He Did What?

You know what is an important thing to learn early on in life? Taking responsibility. Yes, it really sucks when you get caught doing something that you weren't supposed to be doing in the first place, but it's important that you learn how to admit that you were in the wrong and then accept the consequences that come your way as a result. See, because if Wayne Mitchell had taken that advice he probably wouldn't have tried to help his brother try to get out of being caught with a bunch of cocaine. And if he had done that, well, it's almost certain that he wouldn't have ate the cocaine that was in his brother's arse at the time. (Yes, you read that correctly.) And if he hadn't eaten the ass-coke, he would probably be alive today. I'm just saying.

Here's the story according to something called Click Orlando. It seems that Deangelo Mitchell and his brother, 20-year-old Wayne Mitchell, were "...taken into custody on allegations they had drugs in their car." (And trust me when I tell you that everyone reading this is going to wish that they did have their drugs in the car instead of where they actually were.) Now, I don't know where they were when "the incident" took place, but the picture accompanying the story seems to imply that they were in the back of the police car. I could be wrong though. However, if you were hoping to put together a good visual to go along with this nuttiness, go with the back of the police car. It looked like this. Behold!

So that's one of them. I can't say that he looks real bright. Maybe I'm wrong, though. Maybe he's a genius. (I'm not wrong and you know it. He's not exactly Rainman.) The point here is that when they were arrested, Deangelo had a butt full of drugs. Literally. There were drugs in his butt. Maybe his pockets were full. I don't really know. But Deangelo knew. He knew of the drugs that had been inserted into his rectum. And he knew that the cops would eventually find them as well. That's when his mission became clear. He needed to remove the drugs from his butt. But how?

Funny you should ask. Deangelo decided to ask his brother for a favor. That favor was for Wayne to apparently remove the cocaine from Deangelo's rectal cavity by using his teeth/mouth. Bluntly put, he wanted him to eat it out of there. Now, before you go off all thinking that was a crazy thing one to do, just remember that Wayne agreed to it. Who's the crazy one now, huh? And before you go thinking for sure that it's Wayne, just let me first tell you that he DID get the cocaine out of Deangelo's butt. So, it's not like he agreed to anything that he couldn't follow through with. (I really have no idea what I'm saying here. I find this entire story so disgusting and unbelievable that I'm kind of at a loss for words and I'm really trying to wing it here without flipping out.)

But it turns out that swallowing an entire ounce of cocaine can kill you. Who knew? Well, I'm assuming that Wayne didn't know. Considering that he's now dead, I'm guessing that he has some idea about that now. That's right. It killed him. According to North Charleston Police Chief Jon Zumalt "It's sickening." Hard to disagree with that. He also added, "I got upset when I saw the whole thing. I was pretty shocked on it." Wait. When you...saw the whole thing?! Did this guy used to work at Penn State or something?! How does one see the whole thing and not maybe intervene before the whole thing is over?! How does someone see the whole thing and not make it so that it isn't a whole entire thing?! What is going on over there in North Charleston anyway?! Whatever it is, make it STOP! This is NOT the kind of thing that we can have going on all the time! Just having it go on ONCE is bad enough. Good Lord, what in the world is wrong with people?!

Sphere: Related Content

It's Dead And It's Funny

This one speaks for itself. It's a little girl whose dog has just killed a squirrel. Or, as she says it, a squeel. Yep. Cute kid playing with a dead rodent. Try not to crack up right around 1:30 when she starts making the dead creature's head bob up and down. Apparently, there are people out there (ie, on the Innerwebs) who are freaking out that this guy would let his daughter play with a dead animal. Hey, kids need to strengthen their immune systems. I'm not saying that they should always go about it by toting around furry animal carcasses, but a few germs are only going to help them in the long run. It wasn't foaming at the mouth or anything. She'll be fine. And if she isn't, then all of the people who were freaking out about it can say "I told you so", which really seems to be what they want, more than anything for some odd reason. Anyway, here's a cute little girl playing with a dead squirrel. Enjoy!

