Because it is weird as hell. And also amazing.

Well, it was an Alfred Hitchcock movie, so I guess the weirdness is to be expected. Released in 1948, it’s about two men who decide that they’re intellectually superior human beings, so they strangle a friend of theirs, put him in a trunk in their apartment, and proceed to have a dinner party with the food served from the top of the very trunk containing their buddy’s dead body.

Good times, huh?

It shouldn’t be a surprise that I like this movie, because it is said Hitch got the idea from the famous Leopold and Loeb murder back in 1923 from which the book “For the Thrill of It” was written.* Yes, I happened to love that book. Loved the movie “Compulsion” too, and it was based on the same murder. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were two college students from Chicago who killed a 14-year old kid just because they thought they were superior intellects and could get away with it. They believed they could commit the “perfect murder” if you will, but hey, who hasn’t?

*As I was doing research for thes article, I found there was actually a play called “Rope” that was performed in 1929.

The film is notable for taking place in real time and being edited so as to appear as a single continuous shot through the use of long takes. Trust me, watch it and that will all make sense.

It stars Jimmy Stewart, Farley Granger and others, and it is dark and twisted. Here’s the plot as described in AllMovie.com:

Two brilliant young aesthetes, Brandon Shaw and Phillip Morgan, strangle to death their former classmate from Harvard University, David Kentley, in their apartment. They commit the crime as an intellectual exercise; they want to prove their superiority by committing the “perfect murder”.

After hiding the body in a large antique wooden chest, Brandon and Phillip host a dinner party at the apartment, which has a panoramic view of Manhattan’s skyline. The guests, who are unaware of what has happened, include the victim’s father Mr. Kentley and aunt Mrs. Atwater; his mother is not able to attend due to a cold. Also there are his fiancée, Janet Walker and her former lover Kenneth Lawrence, who was once David’s close friend.

Brandon uses the chest containing the body as a buffet table for the food, just before their housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson arrives to help with the party. “Now the fun begins,” Brandon says when the first guests arrive . . .

You’ll have to watch the movie to see what happens next, but trust me when I say it’s intense, gripping, and heart-stopping.

Man, this movie is right up my alley and I can’t believe it’s been out for 69-years and I’ve just discovered it.

Better late than never I guess? Anyway, watch this movie. For a taste, here’s the original trailer:

 

 

So some bratty kid climbed into one of those machines where you try and grab

Future serial killer.

a stuffed animal with a claw, and the internet has exploded with cuteness overload.

Really? Let’s reward the kid for misbehaving? At the risk of offending new age parents everywhere, I shall now peruse the entire article, with my comments interjected:

Washington Post: Damien Murphy’s 3-year-old son, Jamie, is one of those curious, mischievous kids who gets into everything. 

Translation: Little Jamie is a spoiled brat who hasn’t been taught to behave properly. He’s on the road to being a wife-beater, or perhaps a serial killer.

“Whenever I walk into a room and see something that could be trouble,” said Murphy, of Nenagh, Ireland, “I instantly see Jamie in it. He’s a real boundary pusher.” 

Newsflash: Jamie is 3-years old. He’d “push boundaries” by walking off a cliff if you let him. It’s your job, Damien Murphy, to set his boundaries.

Once, for example, he and his dad were looking after an aunt’s dog. Jamie “woke up early in the morning and cut a bunch of hair off it,” Murphy, 35, told the Washington Post.

Adorable. I wish the dog would have eaten him, or at the very least tore off a limb.

Still, Murphy said, he didn’t see it coming — it being Jamie’s Great Toy Machine Caper — when he, Jamie and Jamie’s brother, Shane, 5, walked into Jump ‘n’ Gyms, a commercial play center that boasts a “multilevel play area” filled with kidly delights. 

Yes, the author of this article used the word “kidly.” That alone should be grounds for dismissal.

Among them was one of those big claw machines filled with cuddly stuffed teddy bears, doggies, giraffes and dragons, a contraption tantalizing to young and old alike but especially to 3-year-olds. Even though it says “Prize Every Time” in big yellow letters, 3-year-olds can’t read and are smart enough anyway not to be taken in. 

Yep. They’re smart enough not to be “taken in” yet stupid enough to do what comes next.

