Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Quote of the Damn Day from a Web Site for Peter Berlin

This shit made me laugh.

Beginning in the early 1970s, Peter Berlin created groundbreaking gay iconic imagery, first as a street persona in New York and San Francisco, then as a filmmaker and photographer. Since that time, Berlin's films, photography, and artwork have been exhibited and admired the world over. [Not this part--keep reading.]

Perhaps the most unusual and unique aspect of Berlin's work is its narcissism—he served as his own photographer and model, rarely allowing others into the frame. The results are stunning, sexy, and classic.

It's sort of what I do here--rarely allow others into the frame. It's my blog, bitch!

Besides, with junk like Peter has, no other bitches really fit in the damn frame anyway.

Peter Berlin trivia: What was Peter Berlin's real name? [Answer below.]

Armin Hagen Freiherr von Hoyningen-Huene. [Fuck me. This shit makes Rumpelstiltskin look like Smith or Jones.]

[Hat tip to SB's friend and idol, West Hollywood Voyeur, for introducing me to Peter. Laugh.]

Uhhhmmmmmm, Okay

Cranky Posts

I want to say sorry to my blogging audience. My posts have been a little bit more crankier than I am use to. You would think that I would be use to the remote torture by now, but apparently not.

I think it’s easy at times to take the anger that is meant for the douchbag snitches out on others at times, and for that I am sorry.

Something about the torture that targets go through and that need for understanding at times is just vital. I do get a bit angry when people don’t get it and treat my life like it’s some fun little joy ride, like I am here blogging, cause it’s some fun little past time.

This week they used something that was remotely capable of fibulating my heart, now they are back to using heat for confirming my location in my home. Heat which is capable of causing body burns.

For me personally if others can’t understand this, or get this, then really it does not do me a lot of good. Right now I do need understanding. People to understand what is happening. I do believe that people who genuenly care about you, open themselves up to understanding, and they find a way to get it. Others never will, and that’s ok. This is not the type of targeting that I really want others to get, but at other times that understanding is almost vital for survial.

So again if I am angry, cranky, it’s the informants that I really want to direct my negative emotions towards, and not anyone else, so I can only try to work at placing the anger where it belongs, and work to get past it like I usually do. For those around me, I can only hope that they come to some sort of understanding of my circumstances.

Las Vegas Woman Missing for Four Months Found Dead Under a Pile of Junk in Her Own Damn House

Unbelievable. Only in America, folks.

Do you think shit like this is an indictment of our overly materialistic culture? I sure as hell do.

You can't take it with you, but it sure as fuck might take you with it.

Link to story:

More Photos of Peter McColl at Charley Project

Please take a look at these photos.

Link: http://www.charleyproject.org/cases/m/mccoll_peter.html

Suzan McColl's Son Is Missing

"I look for him all the time in my daily life -- in crowds, at airports, on street corners in Seattle. Tall, slender figures with long, brown curly hair often get a second look or even a U-turn if I'm driving. Young men playing guitar for spare change. Strangers who walk a certain way on the street outside my kitchen window. It's almost subconscious now, like a sixth sense, having this radar operating. And I think all parents of missing kids must do this. I am realistic about the possibility that he is dead, but I fully believe he is more likely to be alive, living in another identity, for reasons only he and God know. And one day while I am working in my garden he will open the gate and say, 'Mom, it's me, Peter'."

I sincerely hope you are right, Mrs. McColl. God bless you in your search.

Anybody who likes Whitman is a friend of mine.

Link to story on Peter McColl, who has been missing for 15 years.

There is nothing that breaks my heart more than a parent looking for a missing child.

Boorish Quote Translation

Boorish Quote:

I now bid farewell to the country of my birth - of my passions - of my death; a country whose misfortunes have invoked my sympathies - whose factions I sought to quell - whose intelligence I prompted to a lofty aim - whose freedom has been my fatal dream.
--Thomas Francis Meagher

SB Translation: A bitch is blowing this cracker-ass shithole of a country.

NEW SB Feature! Boorish Quote Translation

Boorish Quote:

And queenly is the state she keeps, In beauty's lofty trust secure.
--William Allen Butler

SB Translation: Bitch is fine.

