Smelly stuff isn’t really an issue to Wolverine, but folks who have the gift/curse of olfactory madness generally have a bone to pick with society’s hygiene.
To be real, there isn't a natural human odor that is tangibly pleasant. Hair and skin. The thought of a raw smell of hair or skin sounds goddamn disturbing. Perhaps odor is one of the main stages for humanity to differentiate itself from the animal kingdom. This is an excellent idea, because stinky folks can ruin a bus trip or any other close-quartered situation. Some people are naturally more odorous than others. My pops used to have this guy working for him at a construction site a few years ago. He was a member of the car pool and a very friendly person, except everyone hated to ride to work with this guy because he was the stinkiest dude in town. No one could figureTo show proof of civilized behavior, we wash, scrub, deodorize and perfume our lives to disown the scent of the wild.
This is usually the point where the subject of pheromones enters the argument. Those who are anti-human scent can still be in support of pheromones. To paraphrase a famous scientist, Mel Torme, "pheromones are invisible scents." It took many years for scientists like Dr. Torme to even figure out that pheromones were present in the first place. And before that, those pheromones never bothered anyone. In fact, these invisible scents are said to be pretty damn sexy, doubled with the fact that they go virtually unnoticed. But in the end, totally irrelevant to the argument at hand.
(Pictured Above : One Gallon of B.O., and No Pheromones. Clean yourself up, man.)
Occupational Hazards
Some areas of the private sector are unfortunate when it comes to work-related odor injuries. Usually cumulative in longer periods of employment, folks start to smell like their jobs. If a citizen holds work at a sandwich joint, he arrives home smelling like ranch dressing and red onions. Bartenders smell like bottom-shelf hooch. The barbeque pit master has a terrible time getting his dogs to leave him alone when he walks through the door. Fry cooks smell like grease and fishermen smell like boat barnacles. It is a rough lot for those in stinky fields of work.
On the other hand mechanics, firefighters and steel workers smell like badasses because they reek of heavy industry. Smoke and dirt and motor oil and fire. This works very well for them because all of those items are the ingredients for a blockbuster action flick.
Some people are naturally more odorous than others. My pops used to have this guy working for him at a construction site a few years ago. He was a member of the car pool and a very friendly person, except everyone hated to ride to work with this guy because he was the stinkiest dude in town. No one could figure out how it was possible, since he walked from his front door every morning looking like he just jumped out of the shower. Yet he always smelled like cumin and dirty socks. Later everyone discovered that he had been taking Garlique tablets for health reasons, and the junk just seeped through his pores on a perpetual basis. He was aware that he was stinky dude, which made others in the crowded pickup feel less sorry for him, and was promptly voted out of the car pool.
Cheap Cologne Reform Act of 2010
Bootleg cologne is about as easy to find in the city as a hemp weaver at Bonnaroo. Knuckleheads think they have obtained designer perfume at a cut rate, but wound up with bunk stinky product. Jackasses who can’t tell the difference between CK1 and Bacardi 151 usually commit the crime of wearing too goddamn much cologne. Currently, lobbyists are hard at work pushing a bill that strictly regulates the use of cheap perfume and cologne. The mandate is to require all bottles to be rigged with a mechanism that locks after a single spritz. A rudimentary timer will release the nozzle after a period of no less than three hours. No double/triple sprays. More than one person in a party cannot use the cologne bottle. One spritz of that bargain fragrance. The cab drivers of the city rejoice. The world is a better place, and New Jersey smells less like a sneeze.
Infrequently (but it does happen), it is funny how much budget label cologne smells like moonshine. Smart boozehounds know to cover up with the scent of grocery store cologne.
Steel Magnolia’s
The greeting card aisle at any pharmacy is a pain, and not just because shopping for greeting cards feels absolutely stupid. There’s always an older woman shopping for her year’s allotment of thank you and sympathy cards. Halfway down the aisle, the aroma of gardenia and baby powder traps the oxygen overhead. Like a pocket full of poesies. Everyone around feels like they are on the permanent cusp of a sneeze. This situation cannot be helped. Buying a greeting card is supposed to be unpleasant. She’s a wonderful customer.
Pet Lover's Syndrome
Cohabitation with an animal indoors is an intimate sharing of cupboard space, furniture, and sleeping quarters. To question the propriety of pet ownership is a touchy subject. We love and protect our animal companions, but realistically speaking: they stink. Acknowledging it is the first step, and depending on the animal, there are a few steps to ensure that you don’t smell like Jeremiah Jenkins on a hot day.