Indeed, getting a prize can be tough unless you’re small enough to climb inside and it happens that Jamie was small enough, said his father. 

“I was sitting down having a coffee,” Murphy said, when Jamie wandered off for just a second. “He went out of my sight, walked off just to my left. I heard what I thought was a muffled complaint,” looked over and there he was. “He was just there, inside the machine, looking out of the glass.” 

Sure, dude was just sitting there ignoring his kid as the brat had the time to climb inside a freaking toy machine.

It seems that Jamie had climbed in through the flap where the toys come tumbling out, his father said. “He seemed a bit panicked,” said Murphy, “and then I told him, ‘listen, you’re fine,’ and gave him a big smile. Then he started laughing. Jamie was then rescued from the machine by a visiting fireman.

And this, my friends, is where the opportunity for a teaching moment was missed. A true, caring parent would not have smiled. They’d have walked up, told little Jamie he was stuck forever, and left him alone in there for 20 or 30-minutes. The point would have then been imprinted into the little punk’s skull forever.

The owner of the gym, James O’Sullivan, said he had the machine removed and asked the company that operates it to review it. “At this stage,” he said, “we are thankful that Jamie didn’t manage to hurt himself during his little adventure.”

Of course, because it’s the machine’s fault. Sigh.

Dad, and son were reunited, joined by two cuddly green dragons, courtesy of Jump ‘n’ Gyms.

S-u-r-e, let’s reward the kid and his asshattery by giving him toys. Lesson learned! Sweet Jesus.

But honestly, what’s next?

“Omigod! You should’ve seen that little rascal Sebastian today! I turned my head for a few seconds and he ran into 8-lanes of freeway traffic! That little rapscallion was nearly squashed by a Kenworth W900! Totes adorbs!

Good Lord. I would’ve made Damien try and rescue Jamie by using the claw, and if he couldn’t do it little Jamie would have to stay in there. Maybe shove some Twizzlers up there to sustain the little delinquent for a couple days.

PS- Feel free to bitch in the comments section, and I will ignore you as always.

Here’s a goose reunited with the human who raised it. Tell me this goose isn’t excited to see its mother. You can’t. That goose is happy as hell, man. Animals, smarter than you think they are.

Just imagine. You finally get word that your dream has come true. You’ve been chosen to appear on your favorite game show, Wheel of Fortune. The Wheel, man! And then, just when you’re on the brink of greatness, you think the answer is “Streetcar Naked Desire” rather than “Streetcar Named Desire”. Sad really.


So the story goes this guy bought a bunch of used chairs online, and when he went to pick them up this is what he found. Buyer beware I guess? On a related note, always read the item description.

Listen, I’m 99% sure most of the people in this video are wasted on Dandelion Wine or something, but bottom line this bro battles the odds like a mofo and comes out on top. People grabbing boards, throwing fists, it means nothing to this badass. Better come harder than that to put this dude on the ground. Kudos, my man. Kudos. On a related note, I’m positive the guy who took that first roundhouse punch is is dead. My man was pulling ninja moves like a boss.

There’s something about this one I really like.

[click on the photo and hop right in]

Dads are the best.

So this video of a giant chicken has been making the rounds of us in-the-know internet moguls, and I have to say it’s terrifying. I swear to God when that thing emerged from that chicken door I screeched like a 6-year old girl. I mean, birds of all kinds have to be shaking in their feathers right now. I’m talking ostriches, penguins, the entire bird kingdom. That’s one badass giant bird bro, bro. If this dude decides to come after everyone who has ever had a McNugget we’re all screwed. Seriously though, before the big Animal Revolt that I’ve predicted for years occurs we need to kill this beast.

PS – I guess those people that don’t think chickens evolved from dinosaurs have another think coming, amirite? Jeebus. 

PPS – Imagine the meal that bird would provide. Wings for days, man.

PPPS – Waiting for the first know-it-all to post this: “Don’t you know that’s a Brahma Chicken? They’re all that big.” Yes, I know. Shut it.

Came across these gems on the worldwide interweb today. Great stuff. Be sure and watch all three.

One of the longest tape worms taken out of a human body was over 108-feet in length. On average, tapeworms are found to be at most 50-feet.