Sphere: Related Content

The Situation Room Meets Photoshop

Remember how about a week ago everyone was a-clamoring to see the photos of Osama bin Laden with his head all blown to smithereens? (Insert Osama bin Laden joke here: What happens when Navy SEALs find Osama bin Laden? It's a no brainer. End joke.) There were a few reasons thrown around as to why that wasn't going to happen. But do you know what it came down to? Us. You. Me. That's right. The Internets.

According to Politico, Defense Secretary Robert Gates told a bunch of Marines at Camp Lejune in North Carolina, "One of the things that I think concerns Secretary [of State Hillary] Clinton and I is the risk not only of the pictures themselves inflaming people who were bin Laden's adherents and radical extremists, but we were also worried about the potential for manipulation of those photos and doing things with those photos that would be pretty outrageous in terms of provoking a reaction that might in fact put our troops at greater risk in both Iraq and Afghanistan." You know what that means don't you? Photoshop.

The Internets are creative places. And Gates knows it. First-hand, it would seem, as he went on to say: "I have gotten from friends all over the country copies of the picture that was this iconic picture taken in the Situation Room while we were watching the operation. And they have been photoshopped in every way you can imagine, including putting you know, coming after the royal wedding, one of these had all of us in one of these big, wide-brimmed hats from the wedding." Huh. I wonder what ever he could be referring to?

No, I don't. I knew. I knew all along. He also went on to say: "Another had various football players seated at the table that had been photoshopped in." I know what that's in reference to also. Behold!

At least, I think that's the one that he's referring to. They're not really seated at the table, per se, but there are football players there, so I'm going to green light that one. If those are the only ones that he's seen, however, he's really missing out. I call this one "SNAFU". Behold!Then there's the Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino Room:Then there's "Everybody Get In The Situation Room":

And my personal favorite, The Hall of Justice:I really enjoy seeing Hillary as Wonder Woman. I don'tknow why they made Joe Biden The Flash. He looked so complacent in the original photo. It seemed like he was thinking about trains and not much more. I think the point here is that if Bob Gates was afraid that the Internets would Photoshop the hell out of the bin Laden death photos, he's probably got a pretty good point. And I'm OK with not seeing them. Dead is dead. I'm good with that. Photoshop on!

Sphere: Related Content

Late To Her Own Funeral

I'm not much for dwelling on the deaths of celebrities from the days of yore. But I just learned something about Elizabeth Taylor's funeral that I found interesting and highly amusing. It's also something that I am going to implement into my own funeral service one day. (And that day will probably not ever come quick enough for me. I've thought about titling my autobiography "Sprinting Toward The Grave - The Story of Me". But, I'm sure that I'm going to live a very long life, filled to the brim with frustration and annoyance at every day occurrences, politics and bureaucracy. That would be just my luck.)

From the folks over at AOL News, we learn that Elizabeth Taylor was buried at Forest Lawn Cemetery yesterday and things did not start on time. No. According to her publicist (Elizabeth Taylor still needed a publicist?), Sally Morrison, "The service began 15 minutes after its announced start time in observance of Taylor's parting wish that her funeral start late." That's right. Taylor had left instructions asking for the tardy start and had requested that someone announce, "She even wanted to be late for her own funeral," Morrison said. I find that to be just awesome. That's what I want to do. Make people laugh one last time after I'm dead. That's a true entertainer right there. Nice job.

Sphere: Related Content

R.I.P Paul

There's been a celebrity death. If you haven't heard, brace yourself. Are you braced? ARE YOU?? Good. Here we go. The beloved cephalopod mollusc, a one Paul the Octopus, has died. Wait. What?

Paul the Octopus. He's dead. Dead I said. (I'm feeling a bit of a Dr. Seuss eulogy coming on here. I must refrain.) You remember Paul, don't you? He was the octopus in Oberhausen, Germany, who lived at the Sea Life Center. Paul was able to correctly "predict" the winner of all of the matches that Germany played at the 2010 World Cup, including the final. Here's how it worked: One of the Sea Life Center folks would put an octopus treat (I'm guessing something similar to a Scooby Snack) in two clear plastic boxes. One box had the flag of Germany on it and the other box had the flag of Germany's opponent on it. Whichever box that Paul opened first to get his little Octopus Ort (it just doesn't have the same ring to it as Scooby Snack does), that was supposed to be the winner. And, surprisingly enough, in this case, it was the winner...seven times in a row.

