If you are over the age of 18 and are not easily offended,
meatsocket.
Otherwise, please leave.
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Our own media is the worst terrorist threat to America.
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History makers
> POW's, hostages, and methods of torture.
You can blame George W. Bush for all this. That's how it started. So they killed a bunch of US troops and POW's and plastered the images all over al-Jazeera. Our troops (led by Private Lynndie England at Abu Ghraib) rally to retaliate by taking several homo-erotic polaroids of Iraqi POW's. Outrage is swift and absolute. One breath later, thugs with ties to al-Qaeda show us that it's not the prisoner that is supposed to have his head hooded in the footage. Nick Berg was a civilian contractor, helping to rebuild Iraq.
> Ignorance of Islam.
On April 19, 1995 (while the country's media watches the state of California fail to prove that OJ Simpson did it) when Timothy McVeigh bombed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, one of the first knee-jerk reactions blurted out by national newscasters concerned the presence of two Muslim Egyptians staying in a rented room within close proximity to the bomb site. As the case against McVeigh built, at no time was his religious belief put in the media spotlight. Later, the media couldn't get enough chances to remind us all that the snipers that killed 10 people in the DC area in 2002 were Muslims. And don't give me that "Islam spread by the sword" line either. Those wars were centuries ago, and the spoils were short-lived. Every border drawn on every map is a result of some war or another. And let's not forget the Spanish Inquisition. Or the Crusades. Falling for the ploy that Islam preaches war and murder is plain ignorant. Why would you listen to a terrorist? What motivation does he have to tell you the truth? A diagram will help to explain: A is to B as C is to D. Christian, Jew, Muslim, whatever. Save the finger-pointing.
> JFK's car and the motorcade patrolman that wound up spattered in his brain tissue.
> Famous Ruby v Oswald dance.
Weapons of mass destruction
> A colorful collection of nukes, nuclear weapons testing and napalm.
Afflictions
> Brain tumors, birth defects, huge hemorrhoids, open wounds, improperly healed bones and an ulcer behind the achilles tendon.
To Self
> Budd Dwyer on blowing one's head off.
On the evening of January 21, 1987 Budd Dwyer called his family to, what would be their last dinner together, at a small local restaurant. Joanne Dwyer, widow of Budd Dwyer, called it a "quiet peaceful evening" that they shared. January 22, 1987 would be the final day in the life of R. Budd Dwyer. Before leaving his home that cold snowy morning, he told his daughter how proud he was of her and left a note stating that he "had given up hope." A news conference was scheduled at 10:30 am at his office in Harrisburg, PA. Budd arranged his office to have a large table between him and the reporters. About 30 members of the press crowded the room, expecting Mr. Dwyer to announce his resignation. Budd was quoted as saying "This has been like a nightmare, like a life in the twilight zone," "It wouldn't surprise me to wake up this minute to find out I was home in my bed and had just had a terrible nightmare. That's how unbelievable this has been."
> Mutilation of male and female genitals and a (likely fake) suicide.
To Others
> April 20, 1999; Columbine High School
Photos of dead trench coat mafia and guns at crime scene.
> Racism
Lynchings, burning crosses and impressionable young lads.
> Cop killing
Bullet entry in windshield of police car. Headrest upholstery ruined.
> Gay bashing and a nice fake (movie still) impalement.
Africa sucks
> Farming South Africa
Attacks by blacks on whites are commonplace. This is especially true of the slow motion massacre of white farmers that is underway in South Africa at the moment. The only people being systematically attacked and murdered in racial violence in South Africa are white farmers and black immigrants for the rest of Africa.
> Dracunculiasis
Infection by the guinea worm Dracunculus Medinensis. The larvae are ingested with contaminated water, penetrate the intestinal wall and deposit in connective tissue. The worms mature in about one year and migrate to the subcutaneous tissue where an ulcer may develop. The worm, if retained in the tissues, may calcify and typically has a coiled appearance. The disease occurs in tropical Africa, India, the Far East and north South America. Calcification is mainly seen in the legs.
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Larger images. Suitable for wallpaper on the office PC.