 

These little twin dudes know how to have a good time, man.

The basketball season before this one we went out to play in a big tournament in Morgantown, West Virginia. Our game was against Morgantown High School, whose enrollment of 1,700 was over 6-times larger than ours at Paint Valley. However, since the Bearcats aren’t the backing down types, we’d accepted the challenge and headed out there for the game. It was a great all-around experience for our kids, spending a couple days out of town, staying in a hotel and eating at nice restaurants, all paid for by the tourney organizers.

The game itself was a pretty good one, but in the end the eventual 2016 West Virginia State Champions wore us down and won by 20-points or so. The score, however, isn’t the point of this story. It’s something that happened in the last few minutes of the game . . .

We had a freshman on the bench that day who didn’t play much varsity, and it happened to be his birthday. As the clock wound down, I walked to the end of the bench where he sat. The following conversation then ensued:

“PJ, I’m putting you into the game now. You’re going to make a 3-pointer on your birthday.”

“OK, coach.”

Except he just sat there.

“PJ, go into the game.”

At that point it hit him that he was in fact entering the game to compete against the best D1 high school basketball team in West Virginia, so he stood up and ran to the scorer’s table.

He then checks into the game and we run a couple plays for him, trying to get him that big birthday 3-pointer. Of course, our bench knows what’s up so they’re standing up on each shot, disappointed when each one bounces off the rim.

Of course, our fans have caught onto what we’re trying to do so they’re into it as well, rising up with each of PJ’s high arching rainbows, only to let out a loud, “Awww . . .” when the shots wouldn’t connect.

And then an interesting and somewhat confusing thing happened – the other team and its fans started cheering for PJ too.

What the heck?

Now, PJ is a cool, likeable kid and all, but the other team and their fans didn’t know that. They had no idea it was his birthday. Why the hell were they cheering so loudly for him?

Anyway, on his last chance PJ launches one of his patented high-arching threes, and of course he drains it. Our crowd goes wild, their crowd goes wild, our bench goes crazy, their bench is waving towels, and PJ gets hugs from both teams. I also recall a kid in the Morgantown student section stepping out to give him a high-five.

Still, it seemed odd and didn’t really add up, and after both teams shook hands (PJ got a lot of hugs and head rubs), I brought it up in the locker room. That’s when PJ cleared it all up for me:

“Uh, coach, I’m pretty sure the other team thought I was a special needs kid or something.”

Ahhhhh. That explained a lot. PJ, being a skinny little freshman who everyone was clearly rooting for, was mistaken for one of those kids you see on YouTube videos or the news that get put into a game for their one big chance at glory. They thought he was, you know, mentally disabled or something. To them it was a heartwarming story of a young man who got his big chance and came through in the clutch, and not the simple story of a coach trying to get a freshman player a 3-pointer on his birthday.

In retrospect, hilarious. Those fans in Morgantown are probably still talking about it.

Bottom line, that shot is etched in the memories of all who attended, that high-arching rainbow that drained through the net as an entire gymnasium erupted, the shot that will be known forevermore as . . . The Morgantown Drainbow.

‘Twas special night indeed.

Note: Please save the messages ripping me for making fun of special needs students. I am not. Nor am I making fun of PJ. It was his birthday and the whole thing was completely misread. Hence, it’s funny. In addition, if you know PJ it’s twice as funny. 

It’s nuts how much the focusing muscle of the eye gets done. On an average, this spectacular muscle of the human eye moves about 1-million times every single day. If that doesn’t blow your mind, let’s put it in perspective –  for your leg muscles to get the same kind of workout, you would have to walk 50-miles every day. That’s cray-cray man.

Cambodian Fried Spider is a delicacy comprised of tarantulas, a lime, and black pepper dip. I might go with the ranch dressing, maybe caramelize that bug or something, but hey, what do I know? The Phnom Penh Restaurant in Romdeng serves around 200 of these dishes a week. Looks delish.

[click on photo to step into the ice cave]

Image  —  Posted: March 19, 2017 in Great Photographs, Interesting Photos, Nature, Things I Love
Tags:

Interesting.

296d13f578b281b9e6b8a272e6163655

Tasty?

This is a rarity, but I’m going to use real names and places in this story. Why? Because I’m pretty sure all involved will just laugh about it. Read on . . .