You're welcome.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Mick Jagger Was Right (But His Old Ass Still Needs to Retire and Have Some Decorum and Shit)

The Rolling Stones played Dayton, Ohio, years ago (when they were young and not a bunch of old wrinkled ugly prunes), and in between songs, Mick Jagger said, "Fuck you, Dayton!" Fucker went on to expound upon how much his skinny ass HATED Dayton, Ohio. Of course the damn Daytonians were so dumb, they ate it up. Those fucking assholes went crazy.

More Shit SB Says About Being Trapped in HELL

I had a blog visitor earlier from Frankenmuth. Jesus, I hate that town. Fucking Christmas all year round. Living there would be like being trapped in HELL. I hate crafts and old people and shit.

Shit SB Says to One of Her Best Friends in the Whole Damn World, Ms. Moon

I love the Hot Pockets quote. Glenn Beck is so retarded (yes, I am saying retarded, so all the world can get madder than hell at me, like they did poor Jennifer Anniston), I just don't pay him any mind at all, much like stupid Ann Coulter. I don't even get mad about what they say, because they are too moronic to even give credence to a damn word that comes out of their mouths. If you have half a brain, they may as well be spewing Pez when they open their mouths (actually, that would be a service to humanity). Being mad at Coulter, Limbaugh, or Beck would be like getting upset at a retard. What's the point? A body just gets themselves all worked up for nothing.

[Note to the reader: And if you don't like my using the word retard, you can piss off. It's my world here, and I'll say whatever the fuck I want. Having a blog is like having a microphone, and the guy with the microphone is ALWAYS in charge. Bitch can hold a whole room hostage if he so chooses. It's a motherfucker's prerogative. Ask Bobby Brown if you don't believe my ass.]

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Fascinating Stuff: Huguette Clark

Link to the story of a 104-year-old billionaire, whose whereabouts are currently a mystery, complete with photos: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/35470011/ns/business/

Quote of the Damn Day: Samuel Clemens

"He is as rotten a human being as can be found anywhere under the flag; he is a shame to the American nation, and no one has helped to send him to the Senate who did not know that his proper place was the penitentiary, with a chain and ball on his legs."

[This could and should also be applied to George W. Bush if one substitutes White House in place of the word Senate.]

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Episcopalians are not assholes.

I am very pleased with today’s ruling overturning California’s Proposition 8. All of God’s children are equal in God’s eyes, and today Chief Judge Vaughn R. Walker affirmed once again that all Californian families share equal protection under the law.

The Episcopal Church has reached resolution on the issue of full civil rights for lesbian and gay persons and, speaking for myself as a bishop and person of faith and as a representative of the Episcopal Church, I am gladdened whenever discrimination is rejected and fundamental rights are acknowledged as equal rights.

The Rt. Rev. Marc Handley Andrus
Bishop, The Episcopal Diocese of California

Hats off, Episcopalians! Way not to be exclusionary assholes. SB gives credit where credit is due.

Quote of the Damn Day

Isn't it a violation of the Georgia sodomy law for the Supreme Court to have its head up its ass?

--Letter to Playboy magazine, February 1987

Shit SB Says About the Gay Cat Love Triangle Situation

Fucking Marley and Sam were raping poor Tom's ass last night. He's like their jailhouse bitch or something. I had to pull Sam's ass off of Tom. It's like the fuckers were magnetized or some shit.

I Just Feel Nauseated By the Damn Picture, Okay?

I don't miss the 70s. AT ALL.

"Either those curtains go or I do."
--Oscar Wilde (said to have been uttered on his death bed)

Because I Love Him and Because He Is a Damn National Treasure

Dr. John and friend. The one, the only.
New Orleans' native son and one hell of a fine musician.

And also because he was right when he reminded us that money and greed is the root of all evil. Goddamn straight. If you've got it, give it, man!


At one point while watching If God Is Willing and Da Creek Don't Rise, John Kerry, who I happen to agree with on a lot of things, mentioned that the conditions for the BP oil spill were caused by the Bush administration's deregulation of the oil industry. Kerry's statement really pissed me off. Goddamn motherfucker, I'm tired of the fucking politicians blaming the other party. Houston, we've got a damn problem here. Blaming doesn't fix one iota of the goddamn shit. Let's get on with it and find a damn solution. Those fuckers in Congress act like a goddamn bunch of 5 year olds on a playground. I'm sick of the whole damn lot of them. Both parties suck and they can kiss my ass.

