...and now through the miracle of the Internet you can feel queasy too!
(and no this is not me you smartasses! This guy has a full head of hair!)
Police: Dad Leaves Child, 4, Alone While Playing 'Ninja'
SCOTTDALE, Pa. -- Police say a western Pennsylvania man left his sleeping 4-year-old son home alone while he went outside and was pretending to be a ninja warrior.
Online court records show 28-year-old Ross Hurst, of Scottdale, has applied for a public defender but has yet to be appointed one.
The Daily Courier of Connellsville says a police affidavit shows Hurst was charged March 3 after police found him outside about 1:30 a.m. dressed all in black and "playing ninja" on a borough street....
The bosses were so pleased with Professor Jameson's work on the anti-gravity machine that they gave her a raise.
Psychotic Kid tried not to fret over the quality of his martial arts skills, he didn't want to be thought of as a ninja worrier.
“Each victim was killed by a booby-trapped skirt,” the Maven observed, “and soon someone else is going to take the Murder Wrap.”
He spent years learning to be a contortionist so he could perform oral sex on himself only to have it all blow up in his face.
Many new students at Clown College have a hard time with the SillyBus.
Deggent's ex-wife claimed he made love like he ate jelly doughnuts, in a clumsy rush that left him frustrated and sticky fingered.
Trying to repo a time machine brings a new meaning to the term 'Past Due'.
They later learned that detouring the apple delivery truck onto the bumpy road was just crusin' for a brusin'.
Al Bruno III's series of allegedly-autobiographical stories about the Tabletop Games group he endured throughout his college years. Al himself, known as Ab3 on RPG.Net, is led to the group by his friend Weasley Crusher and rapidly finds himself forced into the role of the Only Sane Man of the group. Arguments, dysfunction, and Total Party Kills abound as they systematically ruin every game they can find, from Dungeons & Dragons to Call Of Cthulhu to Rifts.
The title of the series comes from the philosophy of the Killer Game Master Psycho Dave: "Every D&D game has many binders but each D&D game must have a Binder of Shame and a Binder of Glory. The player characters that die heroic deaths are saved forever in the page protectors of the Binder of Glory. The characters that suffer, humiliating, soul-crushing deaths go into the Binder of Shame. It's a sign of quality GMing to have a Binder of Shame three times the size of your Binder of Glory."...
This is very flattering stuff, and I'm amazed that my little rpg stories still find so much love out there.
My readers rock.
IN THIS TWILIGHT
By AL BRUNO III
The next four days passed like a nightmare. There was no sign of Samantha, no sign of her at school, no sign of her at home. Parents and authorities had been called and Thelma found herself questioned. She kept quiet about Chad and his Oracles. Who would believe her anyway?
Each afternoon she and Peanut would sit at their usual table in the cafeteria, wondering where Samantha had gotten to. She had run away before but that had always been a three day weekend kind of thing, this felt different. Peanut’s thoughts were full of lurid worries, full of violent images cribbed from slasher films and the TV news.
On two separate occasions Thelma had gone for a bicycle ride after school and found herself pausing at the house on the corner of North Wales Drive and Kissimmee Avenue. The first time the house had been quiet, the second time she had been able to hear music- and a thick, phlegmy voice singing along with the radio. She wondered what she would have done if someone had walked out the front door to confront her, if Chad had called her name. She tried to dare herself to make her way up the driveway, either to spy or knock on the door but she didn’t have the nerve.
Wednesday came and Thelma got up for school an hour early and bicycled in. She waited by the front entrance, reassuring herself that Samantha would be there, brimming with scandalous stories.
Do I slap her or hug her? Thelma wondered.
The homeroom warning bell came and went but there was no sign of Samantha. Thelma made her way through her classes trying to stay hopeful but in the cafeteria it was just her and Peanut again.
The school day ended and Thelma biked home hoping to find a message waiting for her on the answering machine.
Nothing. She got ready for work slowly; Burger Clown was the furthest thing from her mind. She toyed with the idea of calling in but decided against it. The drive in to work was something both she and her father looked forward to, it was a chance for them to catch up with each other. Dad would tell her about life at the office, what went wrong and what went right. She would tell him about school and work, about her worries and her hopes. Today however the ride was too brief and the conversation stilted. Her Dad hadn’t been feeling well lately, he was chewing antacids like they were candies and going to bed early. Thelma kept trying to talk about that last call from Samantha but she didn’t know how to start. Talking frankly about her friend would inevitably lead to questions about Chad. What would her Dad do if he found out his sweet, tomboy daughter had been at some older boy’s house all alone in the middle of the night?