But now he's dead at the ripe old octopus age of 2-1/2. Apparently, that is normal for an octopus. And while that may be interesting to you and me, I highly doubt that ol' Paul is finding the fascination in it right about now. But the way that this is being treated in the press, you'd think that one of the leaders of the free world had just croaked it. It seems to be getting an awful lot of ink (pun probably intended) for an octopus. But not everyone is in mourning (or craving calamari) right now. No, according to The Hindu (the publication, not a random guy), a one Diego Maradona, the former coach of the Argentina team, is not in mourning. The chap seems to be rather happy, as indicated in a freaking tweet that read, "I am happy your gone Psychic Octopus, it’s your fault we lost the World Cup." I see. After someone explains to Mr. Maradona that there is no such thing as a "psychic octopus", could someone then explain to him that "you're" is the correct form of "you are" that he was looking for there? Thank you.

And see, I would have found it amusing that someone was so into the whole dead octopus scene if it were not for this blurb at the end of the article: "Paul died early Tuesday of natural causes. His passing was mourned by the world football community and the aquarium in Oberhausen announced it would set up a small monument in his honour." Oh, for cryin' out loud.

A small monument? For a lucky octopus? Really? What kind of a small monument are we talking about here? A large bowl of cocktail sauce, perhaps? I don't get it. And as long as I'm on the subject of things I don't get, what was I supposed to infer from learning that he died of "natural causes"? As opposed to what? Being snuffed out by his lesser known cousin, The Unlucky Squid? Well, that would depend on who you're asking. Wait. What now?

If you ask a Chinese filmmaker named Jiang Xiao (pronounce that however you'd like) she'll tell you “I am 60 to 70 per cent sure that Paul died on July 9th (two days before the World Cup final) and the Germans have been covering up his death and fooling us for a long time.” Really? 60 to 70 percent sure? A little over half sure? Well, OK, then! Seriously? Really? That's like a C-minus at best. I'm not so sure that I'd call that grounds for "a cover up". I might call it grounds to get some inane publicity for your forthcoming film about nothing, though.

Really. According to something called The Spec, "Shortly...after picking Spain over his native Germany in the semis, he received anonymous death threats." Someone threatened an octopus? How would the octopus know? Could this octopus also read? Did it correspond with fans? What the hell is going on over there in German aquariums?! That seems to be the real issue at this point!

The unpronounceable conspiracy theorist filmmaker (there's a title for a business card for you) claims that the "Paul" that was in the tank making all of the predictions was really another octopus that had been switched out. What evidence does this nutjob have for this theory? "(Octopuses) all look the same. It is impossible to tell the difference.” You know what else looks the same? Crazy. Crazy looks the same no matter who it is who's boasting all of the crazy. The octopus is dead. Get over it.

And P.S. If he had picked all six winning Powerball numbers one week, then you would have had my attention. Actually, if it had been something other than soccer you would have had my attention. Couldn't he have been put to use for a more exciting sport?

Sphere: Related Content

Kim Jong Probably Still IL

North Korea released some more photos of their 'Dear Leader' Kim Jong IL the other day. Sadly, they show that the North Koreans have still not gotten any better at Photoshop. They keep releasing these photos which have some pretty obvious flaws in them, yet the fact that despite that they still continue to release them makes me assume that they really believe that they're pretty darn tricky. My money is on the guy being dead. Already. And for a while.

Here we have the latest photos that aren't quite right (just like the folks who released them). This one shows Kim Jong IL standing in the middle of some very neatly arranged troops. You should be able to click on all of the photos and have them enlarge in their own, convenient window for larger and easier viewing.

The folks across the pond at the BBC put together a nice little diagram of some of the more obvious flaws in this photo. They point out the black line that runs behind everyone but the 'Dead Dear Leader'. They also show the mismatched pixels around his shoe and how the shadow of Kim Jong IL doesn't quite match up with the rest of the North Korean Shadow World there. (Now, is it just me, or are they all wearing Russian hats?)

