Pussy Riot's riot

Oh, what's in a name? Pussy Riot conjures up all sorts of things, almost none of them bad. Oh, if a person tends to be prudish, ok, then pussy is a word hard to handle. Prudish... to each his own!

Pussy Riot is a Russian punk-rock band, now famous for its rendition of the Christ the Savior Putin protest dittie. Now in jail for hooliganism, the trio of young women face possible imprisonment for up to seven years. Seven years!

Members of Pussy Riot,
 Yekaterina Samutsevich (left),
Nadezhda Tolokonnikova (center), and Maria Alyokhina

In a place intolerant of protest and public free speech, seven years is nothing. Start with execution as an alternative and seven years are a walk in the park. New and previously former President Putin will be defined by the ultimate handling of Pussy Riot. There is no chance of a walk out. Imagine if that were to happen... hooliganism will run rampant. On the other hand, a seemingly severe sentence will set back the kindler, gentle Russia back 40 years. What to do?

As with most things, moderation wins the day. From a global perspective, it would be far better to give the ladies a sentence for time incarcerated plus a fine of say... valued at $500 USD each. Critics of the present regime would be silenced. Respect would groundswell. Mr Putin becomes a gracious winner. Indeed, Mr. Putin is so powerful that Pussy Riot's protestations, especially without a rallying cruelty play, will fall on disinterested, bored ears. An egregious sentence will become a flashpoint, not soon to be forgotten. Pussy Riot's riot... umm, now there's a catchy double!

Today, the trial kicked off with pleas of innocence to hooliganism and religious disrespect. Speaking from a metal and plexiglass court cage, the accused declared themselves not guilty. The cage is a nice touch... Most people here in the States don't know much about Pussy Riot. Why should they? With Romney and PObama going at it here and there, with unemployment at a lied 8% and a valueless Congress; about the only thing the Yanks want to do with pussy is eat it. Eat the Pussy!!! Skip the riot.

до свидания

(good bye)

Phelps, Mays and Abernathy

Wondering how it could be... how it could go by so fast. Too bad not so furious. Furious would have been exciting and breathless. But no, not that for him and so many others. Life is simply a flower, a quick bloom surrounded by growing up and slow deterioration a-n-d that's it...it!

Surely he has no gripe. Able to earn always left him able to get it. But somehow on this cloudy, too humid Jersey day, it all seemed so picayune. Picayune? Yeah, like in New Orleans where they call the newspaper The Picayune. Once he went there, but in distinction to here in Atlantic City, the humid heat mainlined him. With his senses forearm shivered - he fucked a tranny named Daphne. She said she was from Key West. Lies are the norm. Drunk, then, he still is not sure whether she had made it all the way across the river going from him to her. But wherever he parked with her, he still remembers wanting to be all the way in when he emptied out. People back then were called hippies.

Time is so fixed and so limited. Sure, when you're a kid life is endless. Back then he used to listen to Francoise Hardy. Her voice, her voice and her hair; so clean and so sexy made him so hard-hard. But that was then... Now things are different. A kid exuberant does not necessarily make a drippy man. Oh back then he was a faucet.

Sometimes ya' gotta' kno' when to throw the towel in. That thought reverberated his skull like a shout in the after school deserted Junior 4 hallway. The memory of #24 Mays, sitting broken and decimated, there in the home dugout at Shea. They say he was ruined by women. Maybe so, the pussy is the single most powerful force on Earth. If there are pussies on Mars, surely, he intuits the power would still be absolute. It's the end of July in the summer of duemila e dodici. Perhaps this bust out day can be blamed on Phelps.

Oh yeah, he was the star of the 2008 Summers. He took China home with him in the suitcase of his eight golds. But he has come back four years later to test London. Any boxer can tell you winning the belt the first time is all there is... Once the mountain is conquered, well, the thrill can never exceed that first time. Besides realization of failure and ignominy can discolor a lifetime, like so much spilled ink on a white linen tablecloth.