Pups. Because humans have been around dogs so long, their scent is tolerable to our everyday life. Our comfort with dogs is also the greatest danger. A man who cuddles with a dog is one who can’t reasonably claim that he doesn’t smell like his dog. A few weeks without a bath, and a pup is apt to smell pretty ripe. A dog that sleeps in the bed while his master is away is a dog that doesn’t get up to take his own bath before burrowing into the sheets.
The wisdom of Saruman the White rings, “What is the house of Rohan, but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs?!
He was wrong about Rohan, because that place was pretty dope. But Saruman had a point about smelling like a barbarian. Not very kingly. Dog dander should be kept in check, lest ye be mistaken for a damned brigand.
Reptiles/Miscellaneous Weird Animals. Herpetology sounds gross for a reason. If he owns more than 2 reptiles, then a man no doubt smells like a reptile. It is difficult to describe exactly how a reptile smells because most people don’t go around town sniffing crocodiles and rattlesnakes. We imagine this odor to be reminiscent of a pet store when the air conditioning fails. Or dead crickets with a side of carrot shavings and wilted greens. The solution is to invest in Febreeze and dial down on the snuggle time with the tree frogs.
Felines. Cats are interesting little fucks because they have manhandled us into helping their agenda at slim or no cost. A housecat lives the life of nirvana, and his ‘master’ feeds him gloriously and provides a bizarre waste removal service. Litter boxes. In this world, normal people allow a box of shit to accumulate within their homes. Cats are smart enough to hold it until finding an appropriate place outside to drop a deuce. And if your cat’s a real asshole, he’ll find a spot in the kid’s sandbox. Cat people smell a lot like that sandbox.
Ferrets. The worst. Ferrets are violent offenders in the crimes of musk. In fact, the idea of a pet ferret is a lot like favoring a pet vulture over a chickadee. Worm-like little creatures that have an inherent need for thieving. They are weasels with a slightly better advertising campaign.. Ferrets make houses turn into animal dens. Even de-musked ferrets are stinky, gamey houseguests. If you sleep with your ferret, it is very likely that you smell like a bear who masturbates too much. Disgusting. Release the varmint into the wild and to be no doubt happier, stealing bird’s eggs and eating babies once again. Then burn all of your clothes and bed linens, immediately fumigate the building, and move away. Start over with a fish tank.
(Pictured above : Stink Weasel )
Fish Tanks. No problems here. With good maintenance, a tank is a self-contained ecosystem, and nothing can stink when it is underwater.
Babies. Some people dig the smell of babies. Spongy flesh, diaper dilemmas and generally baby funk. Like the way some folks enjoy odor of slobber and wet cheerios. After seeing babies on different occasions eat cheerios, I’ve come to the conclusion that cereal is a derivative of baby smell. The way they eat, sloppily shoving individual cereal pieces into their tiny maws is an excellent way to induce nausea to sensitive adults. The smell. Slobber and wet cheerios. Conversely, cheerios remind me of baby slobber, which completely takes the cereal off the market in my eyes. Because infants are precious and necessary to the fabric of life, their odor isn’t a big deal. At least until after breakfast time.
Human body odor must be eliminated. We are close. To commit to this upwardly progressing arc of human evolution, it is imperative to acknowledge kinks in the system. To work out problems in decades that evolution could complete in centuries. Deodorizing the species is key to becoming a happier lot, and more sensitive to the more pleasant scents of this glorious world. An unnecessary feature to the human existence is cut from the equation. Improving public hygiene and awareness of funk is a great way to boost city life. Living in The End Times means that bomb shelters should be stocked with all the essentials a king needs to smell like a leader. When society rebuilds, antiperspirant will be the separating factor between the classes. Better prepare to be on the favorable side.
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August 07, 2010
July 31, 2010
Drill Instructor Gives Tips On Health & Fitness, Constant Masturbation.
by Frankie Richards (embedded on assignment) / Owl's Ghetto Times
Sgt. Phillup Kakritz is hard on his basic training recruits. He flips beds over, messes up their wall lockers, & stomps around breaking things. The mystery of the whole situation is that he has no heart problems. Kakritz, playfully called "Cake-ritz by the new recruits, likes to have his cake and eat it too. He loves to shout and stomp, but the stress does not show up physically. Dr. Don Steinward was available to comment on the instructor's health.