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Classics
> Kim Phuc
9-year-old Kim Phuc, running up the road outside the village of Trang Bang, her skin on fire, naked and screaming in pain. Photograph taken June 8, 1972.
> Vietcong
Brig. Gen. Nguyen Ngoc Loan executing a Vietcong prisoner at point blank range with a revolver.
> JFK autopsy
A color view of the right side of Kennedy's head, showing brain matter. When published, this picture is usually shown in black and white. Damage is quite extensive, more than is indicated by some of the earlier theories.
> Sharon Tate
Sharon Tate was eight months pregnant when she was stabbed repeatedly by members of Charles Manson's Family.
> Wounded Knee
Civilian grave diggers bury the Lakota dead in a mass grave. Lakota, December 29, 1890.
The World Trade Center, 9/11/01
> Live death
On September 11th, 2001, terrorists flew hijacked planes into the WTC in NYC. The rumor mill claims there are documents floating around Washington emphasizing President George W. Bush's desire to find (or create) evidence that made the attack an Iraqi act of war. True or not, we were told shortly afterward that Osama Bin Laden masterminded this attack, working in conjunction with the Taliban and Al Qaeda.
OK, wonderful. You convinced us, it's Bin Laden. My question is this: Why is it, if I miss one appointment with my parole officer, the boys in blue certainly find my ass, but with all the money, technology and manpower in the free world, Mr. Bush can't find one six-foot tall, FAMOUS pigfucker on dialysis, stumbling around the desert? Waiting for the election in November? I figure about Halloween afternoon, Bush will pull him out a bag and grin.
Nukes
> Mark 83
The Mk 83 is the current high-yield strategic TN bomb. 650 were produced between June, 1983 and 1991. In 1997, all were in service.
> Nuclear testing
Testing nuclear weapons in Africa. The cloud is simply plasma mixed into radioactive dirt and debris.
Maladies
> Malignant tumor on the surface of someone's eyeball.
> A positive mamogram.
> Harlequin baby. The condition was first documented in South Carolina by Reverend Oliver Hart:
"On Thursday, April ye 5, 1750, I went to see a most deplorable object of a child, born the night before of one Mary Evans in 'Chas'town. It was surprising to all who beheld it, and I scarcely know how to describe it. The skin was dry and hard and seemed to be cracked in many places, somewhat resembling the scales of a fish. The mouth was large and round and open. It had no external nose, but two holes where the nose should have been. The eyes appeared to be lumps of coagulated blood, turned out, about the bigness of a plum, ghastly to behold. It had no external ears, but holes where the ears should be. The hands and feet appeared to be swollen, were cramped up and felt quite hard. The back part of the head was much open. It made a strange kind of noise, very low, which I cannot describe. It lived about forty-eight hours and was alive when I saw it."
Most babies born with this condition die within the first few hours or days after birth from the undernourishment caused by the rigidity of the lips, and underventilation and pneumonia because of respiratory distress. Abnormal water loss through the skin and poor temperature regulation lead to risk for infection beginning in the skin as well.
Other
> Fakes, movie stills and random others
George W. Bush is watching you (still from the movie 1984). Much like the Liberia crisis, Oceania was at war with Eastasia: Oceania had always been at war with Eastasia.
Napalm smog over a Korean villiage.
Ultraviolence (still from the movie A Clockwork Orange). Rape is free sex with violence.
Suicide (probably fake) by self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.
Hairdryer accident (possibly fake crime scene). Air, medium, hot and then there's this.
Cops on fire. Says it all.
Opie and Anthony. New York radio at it's finest.
The Goatse.cx guy. Maybe the most famous awful picture on the internet.
Anal worms or belly button lint? I have no idea what this is, but it's nasty.
Something in my eye. Again, no idea.
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Disturbing video and music. Sweet dreams.
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Video clips and movies
> Nick Berg
The world's media has been full of stories about the abuse of prisoners at the now-infamous Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq. Let's review. We had pictures of Iraqi prisoners in a pile, pictures of an Iraqi prisoner wearing a leash held by an female American soldier. There was a picture of another Iraqi prisoner being intimidated by dogs and one standing on a box with a hood over his head and some wires attached to his hands. Strong stuff, right? And OHHHHHHH the outrage!
