
Or I could actually GET ON WITH WHAT I’M MEANT TO BE DOING.

Or I could actually GET ON WITH WHAT I’M MEANT TO BE DOING.
A heartwarming ‘Forces’ story from the Sun:
Luke, a 22-year-old lance corporal, was on patrol in Nad-e-Ali in Helmand when an insurgent’s bullet hit his body armour and ricocheted into his face.It tore into his cheek, broke his jaw and came out through his mouth.
Mum Kim, of Torquay, Devon said: “He knows he’s very lucky but he’s trying to play down his injury.”

Wowing the crowds at this year’s Farnborough International Air Show is “The Bloodhound SSC” (where SSC is short for SuperSonic Car). The Bloodhound team are aiming “to confront and overcome the impossible using science, technology, engineering and mathematics”, by which I think they mean “to achieve the possible…”
I have to admit, the car looks pretty snazzy:

Snazzy yes, but SuperSonic? No. It turns out that what’s been wowing the crowds isn’t the Bloodhound SSC itself. It’s a model. The Bloodhound SSC doesn’t exist. They’re just hawking for backers. The latest, according to the Bloodhound Team is that: “50% of the fuselage build now secured thanks to key product sponsor Hampson Industries”. All that exists right now is a snazzy model. And a sales pitch. Which makes me think that I should be over in Farnborough wowing the crowds and rattling a tin myself, with my design for the UltraSpeedMAX-FLASH, a wave-powered supercar that can do 10,006 mph. Check it out:

Damn, I forgot to label the leather driving wheel. Oh, and a should say, 50% of the leather driving wheel funding is now secured.
According to Yahoo!, “Trending now” are:
* 1. Cheryl Cole
* 2. Louis Oosthuizen
* 3. Paris Hilton
* 4. India train crash
* 5. Inception
* 6. Zsa Zsa Gabor
* 7. Big Society agenda
* 8. Job centre
* 9. Justin Bieber
* 10. Weather forecast
Oh my. I’ve gone all giddy. I’ve got butterflies (like it was in those early days with Armin Meiwes). I’ve fallen in love again, and this time it’s with Stuart V. Goldberg — the criminal trial attorney, author and screenwriter, who has just become Lindsay Lohan’s new lawyer (having, I presume, just finished representing the ghost of Liberace in the Case of the Rewired Sunbed):

Immediately do this – go to his website, and watch his video, in which he explains how he grew up in fear of an exploding water tower, how he taught “ediquamentally handicapped kids” (?? – it’s a word I’m not familiar with), and how he yearned to represent the “have nots” as a lawyer.

The video explains how lawyering wasn’t feeding Goldberg’s soul in the right way, so he sat down and wrote “for 568 days straight”, and produced his novel, The One and Only. But how? How did he manage to create such a masterpiece…?
“and it was this Leonardo de Vinci moment. They asked him ‘how did you make those statues?’ and he said ‘I just put my hands in the clay and they came out’.”
I think that’s roughly how he applies his make-up in the morning.
This is Goldberg musing over his typewriter (which, if it’s not in the Smithsonian by now, surely must be on its way):

And here he is, looking every inch the trustworthy defence attorney:

Stuart V. Goldberg. Top trial lawyer by day, top romantic thriller author first thing in the morning. And by night…?
From the BBC: “Tony Blair has met nine children named after him during a visit to Kosovo.” I had no idea Supercilious Cunt was such a popular Kosovan name.
The good news today is that Sakineh Mohammadi Ashtiani isn’t going to be buried up to her shoulders and stoned to death by Iranian men nursing erections: Iran woman escapes stoning death for adultery
Good news for the condemned and her family, not such good news for the people who had been looking forward to a good braining. And bad news for the Iranian justice system, which is showing that it can’t even stick to its own medieval principles. Simply cancelling the stoning is no good. Where’s the dignity in that? In other words, it’s not just Sakineh Mohammadi Ashtiani who needs a way out of this…