Dr. Steinward remarks, "Phillup is surprisingly healthy for a man of his size and job. He's not very fit because of his weight, and the yelling alone should be able to burst a blood vessel in his heart. He's known for his quick and loud 'Hurry Up(s)!' and his long drawn out chants of 'Re-tard, Retard'. I wish that he would tell me some of his secrets. It's really stressful being in the military."
Sgt. Kakritz- "I gotta stay in shape to take care of these turds, that's why whenever I really yell at somebody I find the nearest broom closet to jerk off in. I think it added 20 years to my life. Not to mention the fact that I can just get off in my pants while I'm yelling at a recruit. If I don't get to see that fear in their eyes I usually have to find a closet to visit. It's just normal to me."
The 5'6" 300lb Kakritz walks slowly away as our interview comes to an end. We now know how our best and bravest are trained by the top instructors.
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July 25, 2010
The Owl's Ghetto Times Pays Respects to Monster Greats... or Else.
Elle Enziguri/Owl’s Ghetto Times
This week, Guinness deemed Saw the most successful horror film franchise of all time. Not only does this indicate an inevitable apocalypse, but that movie audiences have simply lost their way. While Saw can bring in bodies to fill theatre chairs, mindless gore porn is not something to be hailed above the reigning kings of the genre. Enter Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees, the mighty titans of the horror world. Two total badasses that collectively crushed well over two-hundred unfortunate souls. They can never battle one another because, the result would be a stalemate that implodes the planet from crust to core. Let’s take a look at what folks are missing here.
Halloween. 1978 was a glorious year for film, and not just because John Travolta was nominated for an Oscar for Saturday Night Fever. (really?!) Much like Jules Verne founded science fiction, so John Carpenter founded a particular brand of horror cinema. Theatres that year played host and audiences played witness to the birth of the slasher genre, as well as the birth of one of the biggest franchises since James Bond contracted his first set of crabs. Michael Myers is an escaped psychopath that has been locked up after stabbing his sister when he was six. He returns home fifteen years later on Halloween to kill his other sister, who was an infant when he was committed. She and her teenage buddies are in for the worst Halloween night of the 1970’s. Although there was very little blood shown on camera, the brutality of this film is shocking. Through clever lighting and angles, the kill shots are suggested rather than splattered across the screen. A cut throat is simply a shadowed gesture and a sound of a watermelon splitting in half. This classy and understated violence pleases the old-timers in a new era where gore porn is the catch of the day. The older demographic isn’t really receptive to exposed brain matter and jello guts on screen. Unfortunately for that audience, the Halloween II set off down the road toward truly graphic slash-and-maim carnage. Michael Myers’ second joint takes him to a hospital where the entire movie is set. Medical equipment presents a built-in array of weapons and items of torture. Boiled alive in a therapeutic hot tub? Done. Hypodermic needles stuck in the eyeballs? Oh yes. Carpenter’s budget for the second film was much larger, which allowed for quite a bit more creativity with the death scenes. Michael Myers has appeared in ten feature films, and quite literally hammers home his point that he is the greatest humanoid monster on the planet. He stabs, decapitates, strangles and crushes life with stellar posture and quiet grace. But what is most important about Myers is that he is actually scary. Many horror movies showcase bad guys that are likeable and so brutal that it is humorous. Although Chucky is a murderous doll and frightening enough, he’s a one-liner cracking asshole: not exactly flinch-inducing. In the Halloween films, scenes are set up around the idea that Myers could be anywhere, but usually behind you when you’re not looking. The viewer will see just a glimpse of our hero/villain in a mirror, or the reflection off a window pane. The spine tingling, “Oh shit, he’s right behind you!!“ moment happens and we are genuinely scared. This factor makes Myers the perfect franchise anchor because his terrifying appeal doesn’t wane. Michael Myers is the apex predator of the slasher world, like a great white shark that can never be vanquished. He always gets up and is usually three steps ahead of his victims, no matter how fast they run. Michael Myers has a limited back story, which makes his character a blank slate. Because this character is so basic, so completely sparse, the Halloween franchise has a good chance of standing the test of time. In 2007, crackshot director Rob Zombie revived the franchise with remakes of the original first two films. These are days when remakes of classic films are high and horrible. Directors have to be stoned to find a good idea in these stupid “do overs.” The good news, is that Zombie cradled the original concepts and themes in his capable hands. He added about a hundred pounds and twelve inches in height to his Myers, and streamlined the monster into something that might even outrank many comic book baddies. Both films are modern yet respectful of their predecessors. As long as the victims stay stupid and obnoxious, Halloween movies can go on forever. Myers will be there to answer that challenge, if for only one day out of the year. Wait for it.