What pictures come next? We saw video (from the now defunct www.al-ansar.biz) of brave Arabs redeeming their manhood by beheading an American civilian named Nick Berg. They first read a statement, then they pushed Berg to the floor and proceeded to saw off his head with a large knife. You could hear Nick Berg screaming... right up until the time the knife went through his windpipe. When they were finished these brave Arabs, their manhood redeemed, held up his head for the camera.
Suddenly the pictures of what happened in the Abu Ghraib prison don't seem to be quite so horrific, do they? The victims of abuse at the hands of U.S. soldiers will be compensated by United States taxpayers. Nick Berg will be buried... in two pieces.
Compare the two cultures. While America is investigating the abuse of Iraqi prisoners- while America is preparing to punish those responsible- while America is apologizing to the families of the prisoners and their countrymen for the actions of a few soldiers, and preparing to pay these families large sums of money and now planning to demolish the prison at Abu Ghraib- while America is trying to do the right thing, Arabs are slaughtering an innocent American civilian who's only crime was he was looking for a job trying to improve the Iraqi communications infrastructure.
This was a terrorist attack. It was an attack by Arab terrorists, only this time it took five men to kill one American. One American civilian, or 3000 ... it's terrorism all the same.
> I Like to Watch - The Church of Euthanasia
Rev. Korda: "The video precisely expresses what I felt while watching the media coverage of the 9-11 attacks. I doubt that I'm the only person in the world who derived sexual gratification from watching two of America's tallest buildings being destroyed, but apparently I'm one of the very few who will publicly admit it. Karlheinz Stockhausen--considered by many to be the father of modern electronic music--called the attacks "the greatest work of art ever," and while I agree with him, he regrettably omits the sexual dimension. The endless replays of the plane penetrating the tower were unmistakably pornographic, complete with flames and debris spurting out in slow motion; even the Washington Post referred to the footage as a "money shot" and called it "our new porn" [12/31/2001, Page C1]. The towers were blatantly phallic, and their collapses resembled post-ejaculatory loss of erection."
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Important links to awful websites.
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Title
> Content.
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[ fiction ]
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[ chapter 1 :: introduction ]
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Public Service
> As soon as I sat down on the bus to the train station, my cock was hard as stone. And I knew why. No, it wasn't the Slipknot song I was blaring in my headphones on repeat. It was the fact that I KNEW Pennsylvania was a death penalty state.
Anyway, I rode for what seemed like eternity itself on bus after train after bus, until I reached the seedy edges of Philadelphia. And even though I swear I was on that fucking public transportation for a week, I knew I wouldn't be late for my appointment. And even if I WAS late, I knew he would show his fat fucking face anyway. I rode the last bus around the edge of Philadelphia, until I got to a neighborhood populated by dank hole-in-the-wall bars and foot traffic consisting of transvestite hookers. Then I knew I was getting close. When I finally got up to leave that last bus, I had to adjust my jacket to hide the widening cumstain on the front of my pants. And if anything, my baggy, niggerjeans disguise only gave me ample room to show off my continuous hardon. Without that goose-down starter jacket, I would have already been caught.
I slipped into a fairly busy bar, and took the barstool farthest from the beer taps. I ordered a draft and a shot, and as the heat of the bourbon eased down my chest, I felt the impatience I had on the public transit melt away. I knew I could wait here for hours if I had to. Forever, even. And I kept cumming. Better than any pussy I ever had. I watched the locals drift in and out, as well as the hookers. I looked in every face to see if I saw him. I knew it wouldn't be hard to recognize him, but I looked carefully anyway.
After about an hour and a half, or five beers and four shots, he walked in. I knew it was him immediately. About five-foot ten, and easily a hundred pounds of extra flab clinging to him. White guy, suit, polished black shoes. And a man in a dress and heels, with tits, makeup and a wig, on his arm. Bingo. My appointment was here.