SB Asks for SO DAMN LITTLE, But My Ass Has a Request

Please watch Spike Lee's follow-up documentary about New Orleans (including the recent catastrophic oil spill), If God Is Willing and Da Creek Don't Rise. It's currently showing on HBO, and I imagine it will eventually come out on video. It is amazing. I watched it last night and stayed awake most of the night thinking about it. When I am angry, I usually can't sleep for shit.

I have always been a big fan of Spike--I think because we react to the world in the same way--with anger, especially about injustice. The footage and information in this documentary is just phenomenal. I can't say enough about it. Personally, I think they ought to show it in school, despite the language and footage of the dead.

On a side note, Brad Pitt took some flack for saying that he has had second thoughts about bringing capital punishment back in this film. Some of the press (especially the British press) remarked that maybe Brad was losing his marbles, but I understand what Brad was saying and I agree. As a matter of fact, I felt the same way during eight years of the presidency in this nation. A scaffold would have been too goddamn good for the fuckers.

Personally, I am fucking tired to goddamn death of poor southerners being ass raped (and murdered) by corporate greed. Someone in the documentary asked where our outrage is at at what happened (primarily meaning the BP oil spill). Then, the speaker asked what if this oil spill had occurred in the Hamptons. There sure as fuck would have been outrage then. I guess the primary attitude in this country is: Oh well, since it primarily affects the poor in the south, then whatever. I say fuck that shit. Fuck Washington DC and fuck the oil companies. Personally, I think all of Congress should be ridden out of town on rails.

And I must say that I'm inclined to believe that President Obama should have reacted with WAY MORE outrage to this crisis than he did. His toned down response makes me question whether he's in the pockets of the oil companies, too. I am losing respect for him. I know this is going to piss some of my readers off, but there's a time to be cool and a time for OUTRAGE. I think for once, Obama missed the mark. Outrage was required.

Rant over. Please see the film.

Note: This documentary is not for the squeamish, but grow some balls and watch it. If the good folks of New Orleans lived through it, the least you can do is watch it from the comfortable confines of your living room.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Uhhhhmmmm, Okay. . . .

Sucker is nuts, as the daddums would say.

Heart attack?

For the last week or so, the informants in my vicinity who have been on watch, have been using something akin to possibly an ultrasonic, or electromagnetic remote device on me. It feels sort of like a reverse suction. It basically feels like your insides are pulsating on high speed. Now they do things like this consistently to targets, and the shielding that I use, usually stops most of this, but what they are doing right now, is aimed I would guess at my upper body, heart being on of those things. It’s vibrating my upper body to a dangerous degree.

Now I am trying to shield, but my normal forms of shielding have been limited. Since I am in pretty good health, not suicidal, or anything, there should be no reason for me to have any problems. Now because they are stupid they could just be aiming at my heart as a way of monitoring, but what they are doing is vibrating my chest to such a degree that it’s really not ok, and I would say dangerous.

So I just thought I would point this out. Usually when targets write about their targeting, it just encourages the little s*its to do it more, but I thought it would be a good idea to point out what the little creatures are doing. Evil sometimes just has to be stupid to carry out evil, or it can be deliberate.

Either way for those who do not understand the situations that targets face, their first thought might naively be, well why not call the police? Because as every other target has discovered, the police are not our friends, and most times they are in league with what is ongoing. Not every officer is like that, but even the good ones often don’t have ready answers or solutions. Others might think it’s just a harmless game of being followed around, but the monitoring that they do, not only qualifies as human torture, at times, it should qualify as murder.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

I Just Adore the Man in the Damn Photo, Okay?

Hugh Grant and Liz Hurley's son, Damian. I'll bet Hugh is a fun uncle.

If You Ask Me, Grandpa is a Damn Pedophile

This is what a REALLY CREEPY PEDOPHILE looks like.

[Thanks, PF!]

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

SB Is Taking a Blogging Break Due To a Work Deadline

I'll be back on Monday and catch up with all of you then. Have a great weekend.

Canadian Bear Warning Sign

More Shit SB Says

I keep telling the motherfucking manager at the Arby's exactly how many packets of Arby's sauce I want, and the motherfucker shorts me. Can't that bitch count? Jesus.