Friday the 13th. The very first Friday the 13th movie debuted two years after the trailblazing Halloween. Camp Crystal Lake saw a 100% increase in violent mortality that summer of 1980. Jason Voorhees doesn’t actually enter the picture until the second installment, as he avenges his mother’s death from the first film. She was a wicked bitch who racked up a sizable body count of nine teenagers before the credits rolled. Jason is ten times tougher, and is an absolute beast. Though usually preferring the machete (who wouldn‘t prefer such a sensible melee item?), Voorhees has been known to utilize harpoons, pitchforks, spears, competition-grade darts, ice picks and railroad spikes. When a weapon is out of reach, Jason is a master at blunt force trauma. He can burst a skull between his palms without even trying. Not a problem. Camping isn’t the same after seeing a woman bludgeoned seven times against a tree while trapped inside a sleeping bag. Jason is the crowned King of Overkill. He can pack you a knuckle sandwich for lunch that will literally knock your head off. Unlike Michael Myers who likes to kick around his hometown of Haddonfield, Jason has put a few stamps on his bad guy passport. He’s been to Manhattan to destroy a party boat, a half way home, and even caused major damage in space. He can never die because another movie will soon follow. Even after murdering an entire space station and sixty astro-marines, Jason Voorhees finds time to retreat back to his home at the bottom of the lake. He rests until the world again needs riddance of a few shitbird teenagers. He does this not because we love him, but because he’s a total pyschopath with a lust for carnage. Which in turn, makes us love him so much more.
In the wake of these two creatures, it is hard to believe that a knucklehead franchise like Saw can pull a larger crowd. Maybe this fact gives legs to the argument that we’ve evolved into some pretty sick fucks. Perhaps someday the public will return to the embrace of monster psychopaths instead of a wimpy kook with a stupid looking Mardi Gras mask and a toolbox. It’s like inviting Godzilla and King Kong into a room, and asking them to arm-wrestle a drunk Stephen Hawking. I certainly prefer the jocks in this category. By upper body strength alone, Jason or Michael Myers could destroy any of the Jigsaw’s meticulously calibrated machines. Just bust them up. What kind of Saw movie is left when that warehouse looks like a mangled scrap yard? My guys learn no lessons from little tape recorders and puzzles. They do what they know best, which is to kill. And hot damn if they aren’t absolutely marvelous at it. Start up a marathon of either franchise and enjoy terror at its finest.
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July 16, 2010
Rich Ohio Kid Cries After Football Game
By Frankie Richards / Owl's Ghetto Times
Cleveland, OH
Mark Schiltz is a big Ohio State football fan. He goes to all the games and he has all the jerseys and merchandise. Even his dog wears a custom Ohio State Uniform. Mark TIVO's the games that he can't see. He goes to more games than the average fan, and he spreads word constantly about Ohio State and their football program.
We asked Mark why he was so into his Buckeyes. "It's a family tradition" said Mark smiling "My dad loves them and I love them too. My dad actually met my mom at a Buckeyes' game, so you know I can't leave them alone. "
Mark's dad, Patrick, was able to contribute, "Yeah I'm a Buckeyes' fan, but Mark needs to get his grades up. Last year he's been skipping class to go to the team rallies and even to play football on his XBOX. Mark was caught crying after watching a rerun of the Buckeyes losing to another team. I just came home and I looked in the closet and there was Mark bawling his eyes out. The weird thing is that Mark faked a doctor's appointment to stay home and watch it. After he was done crying , I couldn't even say anything to him because he had gone through so much punishment already."
Mark's mom, Brenda, calls Patrick an enabler. "When he cries and bawls about Ohio State" she starts, "Patrick just soothes him and says "don't worry, we'll get them next year." He doesn't even say anything about his grades when he starts crying. We can afford to pay for school so I think Patrick gets sort of mad, but not really."
(Mark Schiltz, pictured above, Holloween 2009)
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Stupid Apocalypse : Part 2: The Crib
by Pablo Adams / Owl's Ghetto Times / Not Affiliated With Owl City, Goddammit
See, rich people are all ready for apocalypse. Of course they have tons of cash for their compounds, underground bunkers, and Moon colonies. Think the world leaders will still be fighting when they are escaping in their space rockets? Of course not. They think it would be cool to watch the world blow up. And why not? They are set up and rich. They have their paper straight. That's why they constantly dare each other to blow up the world. For fun. As for me, I can't even afford my 1920's wind-up Victor Victrola(for when the power is out and I want to play Tupac records.)