He bought "her" a bright green mixed drink that looked like a fancy glass full of anti-freeze, but he didn't order himself anything at all. I wasn't sitting close enough to hear what that green shit was called, but it looked as gay as the both of them. "She" got the drink, and the two of them took a booth as close to the bar as was available. As I ordered another drink, I watched them start making with the kissing and touching. "She" was laughing a little as he nibbled on her neck. I was never so glad to see a nigger as when one took a barstool between them and myself, blocking the horrible show they were putting on.
He wasted no time getting three of those green nightmares into the he-hooker. The fat bastard just sat there the whole time, sucking and biting on this man dressed as a slut. He didn't drink, not even a soda. He didn't even SMOKE, the motherfucker, the whole time. He was too busy getting it up for this dude. I was so thankful when they got up and he paid the tab. It was time for our meeting.
I left them plenty of room, since they hadn't noticed me noticing them. No sense in ruining it now. I waited for them to leave, and watched which direction they walked. I followed behind a little as they walked toward a dimly lit side-street. The sick, cheap fuck just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and pulled out his cock. "She" dropped to her knees, and I imagine started sucking it, since "her" face was planted firmly in his crotch. His back was toward me. The streetlight was one of those low-frequency types that barely does anything, and it was far away. It was perfect. As I pulled out my makeshift guitar string garrote, I came again.
Suddenly, everything sort of went to slow motion. I threw the string around his fat neck loosely, and shoved the small of his back with my knee. You know that fat bastard had the nerve to nearly fall over from just a little shove? He was so much weaker than I imagined he would be. The he-slut made a gagging noise and fell backwards. At the same time, I gave the fatass's Adam’s apple a nice firm thump with the guitar string, to get his attention. "She" saw what was happening and squealed a high-pitched yelp, and ran off. The hooker lost one of "her" high-heel shoes, and before switching my entire focus into this fat fuck's eyes, I saw "her" running down the street in a sort of comical, not-quite-a-man, not-quite-a-woman hobble.
The fat man's eyes bulged like they would fall out of his head. Not from pain yet, since I hadn't even really begun tightening the garrote, but from fear. I could TASTE his fear on the air. He was MINE. As I started turning the guitar sting, his face went immediately dark, flushed with blood. He made wet, slurping sounds deep in his chest well before I broke the skin. His fat throat was like so much lard, and the guitar string easily disappeared into a fresh crease between his flab. Although he put his flabby, soft hands on my wrists, it didn't seem like we was trying to fight. The soggy fatness of them just seemed like he was catching his balance. I could feel the muscles in my arms begin to finally tighten about the time the businessman's skin split. And when it split, it separated wide, about an inch from the pressure. And you know what was inside? Fat. White fat. It was WHITE. For a long time, it looked like cheese under the dim light. A sort of glowing, white sickness. I was beginning to think he just wasn't going to bleed right about the moment it happened. The dark goo just FELL out of the deep cut. In the mostly darkness, it looked BLACK, but I knew better. I knew it was beautiful red, like wine, flowing and falling out of him in sheets. I kept twisting and turning the guitar sting, tightening and tightening. And I kept throbbing and cumming.
What seemed like a VERY long time later, I could feel his weight pulling toward the littered sidewalk. As he started slipping to the ground, his fat-padded hands loosened their weak grip on my wrists. Time started to normalize, and speed back up. And I kept twisting. As he hit the ground, I burst his jugular vein, and the fat fuck had the nerve to spurt his filthy, perverted blood in my face. And I just kept right on twisting.
His face looked purple, and his tongue was dangling out of his mouth maybe five inches. The spurting of his dirty blood slowed to a simple draining, and a puddle of it formed under his fat head, wetting his freshly cut hair.
I looked around, and realized that I was all alone now. Not even the fat man was still with me. He was taking the most deserved vacation he'd ever been on. It was time for me to split. I pulled two of the three bandanas out of my pocket, and wiped the bulk of his grime off my face. Around the very next corner, I used the side-mirror on a truck and a brighter streetlight to see as I used the last bandana to finish the clean up.
On the public transit, on my way home, I came four more times. I never felt so goddamn good.
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