The news wires are filled with the fourth place finish. Mr. Phelps has flopped in the 400. No Medal!! Out of MP's first 16 races in Olympic competition, he was awarded 14 golds and two bronzes. He has never zeroed out. The 400 is always a tough race for him, but hope remains for a later medal. The aquatics are a long show. He sweats whether Michael Phelps can come back, for the younger's success is the elder's comeuppance. Funny thing about being a Medicare freak, life becomes increasingly vicarious. Fuck!

But deep in his craw, the turn and twist say Phelps should have retired. After taking 8!!! in Beijing, what could be left other than the red face just achieved. Going out on top, yeah, that is the ticket. Better to die humping a 24 year old hooker, he muses, than exiting with a Swiss cheese liver. Cancer does that, cheeses a person. Aging is cancer.

Abernathy Fitzgerald is a desperate man. Tick-tock is a drone. It fills his ears like so much thick wax, leaving him deaf and dizzy. Unable to see clearly because a deaf man is a blind man. Lose one, lose two. The senses are like that, intertwined like the parts of a highly tuned motor car. Ha!

Once he was a star, too. Everybody gets 15 minutes and some folks get more. The thing is most people don't realize that they are in the sweet spot until after they have departed it. And for some, they think that the dolce will last forever... hah, fools!

Tonight Abernathy Fitzgerald is going to live his life like there is no tomorrow. He's going to drink, gamble and whore. After all, he lives in Atlantic City. No more tomorrows, no more coulda's or woulda's or shoulda's. Maybe he can meet Daphne's grandchild and for a price, he can pretend he in is in the Big Easy instead of the swamps of Jersey. He can relive what he once had. Yeah sure, it can never be as good as the first time... But that was so long ago and off his timeline that firsties can rise anew. There are some advantages of the memory loss of senescence. Hump-hump...

Ciao

Agosto 3, 2012

Hope is ignited. Mr. Phelps has just won his third gold medal of the games with an individual win in the 100 meter fly. One more race tomorrow and his career will end. Indeed! Hey Mr. Abernathy, hang in there!

Agosto 4, 2012

And Phelps did it!!! Swimming the butterfly leg in the 4 x 100 relay, he helped the USA come in first. And so it ends, his last Olympic race (unless he comes back in 2016.) Total  = 22 medals of which 18 are gold!!!

Kill Kirill is a Nyet-Nyet, Fuck Him

Over the top might be the best way to describe FEMEN's latest protest tactics. The Ukrainian based conscience organization is known for using bare chested, mostly attractive, younger ladies as their signature stamp. A brilliant strategy, titties are a sure fire way to get press coverage and images. What price publicity?

While smoking cans and water devices and the like have cropped up as the group does its bidding both at home and elsewhere, violence and its reverberations are not emblematic of the group. Until now FEMEN has recognized that peaceful protest wins more allies in the long run. In addition, the use of aggressive strategies generally lowers the protestors to the same shelf as the protested.

Recently FEMEN took on Euro 2012. No not the playing of football per se, but the sex trade inequities associated with large gatherings of alcohol fueled male dominated events. Perhaps not the best place to play out a protest inasmuch as football is a sacrosanct going-on, the group made its point. The sex business and the sex trade is the world's dirty little secret. But nowhere in their demonstrations did FEMEN "kill", "strangle" or use "guns".

Perhaps the recent Colorada massacre, here in the USA, sensitizes for the moment the gun issue. So to see this image

is upsetting. Indeed! A pretty donna aiming her weapon at... Kirill? you? me? the world? DUCK!!

FEMEN is chafed with Patriarch Kirill I, the leader of the Russian Orthodox Church. The issues involve anti-Ukrainian actions by both the Church and Russia, in general. In particular, the Ukrainians do not want to be ruled by Kirill's Russian Church, but rather want to have their own Ukrainian based religious organization. Keeping in mind the tensions that exist in the now independent Ukraine when it comes to things Russian, such sticking points are unavoidable. Protest... yes, but killing, choking and guns?