Shit SB Says

If you want friends, you've got to make motherfuckers feel included. Dr. Phil taught me that.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

eHarmony Rejection

And Also You Are Nuts

I know people don't always like long narrative stories with endless descriptions. I usually turn my encounters into short stories giving lots of detail as I believe everything is connected in one way or another. I have never believed that the encounters we have with "The others" in the spirit world are just by chance. If we pursue and investigate these encounters, one may find something interesting. The doors we open could very well be good and helpful to a lost spirit or very dangerous. The choice is yours.

Sometimes, a spirit will not leave a person alone, especially if you are highly sensitive to psychic energy and ignore the encounter. As I did a few months ago. The spirit's behavior may become more and more extreme with each manifestation. I have never had an encounter with "A Evil Spirit" (not to say they don't exist), personally I have been fortunate in not meeting one. So, a person can misinterpret very easily a spirit's intentions.

One evening in April, I was alone in the house with my oldest daughter. We began watching something on TV when I had this feeling, I looked to my right down the Hallway and saw a Girl dressed in a old fashion nightgown (such as your grandmother might wear). She had her hair in a "Bun" and it was blond. I immediately turn back to the TV to resume watching my program. A few seconds later, My daughter said; " Dad! You saw that girl right?". Yes, I saw her. She said; "Then why didn't you say anything?". I chose to ignore it, as I don't have the energy or the time to pursue it.

There are two points here. One is the Girl not only appeared to both of us, but I had "A Feeling" that the Girl wanted me to look. It made a psychic connection with me. Two, it wanted me to follow her upstairs and my daughter saw her enter the bathroom (which is adjacent to the staircase). Later as we related the story to the other family members, my oldest daughter had no psychic connection (she only looked because she felt me). My daughter still says the Girl in white entered into the bathroom. I saw her foot on the staircase... which indicates to me she wanted me to follow and not my daughter.

There is always more to the story when it concerns "The Others"

Note to the reader: If SB was a ghost, this boring long-winded motherfucker would put my ass to sleep. I'd go towards the light, even if that meant sitting on a cloud and strumming a harp or some tedious shit, unless the bore had a good liquor cabinet, of course. That would change everything.

Shit SB Says

Joe Pesci was right. They really DO fuck you at the drive-thru. Fuckers.

I Just Like the Damn Picture, Okay?

Marilyn & Monty.

Shit SB Posted on Raymi's Blog

I’m done with summer. You can have what’s left of mine. Fuck that shit. My fat ass didn’t even get to go swimming once.

More Shit SB Says in Comments to My Bubba, Mr. Mischief

That made me laugh. And also, guns at an art festival? Uhhhhmmmm, okay. Artists are such a violent bunch and all. The gun toter was probably my dad. He's all NRA and shit.

Shit SB Says in Comments to Her Fabulous Fucking Friend, Sweden

I think I have a brain tumor. I keep dropping letters as I type.

Did the lights just go out?

SB Is in an Awful Mood this Morning, But this Shit Cheered Me Up

Link to a horrifying date gone awry story: http://www.truecrimereport.com/2010/08/a_readers_ultimate_date_with_a.php#more

Monday, August 16, 2010

Interspecies Fucky Times

Guess Who Owns this Claw?

Answer in the comments section. And, no, your dumb ass does NOT win a prize for guessing correctly. This is not Jeopardy, motherfuckers!

Jane Fishman: Sunning Days Are Over

Jane Fishman: Sunning days are over

It was a simple compliment, nothing more, a mere observation. I had just come back from a weekend at Ossabaw Island. I was relaxed, peaceful and happy after my simple commune with a hog named Paul Mitchell, several dreamy-eyed mules, some industrious armadillo, a star-filled sky, the occasional painted bunting and a sharp and relaxed Sandy West, who, at 97 is the island's longest and best-known resident.

"You look brown as a berry," my friend said.

"That's not what I was after," I answered without skipping a beat, a little defensive. "I really try to stay out of the rays. Those days of sunning are over, but the damage is probably already done."

She caught my drift.

"Everyone's so worried about health these days."

Isn't that the truth?

No matter our age, our bank account, our general condition, both current and past, when it comes to health most everyone I know is somewhere between anxious and concerned.

If we're walking for exercise we're worried we're not walking fast enough, far enough or often enough. If we're swimming we're concerned about the chlorine and what kind of effect it's leaving.