The punishment of stoning needs to be updated to fit with the times. Having a frothing mob hurl rocks at a woman half-buried and yelling until her eyes fall out is a process of law which means well, obviously, but it needs to be given a modern gloss. There should still be a place for cockstraining mob violence, for the S&M style semi-burial, for the hurling of rocks or “semen substitutes” as some people like to call them, and for the ancient and noble act of stoning to stay on the statute books where it belongs.
Let’s work with what we’ve got. The current stoning law states that: The stones used must be large enough to cause the condemned pain, but not sufficient to kill immediately. So, if we honour the desire not to cause immediate death, and extend the concept of pain to include annoyance & irritation, we can see a way forward…
“Stoning” can become “gritting“.
The condemned adulterer or ankle-flasher should be buried up to the shoulders, as before, wailing and yelling to retain the authentic sense of impending mob horror, but the excited pack of justice dispensers should be given fistfuls of grit:

Or better – rock dust:

Still technically “stones”, still irritating for the condemned to have bits of rock dust in their hair, it might even sting a little on their cheeks, still unlikely to cause immediate death, still a public shaming ritual, still charmingly medieval in its format, and yet thoroughly modern in its mode of execution. And the aching fury of a repressed cock posse can be vented without uproar in the international community. Death by eye injury can be avoided by allowing the condemned eye protection — as modelled here by the Iranian president himself:

And death by sunstroke can be avoided by having one of the baying mob hold a parasol over the condemned until the punishment of “gritting” was done and dusted — something like what we see here, in a behind-the-scenes photo from the movie Caligula:

So there we have it. Mob justice with a modern twist. Everyone’s a winner!
The G-word has been at it again. Mel Gibson has been letting off a bit of racist steam near a tape recorder. This is from Huff Post (quoting an article on radaronline):
His abusive and disgusting rant was caught on audio tape and includes a wish that the mother of his infant daughter be “raped by a pack of [N-words]”
– now is it just me or does that seem an impossible muddle of language. Do “N-words” travel in packs? Can an N-word rape? Raped by a word. Mel Gibson didn’t say “N-word”. (Imagine if he did: it would be a kind of PC-racism). What I find strange (from my sofa in the UK) is that they can’t simply star the offending word, like they do c*nt (sorry, c**t) in the very next sentence:
Mel also calls Oksana a whore and a c**t while their baby screams in the background…
What about “n*****”? Which is at least closer, typographically, to what Mel yelled. Or “N*****” if you want to serious-up the insult with a capital. (Did Mel yell it with a capital? He seems to have, judging from “N-words”. But is the capitalization paying too much respect to the insult? Does it make it more insulting…?)
Also, “whore” is neither given an asterisk or the ultimate honour of a W-word contraction. Same with “rape”. Is rape not offensive? Why not R-worded by a pack of N-words? Or raped by an N-bomb. Mel didn’t said “N-bomb” as much as he said “N-word”. And being raped by a bomb seems somehow nastier, and truer to the nastiness of the original yelling.
I used to want to shout and die, to stamp on sharpened pencils out of shame for the human race whenever I saw Justin Bieber throw his way-cool V sign:

*SHUDDER*
But then I realised, the only reason he was V-ing the world the whole time was because his fingers were all crampled up from playing with his Sooty puppet. Poor little lad.

Or I could think about Allen Kruse, charter boat captain being ‘trained’ by BP to skim for oil.
His business had come to a screeching halt after the April 20 oil spill.
About 7 a.m., after a BP training meeting, he climbed into the wheelhouse of his 46-foot charter boat and ended his worry, his frustration and his anger with a single bullet to the head.
“Nothing was easy working with BP. Everything was hard, and it consumed him. He wasn’t crazy,” said his wife, Tracy, 41, sitting outside the couple’s home in Foley on Thursday.
“You know, I don’t think he was even thinking about his family,” Tracy said. “I think he wanted out of the chaos and what he called ‘madness’ of the whole thing.”
The only person on Earth with a bigger head than Sebastian Horsley has died…

Image manipulation: author’s own.
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