And it's not like they haven't released a picture prior to this one that looks almost identical with the exception of the dried grass that they seem to be standing on and the multi-storied, residential looking building in the background . It too is missing the elusive black line. Behold!

It's when I started looking at the photo above that I noticed some other things that were really odd. (Odd in the sense that I found them strange. Stranger than having troops assembled for a class photo in front of what appears to be some sort of apartment complex behind them. As a citizen, I would find it a bit unnerving to look out my window and see the sight above. Just a bit. Then again, I'd also find it unnerving to look out my window and see North Korea, as when I look out my window now, North Korea is not there.)

As I looked in the area that I've circled below, it was obvious that the photo is not of the best quality. And for good reason. It kind of occurred to me that it didn't seem likely that those were actually people standing there all straight and neat. No, that appears to be a screaming Alfalfa from the Little Rascals. (And do you blame him? I'd scream too if I were Alfalfa and I suddenly found myself as a North Korean soldier on Picture Day.) There seem to be a lot of Alfalfas in that row. And below him and to the right a little bit, that soldier looks like a porcelain doll head!

And look, whether you think it's Alfalfa or not, you have to admit, those aren't human heads. Those do not look like regular people, pixelated all over the place or not. But look at their feet over there on the right hand side also (pic below). Those feet are walking the other way! Was it the Communist Photoshop Guy's first day? Dude, that's Secret Korean Empire Fake Picture Making 101!! Everyone knows to make all of the feet walk the right way. (If I look at it long enough, it starts to remind me of some of the Civil War pictures. The US Civil War!)

Seriously, why would you do that? Why would you have pictures that you're releasing for the purpose of trying to convince the world that your pompadoured, possibly crazy, probably dead, Communist leader is alive and well and not turn their feet around the right way? Do they not have 'Zoom' or 'Enlarge' in North Korea? Judging from Kim Jong IL's hair, they DO!

Has anyone been able to explain the L.L. Bean jacket or the Eddie Bauer coat or whatever that is that he's always wearing? It's like he's receiving fashion tips from I'm A Dinner Jacket over there in Iran with the Members Only windbreaker that he's always sporting.

I'm telling you, the guy is not well. If he had a stroke in August which was followed by brain surgery and now he's just up and out and about and inspecting troops all over the place, well then, North Korea is the new leader in stroke treatment and recovery. Not to mention the Noggin Surgery Capital of the World. IF, I said. IF all that has happened. I don't think it has, so wherever the current Noggin Surgery Capital of the World is, it's safe.

Sphere: Related Content

Olsen Twin Immunity

Mary Kate Olsen, who was the first person called by the masseuse who found Heath Ledger "unresponsive" (translation: croaked), has apparently not been all that cooperative with authorities who would like to interview her. This according to the fine, witty folks over there at The New York Post No, the waif-life, insect eyed, former child star of Full House has asked for "immunity from prosecution" before she will talk to the police. Hmmm. Interesting.

See, now I don't know why this has taken so long. After Heath turned up all John Belushi and stuff, and as the story came out, a lot of things just didn't make sense at first. Things like the masseuse calling Mary Kate Olsen before dialing 911. And while that DOES sound odd, you have to think about it in the context of rich people who party and use drugs.

First of all, apparently Mary-Kate and Heath knew each other because they had something in common. Partying. Oh, and they both smoked Marlboro Reds, which I'm sure is relevant in some circles. Partiers, the hard core partiers, have an unspoken code that is as strong as 'Semper Fi' is to a Marine. That code is to always cover each other's ass. Hard core partiers are like the MacGyver's of the Underworld. They can know that a fellow party buddy is in trouble and concoct just about any type of situation, story or device that will help out said buddy. And they must have a phone tree system in place that rivals the best of them. If a fellow druggie is in need, they can get in touch with each other in a flash. It's amazing.