What, you still go to the gym? Haven't you heard about all the skin infections you can get? They're "spreading like wildfire," according to a recent article in The New York Times. Shower with anti-bacterial soap. Bring your own floor mat. Wash your hands after using the equipment.

What about shoveling compost? That counts for exercise, right? So does hanging clothes on an outdoor line. Good upper-arm exercise.

Doing push-ups are the best, someone once told me, because when you get old and fall you are strong enough to catch yourself without breaking a hip. I guess breaking a wrist isn't as serious.

Preparing to go to a doctor's office is the worst. One bit of advice: Don't go to your appointment reading an article about end-of-life decisions, the way I did recently.

It was one of those long New Yorker stories where there was not a particularly happy ending. By the time I went for my appointment, a general check-up, I had given someone a key to my safe deposit box, obtained a form for my will (which I still haven't done anything about) and lost a night's sleep.

It didn't help that I had just finished reading Bruce Feiler's "The Council of Dads," a wonderful account of what Bruce decided to do after learning he had cancer in his leg. One line continues to stick in my mind after Feiler, a very wry man, got the results of a questionable and routine blood test: "It's not like it's cancer or anything."

Speaking of doctors, have you tried to find one lately? I thought I might interview around and see if there was one out there who would suit my needs.

The first two I called - both recommendations from friends - nearly hung up on me when I said the only insurance I had was Medicare. "We're not taking any new Medicare patients right now," both receptionists said. "Don't worry," I said into thin air since both had already hung up. "It's not an emergency. I don't have cancer or anything. But thanks for asking."

When I did see a doctor, he recommended I take a baby aspirin daily to prevent heart attacks or strokes. His father does, he said. And he's healthy. What he didn't tell me was to look for bruises since aspirin is a blood-thinner. I haven't bought any aspirin yet.

I never used to pay any attention to my cholesterol numbers. Now I go over them like they were my SAT results and I was 17, or they were credit scores and I was trying to buy a house.

I've got results from the past 10 years lined up on the dining room table. I'm about to make a graph.

This year I insisted on taking the test twice. I hadn't fasted the first time, I reasoned. I wanted better results. They were pretty much the same the second time around, but in the meantime I did up my oatmeal quotient, the steel-cut oats variety, the expensive type, topped with some bittersweet, robust molasses.

I did start walking more. Even now, after I got my results (all fine), I still go online to see how I can lower them even more.

Then there's the dreaded colonoscopy. Not to worry, I tell younger friends. Whatever drug they use to put you out will leave you blissed out for hours. But now that I'm going in for my second recommended test, I'm nervous again.

Food? Everyone's an expert.

"We drink cranberry juice," I was telling someone in that I'm-smarter-than-you voice. "The pure kind. The $8.99-a-bottle kind. It's good in vodka, too"

"Forget about it," an out-of -town guest said, one-upping me. "Try pomegranate juice. It's an antioxidant and is supposed to lower blood pressure. That's the latest thing. It costs $8.99, too. Oh, and its' also good with vodka."

Don't forget beets. They're a major cancer fighter. Same with purple cabbage. Good cancer-fighting enzymes there, too. And turmeric. Cancer-fighting and anti-inflammatory as well. Double duty. Two for the price of one.

There is no end to advice - and to worry. Take sardines. They're high in omega-3, low in mercury but high in PCBs and so squiggly. Yuck. Water? You can't, it seems, drink enough. Just be close to a bathroom.

Whew. I think it's time for a break. Think I'll try some of these new beet and sweet potato chips. With a tall glass of water. But no sun-bathing. Those days are over.

You Couldn't Pay Me Enough

He'd hafta hold on to her, wouldn't he? JESUS.

I Just Like the Damn Picture, Okay?

I'd hang with this ho. Actually, in a handful of years, I'll probably be making the same kinds of sartorial choices.

Uhhhhhmmmm, Okay

This shit is from some sort of Russian dating site. How many of you bitches would date this motherfucker? I feel sorry for the damn cats. Clearly they are being held hostage.

Friday, August 13, 2010

This Is Sickening


What is wrong with this society that young women are thinking this is desirable? Most men certainly don't think it's attractive, therefore, it must be mostly women making this body type desirable. Let's stop, okay? Because it's NOT okay or attractive, and it sends a terrible message to all women, especially young women.

p.s. Tyra Banks YOU ARE NOT HELPING! Cut that fucking shit out.