Yana Zhdanova*, the FEMEN activist, was wearing the message "Kill Kirill". Harsh and inflammatory, such words stretch speech freedoms. The actual protest was seconds long and ultimately harmless. There was no way Yana was going to reach Kirill as he de-planed. Her goal was achieved as soon as she came into view, topless. Think this event gets any coverage with her clothed? Watch...

Her gambit went international in a jiffy. Awareness about the Ukrainians sensitivities are now much better known than the day before yesterday. Protest is, in reality, an exercise in information dissemination. The goal is to raise the rancor of enough people over the protest point to generate sufficient pressure to impact change.

With the overly agressive use of firearms, bad intentioned gestures and the word "kill", FEMEN has gone too far. Their messages are so well delivered by boobies and beauty, that their foray into more harmful and in-you face strategies will work in the disfavor of the organization. Maybe the old saw of use what works needs to be echoed and reverbbed.

Alright FEMEN, stop with the firearms, the stretched out choke hands and the use of the word KILL. Instead, use the shout-out FUCK! There's a word that works... in more ways than one.

Caio

* it must be pointed out that as Yana approahed the cloth man, she asserted, Free Pussy Riot. A protest musical group, Pussy Riot is imprisoned for a Putin protest performance... see more... http://www.pplume-blog.com/2012/07/pussy-riot-riot.html

Alex Morgan Gets 2 (more)

The USA Women's Olympic Soccer Team took France 4-2. Yeah, took 'em after spotting them 2 goals... In a year when it's gold or nethin', sore to speak, the Yanks got off to a good start despite a shaky first 15 minutes...

Alex Morgan, who redefines the meaning of "13", scored two of the four goals. Really, no surprise... she is one of those rare breed of athletes called a closer. Indeed...

... Wambach scored in the 19th, Morgan in the 32nd, Lloyd in the 56th and Morgan again in the 66th. Wambach now has 139 international goals in her pursuit of Mia Hamm's record of 158, and 23-year-old "Baby Horse" Morgan — the second-youngest player on the team — has a remarkable 19 this year alone.  http://www.clarionledger.com/article/20120725/SPORTS/120725023/USA-women-s-soccer-team-beats-France-4-2-opens-London-Olympics-2012-schedule?odyssey=tab|topnews|text|Home

The USA plays Columbia on Saturday... can't wait! Goooooo....

Ciao

August 6, 2012

And 1More

Today, Alex scored the game winning goal in a highly contested semi-final round match against Canada!!! Team USA plays Japan for the gold medal on Friday 2:45 EDT.

Go USA

A Diamond of a Porner

It used to be that being a porner was less than an honorable profession. No more! Porners are upfront and stylish. Cool beyonds words. Something to aspire to, here in the States and prolly the rest of the world too?

Now for folks over 30 or 35 or 40 or some age, the porn passion fades like faux diamonds. But the old get on and die and the young move on up so the future for porn protagonists is high in intensity. So, in this vein, here are a few snaps of Skin_Diamond. Maybe she is Egyptian and maybe not... Born in Nevada and raised in Scotland, well, she is interesting!! A rising star, she...

Whaddya think?

daverro una bella fica

(indeed a beautiful pussy)

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Paterno Down!

Yikes! Penn State is joe scared.Well at least the officials, who have authorized the Joe take down. Paterno's  900 pound statue outside the beloved gridiron is coming down. Right now... Workers have chain linked the immediate area around the iconic imagery and have blocked the streets around the access to the statue. Now covered in a blue tarp, they treat it as if it is dead. A corpse.

It looks like its ground firma by only a foot. Any beefy lineman would be able to fell it with a shiver. Many say good riddance to the child molester one degree separated. Others are upset. They think Joe and his family should be revered for their contributions to the University. Do football wins, a great athletic program and dollar contributions adequately balance Joe's now pinned on molestation conspiracy? Molestation of kids is no small matter...