On the bright side. You can diversify your locations. Did you know that you can now purchase a lovely home in Detroit for only $56 a month? True ! Sure Detroit is a hellscape. But that is exactly why no one will come to look for you there ! You can hide out with your canned goods and have all the rat and dog meat you can eat. And if things REALLY get bad, you can just jump in the river and swim to ... CANADA ! Taadaa ! It's win-win. (To be continued)
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July 10, 2010
Items of Particular Suckage: A Complainer’s Corner
Elle Enziguri/Owl’s Ghetto Times
Since our article on Items of Particular Interest posted in May, The Owl’s Ghetto Times has received an avalanche of mail requesting further tips and discussion pieces. It seems the venture has proven great success with this summer’s parties. Conversation rolls smoothly and takes interesting turns down intellectual avenues not yet explored. Hopefully ending in the agreement that John Cena really does suck and is the worst wrestler of all time. But that is avenue worth discussing in depth on another day. The point is that the days are growing darker, and sometimes folks need to complain. Heavy shit that glooms up the news like gargantuan pipeline ruptures and a dismal economic situation can send a discussion into mass depression. This is bad business for a party host. Steer conversation toward lighter topics of complaint. Keep the bitchfest mild and loose. Here’s a look at a few items to try.
Wearing Loafers Without Socks. No one wants to imagine a full leather shoe stuffed with a hot foot on a summer afternoon. Without exception, loafers are shoes that require socks. Otherwise, they are the great blister makers, and displaying such a lesion factory is just reckless and gross. Currently, social groups that do this are Cuban pimps and members of Tom Brokaw’s Greatest Generation. I had a boss that indeed wore socks with his loafers, but opted for cotton athletic socks. Conclusion: Fuck loafers. Those shoes make you look like a jackass from every angle.
Jimmy John’s Subs. Worst sandwich establishment since that joint in Childress, TX started serving human bbq on a roll. The signage is beyond the already gracious levels of tolerance for buffoonery. For example, instead of a Help Wanted sign, in the window is a Rock Stars Wanted sign. And to back up the challenge, it seems that Jimmy hires only a staff of knuckleheads straight from a Seth Rogan movie. Different versions of the chubby kid from Super Bad are on call to joke with you, and do a terrible job of making your sandwich. At first it was mildly amusing. I asked for salt and pepper on my sub and when unwrapping it, realized that there were little packets of salt and pepper tucked into the sandwich. Being a sandwich conqueror, I’ve tested a few different joints from the franchise. More of the same. Every Jimmy Johns plays a muzak lineup of hard rock and upbeat jams. Intended to attract rock stars, no doubt. I was there at lunch the other day and the music was quite a bit louder than normal. A gent at another table asked the manager if he would turn it down a notch. The manager replied that he didn’t have the power to turn down the music, that policy dictates it stay at a certain volume while the doors are open. This place was on auto-pilot! Which makes me wonder if the whole sub shop is a front for something more rotten and malicious in nature. The barbeque chips are great though.
The Band Rainbow Without Ronnie James Dio. His recent passing still weighs on my mind, and the best jams are in heavy rotation at my house. Every piece in his lengthy discography is consistently badass. Before joining Black Sabbath in 1979, Dio formed the band Rainbow with Deep Purple’s Richie Blackmore. Or as Blackmore would correct me, “Richie Blackmore’s Deep Purple.” Substantial hard rock was borne from such a collaboration, like this dope cut Man on the Silver Mountain. Although a maestro of epic proportions, Blackmore is also one crazy motherfucker. Take a brief run through Rainbow’s turbulent history at any poolside bbq. Mention that when Dio left the bad for Black Sabbath, it was because Blackmore wanted a departure from Dio’s signature “sword and sorcery” imagery. Dio was not on board for this change and he joined up with an outfit that had just sacked Ozzy Osbourne. Ultimately for Rainbow, losing Dio was a terrible idea, and the band in its later forms resembled a bad Foreigner knockoff. In rock and roll, the only band that should want to sound like Foreigner is the actual band Foreigner. Rainbow totally sucked without Ronnie James Dio. Dish about it.
That should take care of a few topics of particular suckage. Enjoy the rest of this scorchin' summer, but don’t be the bonehead who bitches about the weather. Continue to dazzle the parties with topics of conversation, and the most interesting of complaints. Go get em.
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