But the point is that Heath had, allegedly, had "issues" with "substances" before and there was a lot of ass covering going on in previous instances. So, this might just have been, "Oh, great. Heath won't get up. Here we go again. I know the drill. Where's that phone tree list?" Next thing you know, the troops are over cleaning him up and sending him on his way. Only that day, it didn't go quite like that.

Think of it like this: Masseuse goes in, there's her client. Naked. Lying there. Could just be sleeping soundly. (Remember, you're not expecting him to be dead. Sleeping is the first thing that would come to mind.) Sleeping that soundly is a little strange. Maybe something is wrong. But what if it's not? How close can she get before it gets weird? Tries to remember the protocol for situations when it's appropriate to approach and possibly poke a naked client to determine responsivity. Draws a blank. What to do? What to do? Sees dude's cell. Looks for something or someone. A-ha! Mary-Kate! That Olsen twin. I'll call her!

Now, while that may sound nuts, at that point, you're really searching for anything that is familiar and normal to grasp onto. And I realize that "familiar and normal" doesn't exactly describe Mary-Kate Olsen to a tee, but you'll take what you can get at times like those. (She could also be described as being difficult "to grasp", but again, you'll take what you can get.)

And it was Mary-Kate's security folk (the rich, former child stars of the world always have security folk at their beck and call, don't you know?) who actually arrived before the paramedics did. They might not seem like the most useful people to have show up immediately, but you have to understand the mind of a druggie and how things work in DruggieLand.

They're a sorry bunch all right, but they look out for each other. They are constantly cleaning up after one another. If someone stays out too late partying and then someone else can't wake their ass up in the morning, they call the druggie friends and they come over and help get the druggie up. Because if they don't help them out, then it could get out that the druggie is a druggie and that's never good for anyone. And if the druggie is famous and wants to avoid being known as the famous druggie, then situations like a guy not waking up for his massage become a little more urgent.

There's a lot of secrecy in the drug world as far as what goes on in there. There's not a lot of secrecy that those involved IN the drug world are on drugs. Oh, THEY think that they've fooled everyone. But as we were all looking at Mary-Kate Olsen a week before she went into treatment for an eating disorder when she appeared to weigh approximately 45 pounds soaking wet, her people all said, "She's fine. She's just tired." Yeah, I'd agree. DEATH does look tired like that, I'll give them that one. Spare me. From what I can tell, before she went into treatment, that girl's diet must have consisted solely of dust and Chiclets. Oh, but she's fine! OK. Whatever.


I guess ol' Heath had some Oxycontin that was obtained "illegally" and they still haven't found out where he got it. Hmmm...Hey, Mary Kate....do YOU know where Heath got the Oxycontin? Whaaaattt? You want immunity from prosecution? Oh, well, I'm sure that you had NOTHING to do with it and you'd probably be of little or no help to our investigation at all. Next!" I wonder if SHE asked for the immunity or if she has a lawyer who asked for her. I'd give her credit if she did it on her own, as it doesn't look like a single coherent idea could go through that brain once a week, let alone at a time when it would be appropriate. Oh, wait, I take some of that back. She probably knows where all of the Starbucks are. That might be useful.

Hey, what if they arrested Mary-Kate? They'd have a problem on their hands, that's for sure. I mean, for starters, they'd probably have to lock her in a closet or something because she could just walk right through the spaces between those bars and out of her cell. They'd never be able to contain her in a regular cell. Do they have children's sized handcuffs? Because her wrists are about the same thickness as pretzel sticks and I can't see regular cuffs doing much in the way of containment there.

This can only get more interesting as more stuff comes out. Stay tuned, won't ye?

Sphere: Related Content

Speaking of Walrus

So, for some reason, there are a whole lot of bodies/skeletons buried all throughout London. They're everywhere. Under the streets, under the roads, under buildings, everywhere. You can't swing a dead person without hitting another dead person, from what I can tell. So when you have a city full of skeletons, if you're the Museum of London and The Times Online, you team up and you make an electronic map that allows users to zoom in and see how many bodies they walk over on the way to work every day. Spiffy.