Imagine the shit storm now in place... Louis Freeh done some digging and found out that JoPa covered up Jerry Sandusky's carnal knowledges of boys. Freeh vetted Penn State like a butchered Keystone hog and he unloaded more sty offal than could be expected. The other perpetrators, well, who cares? The public gist of Freeh's work was all about Joe Paterno. Paterno the swine.

A pity... There is NO evidence whatsoever Joe did the deeds attributed to the felon Sandusky. Remember Paterno is a molester one degree away. The imputation is that he knew and should have known about the defilements. More, JoPa had an OBLIGATION to stanch the travesties. MERELY reporting the diddles up the line was INADEQUATE. If the official above him in the sordid chain of PSU command balked, Joe had a duty to call the cops, the feds, President Obama or somebody who would STOP Sandusky. C'mon, what was the old man thinking?

By the time Joe gave it up to lung cancer he was ruined. Sadly there is ruined and then there is RUINED. The removal of his statue is the icing on the cake of of depersonalization. Soon the name Paterno will be treated like Lenin after his erasure from Russian history. But like Lenin, Joe will resurface in time in kinder, gentler light. But sometime such a reincarnation cannot ever bring a person back to whole.

Jay Paterno has been mum so far, but he will surface soon. Will he run the party line? Probably. He has no choice. Kiddie abuse is not ever go win the day of counterpunch. But inasmuch as the Paterno name is now non grata in Happy Valley, Jay has little to lose in telling it the way it is. This play-out is not likely. The high road is always better long term...

Mr. Sandusky has brought Penn State to its knees. Doubtless he is a sick-o in a society which reprobates adults sexing with kids. Who would have ever thought his degenerate behavior would have ever sent out a tsunami of this proportion? As the Joe Paterno tumbles, so does so much else.

JOE

now nothing!!

Packin' in Aurora CO

Now the issue of packin' has come to the front of the line, again. Every time a gun violent act suffuses the news like a San Francisco fog, the right, er, the need to pack sweeps over America. As well it should. Billy Britt is going to lay it out, straight, People need to pack!

No not kids, say less than 16 or maybe 18. After all, some level of maturity needs to be achieved before a person can pack with any expectation of responsibility. OK, says Britt, 14 in cities with populations of over 250,000. Billy intuits that kids are more street smart in bigger cities and arguendo know more about packin', one way or the other. He has a point...

Sure, some would argue that no one should pack. Ah, pie in the sky always offers a treacle tongue. But there is absolutely no chance that there will ever be no packin' in America. Ha! Ever hear of the Second Amendment, fool? Packin' is as USA as the damn pie.

Brittie has concluded that as long as there is an America people will pack. To complicate matters, often the people least capable of responsible packin' pack. More or less, the folks who shouldn't pack are much more likely to be packin' than the good people of the world. Which, of course, renders the possibility for harm to the good by the less good likely.

So in an effort to level the playing field, Billy Britt of Malaga NJ has a few bullet points of thought:

• like police, all citizens should be holstered and armed
• lightweight Glocks are nice
• unlike police, citizens must always be on duty and packin'
• civil and criminal disagreements settled by mutual gunfire or anticipated mutual gunfire are punishable by fines not to exceed $100
• unilateral and/or unprovoked use of a firearm leading to physical harm may incur a criminal sentence (depending on the state laws)
• all citizens are required to take target practice monthly
• for nursing home residents and other invalids such practices may been held on site and from the bed
• assault rifles are not for regular citizen use unless a permit is acquired (Billy knows permits are currently a joke and will remain so, but he is throwing this in to calm the gun haters)
• citizens cannot fire their pistols into the air for fear of hitting innocents when the bullets return to Earth
• any gun play out of auto windows must be sanctioned by the American Rodeo Association; guns and cars are not generally a good mix, hence some special regs are needed...

