I won't even attempt to psycho-analyze anything here. Suffice it to say, some son of a gun will certainly not kill himself and will continue to smear fecal matter onto any such signs that suggest he commits suicide.
Let me suggest, however, that it may be possible we are dealing with the poo fairy. The poo fairy is a magical being. Often, he visits bathroom stalls to deposit merry gifts of poo. Most of the time, setting his joyous gift within the porcelain bowl is good enough. Sometimes, though, he wants to spread the cheer by leaving it on the seat, on the floor, and — yes — on bathroom signs.
If ever you find the poo fairy, be sure to greet him with a happy show of flatulence. Then he shall be on his way to deliver gifts to bathrooms stalls all over the world.
The Army of God's claim to fame is that Paul Jennings Hill — one of their leaders — killed an abortion doctor. Ironically, Paul Jennings Hill died via lethal injection — proving once and for all that a suitable punishment for murder is the death penalty. Most anti-abortionists understand the inconsistency of using murder to decry murder and have therefore denounced the Army of God.
If you are curious, though, about what provokes the Army of God to do the things they do, check out their their website. Here you will discover wall-to-wall Bible verses, dozens of pictures of aborted babies, and hellfire GIFs — all accented by orange and yellow fonts on a black background.
And what have I learned through my tour through this website? That the easiest way to make a profound statement is through repetition, repetition, repetition. When all else fails, use a slogan. Then marvel at your superior reasoning.
Have you ever read something so absolutely disturbing, it makes wonder how human beings can ever reach new heights of depravity? I know that is somewhat surprising coming from me as much of what I write is devoted to truly shocking things. Every so often, though, you see something that makes you realize that humanity seems to always find new ways of performing evil.
Check out Danny William Dove, pictured above, a truly despicable man if there ever was one. I, for one, am truly glad he was immediately removed from society.
For nearly four years, a South Carolina man held his wife and two sons captive in a house infested with maggots and human waste, authorities said.
The boys slept on a bare mattress as their mother was kept in a drug-induced stupor in a house that was decrepit except for a tidy one-room illegal gambling parlor run by Danny William Dove, police said.
Police found maggots infesting the refrigerator. Human waste and used toilet paper littered the bathroom floor, and the house smelled like a dead animal, according to police photographs and authorities who visited the home after Dove was arrested this week.
There's more to it than that. Both sons are not socialized enough to speak proper English. The only words they can speak clearly are cuss words because that's all they were accustomed to hearing. Suffice it to say, they never had the luxury of interacting with any human beings save their mom and dad.
Who knows what damage this man's performed in these boys' lives. They may quite possibly never adjust as functioning human beings. How will this experience impact their adult lives? I shudder to think of their futures.
Yuck. But apparently baby dills seeped in Kool-Aid is popular in the Mississippi Delta region. I call this an abomination. Unfortunately, it's too late to stop it. The Kool-Aid pickle has claimed the lives of many.
Even Kraft (who owns the trademark on Kool-Aid) is shocked.
Upon learning of the pickles, Bridget MacConnell, a senior manager of corporate affairs at Kraft, recovered, and then pronounced, “We endorse our consumers’ finding innovative ways to use our products.”
The video above is of a presumably fake exorcism done by a Candomble priest trying to save his client from the "Stone's curse" — whatever that is. I'm noticing a few elements I've found to be requisite with my own experiences.
Some time ago, I had a friend who was exorcised by Bob Larson — perhaps one of the most arrogant individuals I've ever met. His willingness to be exorcised by Mr. Larson, I believe, was because he himself had some personal problems and at the time it was easier to say demons were causing it rather than some other factors. One month after he had been "delivered", my friend wanted me to go to Mr. Larson's live meetings so I could find out myself about the authenticity of these exorcisms. Reluctantly, I agreed. That night is one of my more memorable experiences.
Sitting in the audience, I discovered folks who were actively looking to be exorcised. This wasn't like the movies where the demon-infested body wreaks havoc upon the innocent thereby forcing an exorcist to arrive. These people were looking to be cured of something. People with cancer were hoping to get the cancer-causing demons out of their bodies. Homosexuals were hoping to get their gay spirits out of them. Victims of rape or childhood trauma were hoping — literally — to cast out the evil in their lives.
One by one, an endless stream of raspy-voiced personalities from otherwise well-behaved folk would spew obscenities. Bob would threaten them with the power of the Bible. There would be shrieking and hollering and crying. Whatever could be said, Mr. Larson was a consummate showman and these people were putting on display before a live audience their innermost secrets.
After about an hour of this, Bob Larson with microphone in hand, before a crowd in which he could do no wrong, walked up to me. Why he walked up to me, I don't totally know but it seemed as though he wanted my opinion on things.
"Someone told me you're a skeptic. What do you think of everything now?" he asked.
"Well, I'm open-minded," I replied, "But things may not necessarily be as they seem."