The skeleton map project will pinpoint the location of over 37,000 bodies that the museum has found in London. And when I say "in London" I mean just that. Buried right there IN London, right beneath the very two feet you're standing on (if you're standing on them in London). The curators at the museum have kept 17,000 of the ol' bones for themselves in storage, but have re-interred the rest. ("Re-interred" meaning, "back in the ground, wherever we feel like putting them", apparently.)

They went and got all cutsie with the map and put little skull logos to locate where, you guessed it, each skeleton/dead body is. AND, if 37,000 skeletons seems like quite a lot to wade through on your own (and it is), you're in luck because the 26 skeletons with the most fascinating stories will be put on display at the Wellcome Collection in London. That according to our good friends over there at the Times Online - UK.

But if you still can't wait to learn more about the best ones, here's a teaser. According to The Times, The most gruesome example is the skeleton of a young woman who died around the beginning of the 19th century. She had such severe syphilis that her skull still bears the scars of where the disease entered her bones." (Note to self: Do not get syphilis.) Ooh, but it gets better according to Bill White, who is the senior curator of the museum's bio-archaeology department. Bill said that "The woman would have had open sores on her forehead. By that time she would have been out of her mind, so she wouldn't have known much about it. She was in her twenties when she died. We think she may have been a prostitute, because Southwark, where she was found, was well known for prostitution at the time. She also suffered from rickets, probably from being kept indoors away from sunlight as a child, and had chronic tooth decay. " (Note to self - Part Deux: Your life is pretty darned good.)

Um, "probably from being kept indoors away from sunlight as a child"? What the hell does that mean? The most disturbing part of that (aside from all of it) is the word "probably". "Probably" as in "most likely". WAS it "most likely" that the individual was "kept indoors away from sunlight as a CHILD?" I would hope something like that would fall more in the "least likely" category, but apparently it does not. Of course, no word on WHY she was "probably kept indoors". Important information to the reader, one would think! But it's no where to be found.

Here's some more skeleton-y goodness to tide you over until October. Well, when the Chelsea graveyard (that's in Chelsea) was being explored, the archaeologists there discovered the Hand brothers, who, according to our friends at The Times Online again, were "imaginatively named Richard Gideon and Gideon Richard, and whose family invented the Chelsea Bun." (The Chelsea Bun is the distant cousin of America's beloved bun, the Cinnamon.) Richard Gideon was an odd duck. (NO. Not a platypus.) He was an officer in the Staffordshire militia who was known to his men as “Captain Bun”. (A title which I'm sure commanded loads of respect.) The Captain also enjoyed walking about his neighborhood in a fez and a long gown. (Clearly, this was long before "Don't Ask, Don't Tell".) Jelena Bekvalac, an osteologist at the museum said that his neighbors saw him as "a bit of an eccentric." Oh, do you THINK? The 1850s, in or around the London area and some guy is walking around with a fez and a gown and calling himself "Captain Bun". That's almost the very definition of "eccentric." Sadly, for reasons unknown, his skeleton will not be part of the 26 on display. (Though, could you imagine if it was? They could dress his ol' bones up with the fez and gown and give him a tray of Chelsea buns. It'd be quite a hook for tourists, you have to admit.)

There's another set of skeletal remains that will also NOT be on display with the 26 that are. These would be the remains that were found in a coffin in a graveyard at St. Pancras. And while it's not overly surprising to find remains in a coffin in a graveyard, it is a little surprising when you learn that the remains that were found were that of a walrus. Wait. What?

Correct. For some reason, a walrus, yes, a walrus was given a rather dignified burial, complete with coffin, in a cemetery where you almost never find ANY walruses. (Walruses? Walrusi? Walri? I swear, trying to figure out the plural of things like 'walrus' or 'octopus' is just a pain in the ass. All of your choices sound good! There's no way to tell!) And here's where it starts to get weird. The archaeologists don't have any clue as to why the walrus is there, who put it there, none of it. They just don't know.

Oh, but they DO know about a woman who "probably" was locked in a closet as a child and they DO know about the gowned Captain Fun Bun and his traipsing about town in his fez. THAT they know. But the walrus has them stumped? HOW is it possible to know EVERYTHING about the skeletal people and NOTHING about the walrus?! (Kind of makes me wonder if they were just making all of that other stuff up.)