[Note: I am unequivocally NOT promoting fat acceptance either. One extreme is as bad health-wise as the other, but how about a middle, healthy, average weight? How about we work on making that the ideal?]

Shit SB Says in Comments to Her Dear Friend, Jeannie

I would love your cat. I love the feisty randomly-attacking ones. I have one of my own.

Pet. Pet. Purr. Bite. Teeth marks. Blood.


Shit SB Says

I don't care what the back of my hair looks like. I don't have to look at it.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Whoreilyn Monroe

Also, Did I Mention I Am in Love with Giancarlo Giammetti?

Mr. Giammetti is Valentino's long-time partner. He is charming, sweet, and such an elegant gentleman, in the oldest and finest sense of that word.

Valentino Needs to Hire My Ass to Be His Damn Translator So Idiot Americans Will Understand What His Greatness Is REALLY Trying to Say

Last night I watched the documentary Valentino: The Last Emperor. It is the best documentary I have watched for a spell, and I sincerely enjoyed it. If you have never considered fashion, art, then this film may very well change your mind.

Sadly, Valentino has now retired, and the Moms comment was that after he and Lagerfeld and Armani are gone, it will be the end of a distinct and irreplaceable era of fashion. All of Valentino's haute couture items were hand-sewn by a staff of house seamstresses.

Anyhoo, I really dug Valentino, because he has occasional hissy fits, which make for entertaining viewing. SB loves a tempermental genius! His Greatnesses English is charming, if a bit broken, and he primarily speaks French, by his own admission. So my ass thinks His Greatness could use a translator. I am proposing myself, because that shit would be my honor.

For instance, in one scene, His Greatness is trying to convey to a youngish hipster hair stylist that he does NOT want the hair on his models to be too wild and that he would prefer that they have simple chignons, which is understandable considering the elegant style of Valentino's dresses. So the moron hair stylist puts this incredible mess of a damn bird's nest on a model for His Greatnesses approval, and Valentino says something like: "No. No. No!"

If SB were Mr. V's translator, I think I could have made His Greatnesses point of view slightly more clear. I would have translated: What His Greatness actually means to say is: "Look, you goddamn young idiot, I stand for E-L-E-G-A-N-C-E! What is this fucking hot mess you have so ignorantly and impertinently offered me?" His Greatness was creating fashion miracles BEFORE you were sperm, you offensive motherfucker. The hairstyle you have created looks like a cocksucking bird's nest. It does not say: ELEGANCE. His Greatness asked for a simple chignon, and you insulted him with a fucking hot mess. Your dumb unwrinkled youthful ass is shit-canned, motherfucker.

Also, His Greatness has four dogs, and at one point, when he got huffy making decisions about what to include in his 45th anniversary celebration, he said: "I don't care about this. My dogs are more important!"

I think I love him.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Pepaw Rod Lets You Know What He REALLY Thinks of You

Judging by the picture, I think Rod and I may be related. Bitch has attitude! Bitch also needs to retire the worm, because his ass is about to become a damn father again at 107.

The Word I Most Often Use While Driving


Shit SB Says

I shit you not, the local Meijer had a damn back-to-school sale on Corona.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Fucker Is Nuts

Now as a Targeted Individual I learnt early and I learnt fast not to have private conversations out in public. I learnt not to share things with others.

In fact the years before I found out about Gang Stalking, most of my suspicions I kept to myself and shared with no one. I normally do not confide things in people, my confessor is God and that is usually it. I might share the odd tidbit, or if it’s something important that I feel another has the right to know, I might break protocol and that is about it.

Once I did find out about Gang Stalking, and realized that the phone was how people were hearing my conversations, along with things said in the home, both stopped, so a lot of the street theater stuff stopped.

Anything else that would be discovered would almost have to take a mind reader or another with similar capacity to learn any of my secrets. So it got me thinking, do such people exist? Is such a capacity a reality?

Note from SB: I'm not quite sure how "street theater" came into play here, but uhhhhhmmm, okay. Is this cracked motherfucker a damn mime or some shit?

I Just Like the Damn Cat's Expression, Okay?

Mean pussy.

Shit SB Says

The Vietnamese guy at the office about knocked everybody down to get to the Arby's coupons in the lunch room. What's up with that shit?