Billy has more bullets, but he has a limited attention span. He has ADHD and he is out of Adderall. Unfortunately, his doctor, V. Cyril Lipscomb, was shot and killed two days ago by another ADHD patient. The slayer, Roswell Pinker, was overdosed on Adderall. During his office visit to discuss his excitability, he thought Dr. Lipscomb was going for his (the doctor's) firearm as the medico was reaching for his (the doctor's) crotch to see if he zippered up after # 1ing. Pink, jacked as he was, pulled out his gat and took Vincent out with a head shot.

Consequently, Billy cannot get a ready refill without V. Cyril. Oh, Pinker will be fined $100. True, the Doc never pulled out his gun, but Pinks erratic behavior will be deemed the fault of the over prescribing doctor. (Dr. Lipscomb was 65 and "thinnable", making his death less of a societal loss.) In a packin' society, hand moves to the belt line and the nether regions need to to be taken with due circumspection.

Just imagine, Billy opines to a guy standing in front of him in a Dunkin' Donuts coffee queu. ... if everybody in that movie house in Colorado was packin'... Yeah as soon as that jerk-off James Holmes did his shit with the gas cannister, all three hundred people would have unloaded their vigs right at him. Body armor or not, he woulda been Swissed. Dead Swissed. Woulda served him right!

Fred Griskas, the guy in front of Billy, got nervous. Hearing this kind of talk before his morning Joe was more than he could handle. Fred had his first homosexual experience a few nights back and he was in turmoil. Feeling another guy's pee-pee explode still was making his right hand tingle. To feel another person orgasm, be they the same or the opposite sex, is one of life's unique experiences. Yet, Fred was guilt ridden and jumpy. Billy's wacky talk forced him to reflexly extend his still unwashed hand towards his firearm. Bad move!

John Holmes was packin' too

Without Grisky actually reaching the handle of his weapon, Billy short circuited. Fred looked like an untrustworthy Arab to Billy. Being already suspicious and under medicated, Fred's move was enough for double B to de-holster his .357 and unload six quick blasts into the faux Middle Easterner's kidneys. The charges shred him like sandwich lettuce. Worse yet, three of the missiles hit the widow Pentermeister after leaving Fred. She was in line ahead of the oiler to buy donut holes for her dog, Chooch. Lucky for Chooch, Sarah lived on with her permanent colostomy. For the widow Griskas, it was a bad day, but at least she will never learn that Fred liked guys.

The double D cameras will clearly show Fred going for his weapon. Going for the weapon will be deemed the same as an attempted grievous use and hence the pharmaceutically out-of-balance Billy will be fined the only civil maximum of $100 (it would be less if Fred had not died.)

Just imagine if Billy hadn't been packin'? Just imagine if Fred hadn't been packin'? Just imagine if Sarah were sharp enough to have unloaded her weapon into Billy? into Fred? And into all of the donuts on all of the racks behind the counter? Swiss donuts?

Just imagine if everyone in that Century 16 movie house in Aurora CO was packin'? They would have leveled James Holmes before he killed 12 people and wounded 58 more... Sure, he may have gotten a few rounds off, but he would have been stopped dead by the good people of the world before things got completely out of hand... Indeed!

keep packin'

Joker James Holmes

Fatty on a Plane

Say it, the brain prompts... Say it! OK, OK. "You are too fucking fat." There, there, she said it. Echoing, YOU'RE TOO FUCKING FAT!!!!!!!

What the fuck? The middle row is bad enough, but having to sit with a cloak of adiposity covering the right half of her body was insane. Plus he stunk. He, the fat boy, Alfred Espinoza was 30 plus stone. At 62 inches high and 57 inches wide, he was almost square. A near square with a pimple head. Pimple.

Sally Feiman would have been a blue blood but for her Jewishness. Without much passion and her Wonder food tastes, she was a Mayflowerer in spirit. Touching was always a problem. Never, ever naked, she showered in a bikini for fear of Evan seeing her. With that profile, imagine her reaction to the flood of fat off her starboard.