It was early in my coaching career and I was coaching junior high basketball at Greenfield Middle School. We had a really good team, and we had a big game coming up against Circleville, who was also really good.

When I got to the school for the game that evening, though, I got some bad news – our best player was sick.

Yep, Marcus was our best player and MVP of our team, and he was sick as a dog. When I walked into our locker room he was doubled over, pale, and clearly not well. I mean, the kid could barely walk.

Uh-oh. This was bad. Really bad. I mean, we were good, but no way could we win without Marcus. I walked up to him and asked him if he could make it, and at that point he reached behind him and grabbed a jar of Vicks VapoRub from his locker. Then he said, “This will fix me up, coach. Don’t worry about it.

Ah, OK. A little Vicks VapoRub on the chest was always good for what ailed ya, right? Hey, if Marcus thought it would work we’d be good to go!

Oh, it was probably 10-minutes later when another player, Jeremy, came running up to me with a look of horror in his eyes.

Coach, he ate it! HE ATE IT!

Wait. What?

He ate it? Ate what? Certainly not the Vicks VapoRub. I mean, it said, “NOT TO BE TAKEN INTERNALLY” right on the lid there.

I had to find out though, so I went to the man himself.

“Uh, Marcus, you didn’t eat that did you?” 

“Sure, Coach. My family eats it all the time. It’ll clean me out. I’ll be fine. Give it a few minutes.”

At that point I saw it, on the bench beside him, the empty jar of Vicks VapoRub, just sitting there empty and clean as a whistle.

Oh, for the love of God. He ate it.

Bottom line? As I coached from the sideline waiting for him to die, Marcus played a great game and led us to victory. Guess he was cleaned out.

Who knew that Vicks VapoRub was such a miracle cure?

Note: I actually researched this and found that it was not uncommon for people to eat Vicks VapoRub back in the day. Still not recommended though.

Yep. This guy.

You have to admit that Daniel gave it a hell of an effort here. I mean, Top Golf just put this date over the top. And how about this girl? She not only makes it clear that it was a “friend date” but she had to get that final shot in with the old “#stillsingletho” hashtag. That’s brutal.

Professional golfer Cody Gribble came upon a gator yesterday whilst golfing and dealt with it as only a badass golfer would, by tapping it on the tail and sending it back into the brink. On a related note, Sergio Garcia would’ve run like an 8-year child at first sight of that prehistoric beast.

HOLYOKE, MA: Banging on doors, yelling, threatening to egg cars. Frat house? Nope. Holyoke Senior Center, at least according to one official.

“The Friday bingo mindset seems to infect people who behave rationally all other days of the week,” said Navae Fenwick Rodriguez, executive director of the Holyoke Council on Aging (COA).

Alleged bad behavior by senior citizens prompted Rodriguez to announce last week she was reducing the number of times bingo will be held at the Senior Center at 291 Pine St. to two Fridays a month from the current four a month. 

The accusations of fraternity house rowdiness were met with denials and skepticism, but Rodriguez nonetheless said in an email sent to a city councilor that the clamor includes:

  • Senior citizens banging on doors of other rooms at the facility;
  • Sneaking people in for lunch when a ticket is required;
  • Being rude to staff and volunteers;
  • Leaving the room a mess;
  • Threatening to egg the vehicles of staff and volunteers upon learning bingo regularity was in jeopardy.

The alleged boorishness seems to stem from senior citizens impatient to enter the multipurpose room where bingo is held and then rushing in to compete for seats at tables with friends, Rodriguez said in the email.

Bingo organizer Lorraine Gorham acknowledged seniors display an eagerness to get seated in a desired location to ensure they’ll enjoy their spot during the hours-long event, but she said she is unfamiliar with the situation as described by Rodriguez.

“They just want to get in there and sit down,” she said. “She’s putting this way out of context. It is not that bad. I am there 90% of the time and I have not seen anything like that.”

“We have been dealing with inappropriate behavior at Friday bingo since before we moved to our new senior center. For some reason, bingo seems to bring out the worst in people,” Rodriguez said. 