Quote of the Damn Day from My Idol, Ms. Moon

Anyway, once when I was a kid I was walking down a road and it was around sunset and I looked up and the clouds were in the strangest formation I'd ever seen. They looked exactly like a giant archway and were lit with that incredible gold-colored light that sunset can bring and there were rays shooting all over the damn place and I stood there and trembled in my flip-flops. Surely, dear god, this WAS the Rapture. It had to be. I waited for Jesus to come through the archway but he did not. As I waited though, I wondered, having already learned in school about how the earth rotates daily, how the people on the other side of the world would know it was Rapture Time.

I still wonder about this. Will the Rapture be televised so that if we get the live event here in North America in the Eastern Standard Time, they will get the live feed in Australia? Maybe that's what's taken Jesus so long to come back. The technology had to be developed. Makes as much sense to me as anything else having to do with this bullshit theory.

[All, I've got to say is: Rapture my ass, which is pretty much what Ms. Moon said, too, but WAY more eloquently. Check out the full post in all its glory here:
Click, motherfuckers!]

Friday, August 6, 2010

Quote of the Damn Day from My Wise Friend Sheria

However, most children and teenagers haven't made peace with their bodies and go through untold emotional pain as they receive a consistent message that they are worthless. Don't misunderstand, I think efforts to teach healthy eating and the joy of movement are needed. However, there is a big difference from conveying a message that being physically fit will enhance your enjoyment of life and conveying the message that being fat is akin to wearing a sign around your neck that says criticize me, emotionally batter me until I have no self esteem left and then tell me how it's for my own good.

People who would never disparage anyone based on race, ethnicity, or sexual orientation fail to even recognize the daily insults that they and others lobby at fat people.

Sheria's thought-provoking blog can be found here: http://theexaminedlife-sheria.blogspot.com/

Check it out, motherfuckers, or my fat ass will give you the beat down!
[Sheria will be MAD that I am referring to myself as a fat ass, but I'm allowed to call myself that shit. The Viking calls me a fat ass, too. I could give a flying fuck. His ass is a stringbean.]

Pint-Sized Male Ballet Dancer Gives the Beat Down to Some Thieving Bitches on the BART

"I kind of chuckled, like c'mon, give it back. He said, "What!? It's my iPhone, bitch!' If I didn't have alcohol in me I would have probably cringed and cried from how mean he looked at me. I thought, 'If he gets through those double doors, it's gone.'"

SB admires this little ho's spirit, but admittedly, I also admire the thug's eloquent way with words.

But Stewart did have alcohol in him. And he'd been rehearsing West Side Story with the ballet, "so I was in the mode of rumbling on stage." Plus, two of his friends had recently gotten their phones stolen and he wasn't about to be the next.


Link to heartwarming story of a rumbling small fry administering a beat down to a bunch of motherfucking thieving motherfuckers: http://blogs.sfweekly.com/thesnitch/2010/08/san_francisco_ballet_dancer_be.php

Shit SB Says (A Lot)

I better go. I ain't getting any younger or prettier sitting here.

Ohio Is Filled with Morons

Link to story of the desperate dater pisser-in-the-hallway 911 phoner.


SB Is Currently Obsessed with this Song

The Rake's Song
by The Decemberists

I had entered into a marriage
In the summer of my twenty-first year
And the bells rang for our wedding
Only now do I remember it clear
Alright, alright, alright

No more a rake and no more a bachelor
I was wedded and it whetted my thirst
Until her womb started spilling out babies
Only then did I reckon my curse
Alright, alright, alright
Alright, alright, alright

First came Isaiah with his crinkled little fingers
Then came Charlotte and that wretched girl Dawn
Ugly Myfanwy died on delivery
Mercifully taking her mother along
Alright, alright, alright

What can one do when one is a widower
Shamefully saddled with three little pests?
All that I wanted was the freedom of a new life
So my burden I began to divest
Alright, alright, alright
Alright, alright, alright

Charlotte I buried after feeding her foxglove
Dawn was easy, she was drowned in the bath
Isaiah fought but was easily bested
Burned his body for incurring my wrath
Alright, alright, alright

And that's how I came your humble narrator
To be living so easy and free
Expect that you think that I should be haunted
But it never really bothers me
Alright, alright, alright
Alright, alright, alright

How To Win an Argument

If we move into together, we're going to have to find a place where we can shut the cats out of the kitchen. I don't want to fix food when the cats' butts have been on the counter tops.