"If you can't see with your eyes that all this is real, you're a bigger fool than you look," he retorted. The audience laughed. Red-faced, I was about to give him a piece of my mind but by that time, he moved on.
My story does not end there. After his big exorcism bash, an older lady approached me. Apparently, I had the demon of confusion living in me. I stood there stunned as she attempted an exorcism — not knowing how exactly to tell her that my opinion was not the result of an evil demon. Finally, after futilely realizing no demon was coming out, she asked simply if she could pray for me. I obliged simply so this whole embarrassing situation would end.
Herein lies my perspective on exorcism and why people seek it out and also how it can do great damage to an individual. Most times I've observed people want exorcism because they can't reconcile the traumatic circumstances of their life with who they actually are as a person. They don't believe they could have had a direct cause in their own personal crisis or that it is caused by natural inanimate factors. It's an evil external force that is creating these conditions and they have to confront this force.
Unfortunately, this perspective may be too simplistic. As was the case of the woman who sought to deliver me from the demon of confusion, she could not imagine that I could arrive at my own thoughts of my own accord. Since the truth of Bob Larson's work was so apparently true to her, how could I have ever thought otherwise except through the influence of a demon? I wasn't a person to relate to, I was a repository of devilish activity.
In the end, my experience with exorcism is an extreme example of what happens when people cease to interact with others as human beings and instead are problems to be solved. That, I believe, is a bloody shame.
Just another thing to give kids to watch if they start complaining that you're not as cool as Grandma. Sure, Grandma may give you some cookies and let you stay up later, but what you do not know is her dirty secret. She has a long, curvaceous horn growing out of her forehead to further enunciate her evil.
But do not be afraid of the horn. Without that horn, you wouldn't have been born. So go on. Give her a kiss.
If you do not give her a kiss, though, you shall face her wrath. She shall destroy you with her fiery gaze and morph into something more insidious. In the end, this isn't so much about the horn as it is about the power derived from the horn and the great evil thereof.
Oh. My. God. Whatever advantages this woman may have in being without pants is rendered null and void by the dog that is strategically placed in front of her. And there's much to like about this woman too. She's got a nice figure, a nice smile, and nice tattoos. All that goes to hell by the dog — that evil, evil pug.
In truth, after I saw this pic I wanted to immediately forget it. However, I thought I'd pass on this repulsion onto you. Forgive me for the burning in your eye sockets.
I remember in 2001, my parents were remodelling the bathroom. What they needed was a door. They didn't need anything fancy. All they wanted was something that was sturdy and would open and shut. So they went to a salvage yard. I forget the name of the company they obtained the door from, but I believe it was something quite generic like "K&Y Salvage Ltd." or something like that. I remember my mother recalling that they came in on the day one of the owners, David, was going about his business. The door cost $50.
For one week straight, my mother was raving about this fantastic door. What a great deal. It was really sturdy and looked pretty fine. Whenever a visitor came over, she'd show the guest the bathroom door and remark how everything was framed just right. In a sense, this is my mother's way as she is one to constantly look after her home.
Around this time, I recall a little bit of outrage in the Downtown Eastside, but nobody I know really cared. They were complaining about some disappearing hookers, and about police inaction. I remember shrugging my shoulders. That's what hookers did, they disappeared. That was my simple opinion at the time.
Then one day, I read the newspaper about how, on a routine weapons check, police decided to apprehend a pig farmer based on certain suspicious circumstances. It seems as though one of the missing women's personal items were found in the pig farmer's home. This pig farmer's name is Willie Pickton, and within days, it was revealed that Willie was responsible for not just this woman's disappearance but perhaps 50 of them.
More details emerged. There were bone shards found on his farm. He fed the women to his pigs. The pigs were then sold to the public for public consumption and several people I know were unsure if the bacon they ate had in turn ate the flesh of a dead prostitute.
My mom then told me the door they bought was from a business owned by Willie Pickton and his brother. The brother's name was David, the man my mother briefly met at the salvage yard. Over dinner, she wondered aloud about what other products she unknowingly may have bought from the serial murderer. Unsurprisingly, we did not eat any pork that night and since then I have not been able to eat pork at all.
A year and a half later, we moved out of that house. We did not take down the door. For all I know, the current owners may still be using that door.
You see, while I knew no missing women, I learnt very vividly that we all are affected by inhumane actions. Whenever I looked at that door, I couldn't help but be reminded of the women society tossed by the wayside only to be skinned and have their body tossed haphazardly to the pigs. Every time I heard that door creak, I remembered the cries of drug-addled women who still deserved better than their fate.
I finally understood that prostitutes don't just disappear.
I wonder how many people were thinking the same thing I was thinking when I originally saw this pic. Damn, that newscaster resembles that rapist quite a bit. It is uncanny how much they look alike. I wonder how many people thought the newscaster was the rapist. Was the television station inundated with calls?
Poor fellow. He cannot help that his lookalike is a rapist. I have no doubt he's probably salt of the other. It's too bad his evil twin ended up on the news he broadcast.
