Herd mentality experiment [via]. That explains a lot.
This is THE rope trick [via]. Now let’s rock and roll.
Kim Wilson has always amazed me. One of the best blues harp players around, Wilson doesn’t get the recognition he deserves, IMO. I’m no slouch on a Hohner chromatic with a Ham Radio bullet mic, but I sure as hell can’t pull off what he does.
Dude’s strong as hell, but she’s still got the gun, and the Creepy Red Cabinet isn’t entirely innocent either. Who wears a turquoise jacket with yellow pants and blue shoes, anyway? I think that was her idea.
Say, “Ahoy, matey, dis be der ninetain off Septembarrrrgh,” or “Bring oat jer booty an’ I’ll let yer play wit me byrd,” and get a free donut. Do it while wearing an eyepatch, black tricorn hat or head scarf, striped shirt with tattered pants, a cutlass or dragoon, and a parrot on your shoulder and you’ll get a dozen. TRUE.
Auf den leiben einer Wanderzelle IV. According to Google, that translates to “On the legs of a walking cell IV,” the caption here says “the perspective is an anatomical landscape from the inside of the nostril looking out.” There’s even a cute little booger.
This is the way it is, baby. I Dig Safety, and it’s about time you paid attention to it. Don’t let the title fool you; this could save your life, and it’s got a cool hip soundtrack with bongos, courtesy of Xerox [1969].
The Utoobage description sums it up: “A great clip from the 1958 teen B movie High School Confidential. This clip features Phillipa Fallon as a beat poetess. That’s Uncle Fester, AKA Jackie Coogan on piano behind her. Turn your eyes inside and dig the vacuum.” Here’s the whole awesome [via]:
High School Drag
My old man was a bread stasher all his life. He never got fat. He wound up with a used car, a 17 inch screen and arthritis.
Tomorrow is a drag, man. Tomorrow is a king sized bust.
They cried ‘put down pot,’ ‘don’t think a lot,’ for what? Time, how much? And what to do with it.
Sleep, man, and you might wake up digging the whole human race giving itself three days to get out.
Tomorrow is a drag, pops, the future is a flake.
I had a canary who couldn’t sing. I had a cat who let me share my pad with her. I bought a dog that killed the cat who ate the canary. What is truth?
I had an uncle with an ivy league card. He had a life with a belt in the back. He had a button-down brain. Wind up a belt in the mouth with a button-down lip.
We cough blood on this earth. Now there’s a race for space. We can cough blood on the moon soon.
Tomorrow’s dragsville, cats. Tomorrow is a king size drag.
Tool a fast shore, swing with a gassy chick. Turn on to a thousand joys. Smile on what happened, or check what’s going to happen, You’ll miss what’s happening. Turn your eyes inside and dig the vacuum.
Swing For A Crime is a great compilation of hep cat music interspersed with audio snippets from B-movie suspense thrillers (including the distinctive voice of Lee Marvin hollering “Oh you pig! You lyin’ pig!” from the 1953 movie The Big Heat). I have it on vinyl.
The only performer I know of that was able to recreate the hep cat beatnik persona successfully is Tom Waits.
Have a great Labor Day Weekend, folks.
[Yeah, I fixed it, and I know it’s not Memorial Day Weekend. That’s what happens when you realize it’s almost midnight and you’ve been messing around too much on Twitter to post anything coherently. –Bunk]
I modified the top one a tad, second one was cropped and culled for size (they’re all way too skinny in the meat department, but the one on the left rocks). Third is pure awesome. Anyone who’s been to Seattle knows that everyone there dances that way.
James Dean’s Last Stop in Lost Hills, California, was where he and his mechanic stopped to gas up his Porsche 550 Spyder and get something to eat before heading off to Salinas for a road race. Most of you know the rest of the story.
Why did I post this? The Missus and Bunkarina went on a roadtrip to see Bunkessa, stopped in Lost Hills, so I axed Mr. Google for a map. The James Dean mural came up and it led me to photographer Ofer Wolberger‘s quirky collection entitled “Life With Maggie.” [More about Wolberger here.]
Daniil Sihastrul (Romanian for “Daniel the Hesychast“) was a renowned Romanian Orthodox spiritual guide, advisor of Stephen the Great, and hegumen of Voroneț Monastery. Canonized by the Romanian Orthodox Church in 1992.
[…]
Daniil Sihastrul ignited a hermit movement in northern Moldova, having many novices in the woods surrounding Voroneț, as well as at the hermitages and monasteries in its surroundings. He encouraged Stephen the Great to fight for the defense of Christendom and to build holy places.
He has been considered a saint ever since his life time, being credited with healing the sick, exorcising demons, and removing suffering.
On first glance, it appears that St. Daniil was an eccentric loner who spent his life exorcising his mind from all thought in pursuit of purity of spirit for personal enlightenment, as that was apparently the aim of the Hesychasts. On the other hand, he was not a hermit full time, and used his stone temple as a place of refuge and contemplation. Given that he advised military strategist Stephen The Great, Daniil was well respected at the time (late 1400s AD).
Now what did Stephen The Great do? He stopped the Ottoman Empire warlords from overrunning Moldova, killing Christians and others indiscriminately, and from instituting islam and shari’ia law.
St. Stephen defeated Mehmet at a famous and decisive battle in a place called Vaslui (not far south of Iaṣi in the province of Moldova). Had he not done so, little would have stood between Mehmet and the Ukraine—and the obliteration of the rest of the Orthodox world. Mehmet met his match shortly after having sacked Constantinople. With the rest of the Balkan peninsula falling to Islam’s sword, Mehmet must have seemed unstoppable to Christians everywhere, yet none of the Western powers nor the Western Church would lift a finger against the Ottomans. Thus, Stephen stood more or less alone in defense of Christianity and his homeland [via].
Interesting times, indeed.
Oh, and here’s a photo of Deniis hawking his CDs. I’m not an historian, but it amazes me what one may find just by searching for the origin of an image.
“Okay, I need some bullet-shooting handcuffs, a bullet-shooting lighter, a bullet-shooting camera with 3 or 4 rolls of bullet-shooting film, a bullet-shooting WalkieTalkie, a bullet-shooting knife, and a bullet-shooting flat hand grenade. I’ll take that bullet-shooting mustache and the bullet-shooting beard, too. How much for the bullet-shooting missile grenade? Oh, and I’ll also need some bullet-shooting ammunition, then I’m good to go.”
–Bunk Strutts 10 years old.
[Images found here. ISIS has some of this stuff already.]
I met Myldred Jones. She had been the highest ranking woman in the Navy ( Lt. Commander) but I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was that she ran a shelter for teens in trouble, was planning to build a 2-story residence for runaways on the adjacent property, and seemed like a nice little old lady. I was just a year or so out of the midwest, so was polite and respectful. I don’t recall exactly what I said, but her response was, “Cut the crap. This is business.”
Check out who’s under cyber attack and from where. Live map.
Oh yes he does, you Manc poofter. He knows exactly what he’s talking about. “Olymic” indeed.
The Olympics sounded like every other group that performed a Leiber & Stoller song and then faded away to oblivion, but they didn’t. Let’s do the HullyGully.
Tacky Raccoons 