I don't get that. I think cats are very clean animals.

Would you like it if I came over and parked my naked ass on the kitchen counter? Would you want to prepare food on the counters and eat it if my naked ass had been sitting on it only moments before?

Okay, you win.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

I Just Like the Damn Picture, Okay?

Isn't he worried that shit's going to stunt his growth?

(For Hank.)

Because He Would Be Happy and So Am I

And also because I don't want him to ever be forgotten. You can kill the messenger, but if the message is just, other people will pick up the dropped torch and carry it on to light the way.

God bless you, Harvey! Thank you. I love you.

Fuck You Prop 8. Fuck the Propagators of Hate.

Link to my friend's most excellent blog, West Hollywood Voyeur, below. The pictures of the celebration are priceless.


I might just sit here and smile all day, and my co-workers will be really nervous. Fuck them.

I Entitle this Here Photo: Pensive

These two bitches are thinking DEEP THOUGHTS. I just like the damn photo, okay? Fuck you. It's my blog. I'll share whatever I want.

The White House Farm Murders

SB has long been fascinated by England's White House Farm murders. Looks like Mr. Bamber may be innocent after all.


Shit SB Says

Jennifer fucking Aniston is oatmeal. Angelina is prime rib. Why would you have oatmeal when you could eat prime rib? A bitch would be nuts.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

The Damn Picture Just Creeps Me the Fuck Out

Christ, look at the ears on the kid on the left.

One of the Many Reasons I Love Anthony Bourdain

While on a panel with fellow chef Mario Batali at Seattle’s Paramount theater, Bourdain poked fun at Batali’s PBS series Spain… On the Road Again, which featured the chef and Paltrow on a culinary tour of Spain. “Why would you go to Spain with the one bitch who refuses to eat ham?”

Shit SB Says

If you build that motherfucking shit, bitches will come!

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Shit SB Says in Blog Comments to Her Hero, Mark

This sentence cracks me the fuck up.

"There seems to be an urge to relate picking up trash to some sort of goal-oriented scavenging."

Humanity, always looking for the material payoff.

[I'm so cynical sometimes I want to puke.]

Shit SB Says in Response to My Sister-in-Law's Post Encouraging People to Be Green Like Her

I'm sorry but I don't care one iota about being green. I don't have time to be green. I have a full-time job, a boyfriend, a house to take care of, seven cats, and a dog. I can't be bothered.

I'm okay with being selfish. Actually, more than okay with it.

I'm not green. I'm black. As in death.

And yes, I am grumpy this morning. Go figure.

And YES, I Am Grumpy this Morning, Fuck You Very Much

I dreamed I was left at the altar by my groom last night, and then I went to search for his skinny ass, and I was too damn drunk to even walk straight. I kept falling forward on my heels in front of a bunch of snooty (translation for my English friends: posh) motherfuckers in a hoity banquet hall. Also, the redneck side of the family started doing the fucking Electric Slide and eating the damn vittles BEFORE the damn wedding ceremony even began. Fuckers were OUT OF CONTROL, I tell you.

The Cocksucking LAZY Born-Again Bikers Next Door

Motherfucking biker in the other half of the double I live in is supposed to mow, and then he gets money off the rent. Well, I was sitting having a coffee this morning, looking over the back of the sofa and out the window, and my damn view was partially obscured by yard weeds. I shit you not. Looks like a damned abandoned house.

All the motherfucker does is whine and feel sorry for himself on the damn cell phone, right outside my window that borders on their front walk. Fucker has a huge yard and a deck out back, and he wants to sit out front by my window and piss and moan about how the world has perpetually failed his losery ass.

I wish the sonofabitches would take their damn porch cross decoration and move. By the way, all their pets are named after NASCAR speedways. Fucking redneck asshole motherfuckers.

Monday, August 2, 2010

It's So Damn Hot, the Fucking Monkeys Get Ice Cream

Click the link below to watch monkeys eat ice cream! It's Monday, we don't want to tax the brain. We want to do some mindless shit like watch monkeys eat ice cream! I'd like to see monkeys FIGHT over ice cream. I bet it happens. I'd fight a bitch for some Haagen Dazs Vanilla Swiss Almond! Girl, you know that shit's true.

I Just Like the Damn Picture, Okay? (For Bethany)

A bitch can never have too many of these bitches. . . .