Evan Evans had hookers about once a week. Who could blame him? At least he got to see their titties and snatches. He has been saving to cobble together $3000. Already in contact with Kacey Jordan, he is going to do her skinny-ass when she tours Chicago in September. Her rate is three grand, cash! Shit!! Charlie Sheen paid her thirty grand, if that is any consolation!!!

Sally makes what could be called good money as a mid level ad executive for Google. Yup, that Google. Efficient and smart, her low estrogen and even lower testosterone levels are her only encumbrances. But lots of people are like that. Asexual and making $160 grand a year. For example, check out your US senators.

On her way to meet hubby Evan in Florida, the pale, pink nippled blonde just made it on this Delta flight out of Atlanta. She was awarded the last seat. What a joke. Estrus should have been compelled to buy two seats, but the checking agent was as ponderous as him. Fat people never think that they are as disgusting as reality. Denial is a great defense and birds of a feather...

"I'm so sorry. I have a glandular condition." offered Echevarria.

"Ohhh...I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by my outburst." Sally was always meek and a sucker for a medical story. A glandular condition, oh... Her Aunt Gladys Postlewaite had gland problems, wherein she produced too little of the hormone leptin. Fat, like Esperanza, she had lost all hope as she hit thirty stone. Thirty stone is 420 pounds!

An interesting thing happened on that short hop to Tampa. It has to do with the pluripotential nature of the lipocyte. The fat cell has amazing promise. It is a utility infielder, able to take on the roll of any other cell. Muscle, cardiac, hepatic, pancreatic, neural - any cell. Most people don't know that. Surely if they did, the products of a liposuction would be in high demand and worth a ton (he-he).

Lipocytes secrete short segments of DNA in oils. Small amounts, but when the cells are stuffed like peppers with fat, the secretory products increase. Evaporative, the cell stuff vaporizes off of the skin. That grumous material plus the skin bacteria give the obese person that fetching smell. Esterhaus was sending out segments, which increase the production of the sex hormones. The morbids all have different profiles, kind of like vampires. If ever somebody gets lipocytes to make a cure for baldness...

Eppinger always had his way with women and men. Although of no obvious appeal he has had over 800 sex partners. Through the years, Edge never understood why folks came onto to him. If for no other reason than this, he never really considered himself anything less than hot. The unknown trump card was in the way his fat sweat made people turn on. Epps had no clue...

Somewhere over northern Florida, Sally Strumpet got wet. Real wet! And for no apparent reason. She had no idea the fat Eclair next to her had juiced her. Being so close, with skin contact, Sally took a mainstream boost. While she remained disgusted with Ellerby in principle, somehow she began to think about his cock. She smiled when she imagined coaxing the turtle head out of its fatty foreskin. If she didn't think otherwise, she might have concluded she was horny.

It was quite a show as she climbed over him to aisle up. Feral Sally had developed so much pelvic pressure that she wanted to pee, Walking aft, she felt like her brains had gone south. As she pulled her old lady panties down, the wet was there, in the crotch. A clump of woman juice, the sight of which she had never seen in her life, greeted her. Her shaved pussy glistened.

Does a person join the mile high club with self gratification? Welcome Sally then... By the time she made it back to 21B, Eckersly pretty much had filled her seat. Somehow she didn't mind. It was almost as if she wanted to jump into his sea of pleasure. She didn't wash her hands...

Neither Sally nor Epsom exchanged another word. She met Evan at the carousel. They greeted like marrieds. That is, until he recoiled, "What is that smell? Both repulsed and oddly alerted, Sally looked different to him. Without answering him, she pushed his crotch. Hard, he was. No words, she marshalled him towards a family rest room, Pushing the door open and pulling him in, she locked them in.

Naked in a minute, she stood without shame. Evans was aghast and agape and dripping with excitement. This was something out of his dream world. She took all of him and she could have taken more. A loose, wet vajayjay is e-l-a-s-t-i-c. She ejaculated a clear slightly sticky, slippery cum right before he dittoed. Too bad this new Sally won't last. That is, unless Sally figures it out. Or she continues to fly Delta... with Ebsen all over her.

Ciao

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