Yep. It's a head scratcher alright, Chumley. It's a head scratcher.

Sphere: Related Content

Avyeq, The Masturbating Walrus

A moment of silence please. There's been a death. The death of a legend. Let's all just pause a moment to remember, Ayveq. Um, who? Ayveq. Ayveq the walrus?! The one at the New York Aquarium?! Any of this ringing a bell for you? Come on! Ayveq, the walrus whose strange and compelling masturbatory ways turned him into an international sensation. Wait. His what?

Correct. Ayveq, the 14-year old masturbating walrus at the New York Aquarium has died, most likely of a "massive bacterial infection", according to someone who knows a thing or two about walruses (and probably a little more about bacterial infections), I would guess. According to The Brooklyn Paper, Ayveq was well-liked (mostly by himself, apparently) even before he began demonstrating the "habit that would make him a star." Yep. Walrus porn. A diddlin' walrus. Hot stuff over there in Brooklyn. The Paper also said that his "frequent pubic public self-gratification made him the Coney Island institution's singular attraction." Well, I am glad it was just a "singular" attraction. At least THAT seems normal. (But really? A masturbating walrus was more of a draw than that Nathan's hot dog eating contest at Coney Island every 4th of July? Really?)

(By the way, The Brooklyn Paper is one of only a couple of news outlets that reported on this story that told it like it was. There were some instances of this story without a single mention of masturbation, self gratification or even walrus wanker. So thanks a lot, Brooklyn Paper guys, for giving all of us the truth about large aquatic mammals that frequently pleasure themselves in front of onlookers. If it weren't for you guys, I may have completely overlooked this story that just tugs at heartstrings. And tugs at a few other things as well).

According to the director of the Aquarium, a one Jon Forrest Dohlin, "He was an absolute delight. (Again, mostly to himself.) He had a magnetism and a charm that was totally his own. He loved people and he knew how to work a crowd and entertain guests. He did have a raffish charm, no doubt about that." Oh, there seemed to be a "magnetism" all right. Just like a magnet, his flipper was pulled into, well, that region more often than most would care to think about. And as far as his knowing how to "work a crowd", I don't know about that one. He knew how to work something, that's quite clear. He was workin' it! But the crowd? I don't think he was doing it so much for their enjoyment, hence the term "self gratification". (Oh, and the term "raffish" that was used by the guy in charge of the Aquarium? Yeah, who knew? Anyway, the word "raffish" means "to be suggestive of flashy vulgarity or crudeness." Thus it would appear that a "masturbating walrus" is actually THE VERY definition of "raffish" in it's whole and unadulterated form. From now on, when you hear "raffish" you'll think "walrus wanker whacking". I'm sure of it.)

The folks at the Aquarium said that they knew something was wrong on Sunday. "...we could see that he was not right," said Jon. Not right? What? His flipper wasn't Freeing his Willy that day? I find it amusing that when the walrus was NOT masturbating, something was wrong, but if he WAS masturbating, it was like, "Oh, thank God! He's touching it! He's fine. He's fine." Well, whatever it was that was "not right", it never did "right" itself, and ol' Ayveq was dead within a week. ::sniff::

The name "Ayveq" means, unoriginally enough, "walrus" in Siberian Yupik. "Siberian Yupik" is the language of the equally unoriginal Siberian Yupik tribe of Eskimos. A fascinating culture I'm sure, but without a lick of imagination from what I can tell right there.

Now, I realize that at least 3 of the 6 of you that read this blog might be somewhat interested in what, exactly, walrus masturbation consists of (other than at least one flipper and, well....that). And the other 3 of the 6 of your ARE interested, but would never say that you're interested. (Cowards.) So, I'm going to pretend as if I actually have some better judgement and that way I can say that this probably goes against it. Behold! Avyeq, the masturbatory walrus. We shall miss ye, oh, touchy feely one. We shall miss ye. (Warning: It's not what you might think of as a "typical" walrus masturbatory practice. It MAY shock you. It shocked the hell out of me. And I don't even have one of those.)

Sphere: Related Content