Would he chuckle understandingly and talk about the mischief he’d gotten into in his navy days or would he be outraged?
What was it Samantha used to say? Sometimes it’s better if your parents don’t know anything, I mean they already suspect everything.
Her shift at Burger Clown went by uneventfully, the customers were well behaved, there were more than enough people working and the manager kept to the office with his paperwork and his ‘special’ thermos. With each rush of customers Thelma kept expecting to see Samantha come in.
When eight o’clock rolled around Thelma had made peace with the realization she’d been had. She was sure that Chad and his girls were probably having a good laugh at her expense. When the manager boozily asked for someone to empty the garbage cans and run the trash out to the dumpster Thelma volunteered.
By the time she reached the dumpster with the four bags of trash Thelma had decided to tell her father the whole bizarre story. It would be his call where things would go from there.
There was a door set into the dumpster at waist level but Thelma never opened it; the local rat population thought that it was an all you can eat buffet in there and she didn’t much like the idea of being eye to eye with one.
I’ve got enough rats in my life these days. She thought as she tossed the garbage bags up and over the side of the dumpster. The sky was cloudless and illuminated by a low hanging crescent moon, it was so bright that even the stars paled before it. Vega was reduced to an insignificant pinprick of light.
A crash of breaking glass startled her from her thoughts. A shape shifted inside the abandoned gas station, blundering out the front door.
“Oh no…” Thelma watched the shape take three unsteady steps and collapse. Thelma ran across the parking lot.
Samantha was lying on her back in the doorway of the decrepit building. Her one hand was over the right half of her face; the other was tapping restlessly on the concrete. Thelma slid to her knees beside her friend, when she tried to speak nothing came out.
“I knew I’d see you,” Samantha said dreamily, blood ran through her fingers. “I saw through everything and knew we’d be here.”
“What did they do to you?” Thelma turned back to the Burger Clown, her voice a scream, “Help! Somebody help!”
I've been getting writer's block more and more frequently. Every time this happens I search for a way to get my creative juices flowing and always end up at Santa Sangre. By all accounts, Santa Sangre should be the key to unlocking a mind that is stuck in boring limbo--but for some reason it only makes my mind cloudier. I get lost for those 2 hours in a world of surreal circus life, elephant funerals, mambo music and Oedipus complexes. My creativity flies out the window every time the tattooed lady thrusts her gigantic tattooed boobs at me. Is it possible that Santa Sangre is less of a muse and more of a distraction? A good distraction anyway. After all, I'd much rather be stuck in the divinely surreal world of Alejandro Jodorowsky than be forced to return to normalcy. If you don't see me for a couple days, consider me lost to Santa Sangre...
Also I know this is a vidcap from the film but it is also your average Tuesday at my house...
At the end of chapel one morning, Tom Spinner, the vice principal, rushed to the pulpit. He alwaysrushed to the pulpit, as if to get there before the powers that be changed their minds about letting him speak. He was a man of medium height with auburn hair that looked like it had been cut in the dark. It was parted on the right and flopped down on his forehead boyishly. He had a long mustache that extended beyond the corners of his mouth. When he spoke, it was in an artificially deep voice. I don’t know how Mr. Spinner really talked, but whenever he talked to students or spoke from the pulpit, it was in that fake deep voice that trembled slightly as he struggled to maintain it. It always sounded like he was trying to do an impression of Mr. Sulu on Star Trek. On that misty November morning, he went to the pulpit and leaned close to the microphone, as always – his artificial deep voice was not very loud – and said, “I have noticed that when you are dismissed from the chapel, you all leave at once and get bottlenecked at the doors. This is a problem. I have come up with a way to remedy that...”
Will you be my mum? Spider monkey rejected by its mother clings to teddy (Article from THE DAILY MAIL)
This baby spider monkey clings on to the back of a stuffed version of herself, looking for familiar love and warmth, having been abandoned by her real mother when she was born.
Keepers at Melbourne Zoo in south-eastern Australia are working around the clock to look after tiny Estela, who was born on January 17.
Without maternal love and guidance, she has not had the opportunity to develop normally and carers, who fear for Estela's life, are even taking turns to sleep next to the fragile two-month-old so that she can be nursed back to strength after been traumatised...