Listen, as far as I’m concerned Navae Fenwick Rodriguez can go straight to hell. She was probably that kid that was always running to the teacher telling on little Dave Bobby who had a cheat sheet up his Twin Tigers hoodie shirt sleeve. What a loser. Everyone knows how important it is to get to your favorite seat on Bingo Night. That’s sacred, man. And hey, cancelling two bingo games a month calls for drastic measures. I’d threaten to egg her car too. Fight this battle to the end, Lorraine Gorham. The world is with you.

PS- Navae Fenwick Rodriguez, you’re now at the top of the Holyoke Senior Citizens list, a bad, bad place to be. Better watch your back or you’ll get a cane to the back of your skull. Reap what you sow and all that.

Not surprising?

Incredible indeed.

Listen, everyone knows I love animals and hate anything that has to do with hurting them. I can’t fathom why anyone would watch a bullfight. Don’t get it, won’t get it, will never get it. Anyway, this 7-second video is stellar for a couple reasons. The obvious one is that this dude gets absolutely demolished by the bull. The second one is the fact that he looks like he’s talking to a chick in the stands just before he’s demolished. He says something just before casually putting his foot on the door to presumably hold it shut, trying to look all cool and whatnot. Who’s cool now, toolbag? The bull, that’s who.

PS- A great soundtrack always makes a video better. Always.

duke

Not Duke but awfully close.

Looking back, growing up in the small southern Ohio town of Bourneville wasn’t a bad way to go. Everybody knew everybody else, everyone looked after each other, and we were sort of unaffected by what was going on in the turbulent 1960’s. Oh, I knew about the Vietnam War and all the protests, but that was mainly because of my oldest sister Karen. Sis, always the rebel, made sure her little bro knew about the injustices of the world. As far as the Civil Rights movement down south, my father had made all that clear to me years earlier during our vacations to Florida. I distinctly remember him pointing to the “Whites Only” signs over bathroom doors in Georgia and explaining how it was wrong. All-in-all though, my daily life was pretty idyllic, to be honest.

I say all that because it’s pertinent to the story that follows.

For a few years in the mid-60’s I had a dog named Duke. Unlike all the dogs I’ve owned as an adult, Duke was an outside dog. We didn’t really know what kind of a dog he was, he sort of looked like a Greyhound with longer, collie-like hair. He was light brown with some white on his face and tail, and he could run like the wind.

How do I know this, you ask? Because he chased every car that drove by our house. Pull in our driveway? Fine. Drive on past? Get chased.

Anyway, Duke was a great dog.  He went with me everywhere, followed me whether I was on my bike or walking. He’d wait patiently outside the local store or gas station while I was inside, hang with my friends and I, or just generally be a great companion for a kid growing up in Southern Ohio.

And everyone in town knew my dog Duke.

Then one day, for some reason I was all by myself at home. This wasn’t unusual, parents left their kids home all the time back then. Hey, we could fend for ourselves. Compared to now it was a totally different world.

Anyway, the phone rang and it was the guy who owned the gas station in the middle of Bourneville. He basically said to get down there, that Duke had been in an accident. Obviously, I was distraught. I raced down there on my bike, and as I rounded the corner I saw a group gathered, maybe 8-10 people. When I got near they sort of separated so I could see, and there, on the ground, was Duke.

He looked normal, no visible injuries at all, and no blood. He was breathing normally and just looked very at ease and peaceful. Still, something was clearly wrong.

What happened next could only happen in a small midwestern town. Somebody backed up a pickup truck, and some of the men helped me place Duke gently in the bed. Somebody put my bike in as well, and we were driven back to my house where we carefully lay Duke on a blanket on my garage floor.

At that point everybody sort of backed away and left, leaving me there with my buddy.

And so here I was, a 10 or 11-year old kid, sitting on my family’s garage floor, with my dying dog’s head on my lap.

After maybe 10 or 15-minutes Duke sort of gave a sigh, and I knew he was gone.

I then held Duke, waited for my father to get home, told him what had happened, and he and I proceeded to bury Duke in our backyard.

Was it a tough moment for a kid my age? Hell, yes. But it was a different time, a different era. What happened wasn’t unusual for a small midwestern town in the 1960s. While people looked out for each other, ultimately you had to be independent and deal with life on your own.

And I did.

And in the end, I was better off for it.