Rat Pageant and World Naked Bike Rides

Frustrated subway workers, in New York, are attempting to draw attention to what they say is a rat infestation and are offering a free monthly transport pass to anybody who's got the guts and/or stomach to snap o a good pic of one of these furry, razor-sharped teethed, underground doll babies.

Hairy Potter.  He'll wave his furry wand if you want him to strike a seductive pose for the contest.  Just ask him nicely.
   

Though the furry darlings of the vermin community have been known to bite riders, in the past, present, and most likely, future, folks are encouraged to snap pictures of their favorite rat buddy. They can be sent to ratfreesubways.com.  When I visited the site, I saw that they were showing a video of a rat carrying off a pizza.  I witnessed one take off with a goat once.

What's next?

Somebody making out with a rat?

Did I see a little tongue action going on?    Golly.

Speaking of drawing attention, as mentioned above, I thought of something else.  People will, of course, express themselves in ways that draw attention, with the intention of desperately wanting that attention- like these gals here...

Actually, she's a lawyer.  Who knows how many cases she's won?

Lady, it gets hot down there.  Sometimes we just have to let our hairy, beet-red nutsacks hang out every so often.  As men, we understand you gals have your "lady days" with your menstrual periods and such- where you temporarily go insane with mood swings so severe, we're afraid to sleep beside you at night for fear you'll secretly throw out our old favorite cassette tapes or cut out our testicles and use them as earrings.   Just let us guys have our day in the shade or right out in the open and let us expose our  man apples, proudly, for all to see and gaze upon.  If we should draw attention to thine eye, don't throw darts at our wrinkled bags of jizz whiz.  Instead, applaud our display of dignity and pride with great gusto!     

Sometime people just want attention because it's a pathetic cry for help.  Help that perhaps only a therapist or close friend or mate can provide.  Sometimes it's acted out, in various ways, for petty shock value.  And then we have people who draw attention to themselves for a very worthy cause.  Take, for instance, World Naked Bike Rides.  In summary, World Naked Bike Riding events take place all around the world.  People will show their causes, ideas and concerns about pollution, the effects and greed of big oil corporations and more, by riding naked through city streets around the world.

Now that's the kind of attention draw I can get behind.  But not too closely behind.  Some good folks don't know their "behinds" stink because of poor sense of smell.  Who will stand up, with optional gas mask and dare to create a charity or cause for those folks?

Here are a few pics from London's World Naked Bike Ride:

It's good to know the British  police are there to cover the attendees for security reasons.  

Everyone is welcome to engage in the jaunty, admirable event.

Here, we see supporters, riders and spectators in San Francisco's World Naked Bike Ride event.

"Look, Bobby!  A man with wild tiger disguise, not doing a very good job of concealing he has been blessed with the  conscious of a true animal lover, supporter and eco-friendly gentleperson."

  Either that or he's just your average naked dude, out for a pleasant Sunday afternoon bicycle ride.  Who knows?  Just don't grab that chopstick, guys and gals!

And thus, we, or rather, I, alone, at Psycho Carnival, conclude our informative, somewhat jocular, tongue-in-buttcheek posting.  Have a wonderfully expressive day!  And why not ride a bike, take pictures of beautiful subway rats, afterwards, and then paint your naked, sagging ass blue for a change of pace?

It may just make your time on Earth just go that much smoother and stuff.  Later, friends!

My Spouse's Heroism

I had many surprises, mostly good and a few that were unfortunate, happen to me and those close to me during the summer. One such event, that had dramatic elements of bad and good, occurred about two months ago and it's one I'll never forget. And it's one that made me take a better, more appreciative look at the woman I married.

The scene: My father, who has dementia and is extremely verbally abusive, is found at a McDonald's restaurant inside the local Wal Mart store. It was one of those times, out of several over the summer, where he went somewhere and I and another family member had to go searching for him. Those are all long stories that I can't/won't go into for the moment. Suffice it to say, he's a big pain in the ass and after trying to get him put in a nursing home for months, we keep hitting a brick wall. No one will help us. He threatens. He shakes his fist while ranting and insulting those around him. He's unfocused. He gets dizzy spells and the list goes on and on. Still, the lawyers and a few doctors out of a majority of doctors say he has just enough marbles to fight against being put in a nursing home against his will- which is what it would take.

Please... don't ask any questions about the "Dad Dilemma." As I said, there are too many details to go into with this ongoing, depressing part in my family's lives and I would be sitting here, writing for hours, if I started to explain it all.

So I won't.

Anyway, we finally find the crazy, abusive bastard at a table at McDonald's. Dad is eating his french fries, muttering and ranting about whatever while my wife and I calmly listen and wait for him to shut up long enough where we can ask him if we can take him home- which will inevitably lead to a heated argument. Then next thing we hear, over Dad's ramblings, is a horrendous scream. At first, at least to me, it sounded like a coworker in the food preparation area of McDonald's had suddenly surprised another coworker. Like a prank scenario. And then everyone in the small dining area hears a loud "thunk" on the floor from the back. My wife, a young guy that's a Wal Mart employee and I go rushing to the open back door to the kitchen.

Sprawled out on the linoleum floor of the kitchen (or whatever they call it) is a woman who has a big gash in her head. Blood is gushing out of her wound and she is moaning and breathing erratically. I stand there, frozen. I can't move. My anxiety disorder kicks in and debilitates my ability to do anything positive.

Ever since my mom's death years ago, the vision of her in my mind of the way she looked when I saw her, in death, I don't respond well or not at all in intense or stressful situations. I have all the usefulness as a lump of fungus. In surprise situations, like the one that night, it's even worse.

I'm not trying to make an excuse. That's just how I am now.

My wife turns back and gently pushes me away from the doorway. The Wal Mart employee shouts, "I'm going to get help." He runs off. My wife takes the cell phone out of the holster on my belt and calls 911. Meanwhile, in a daze, I shuffle back to the table where Dad is sitting. He's still eating french fries, oblivious to whatever is going on around him. The only thing I can think about is all the blood on the floor in the back room.

The only other McDonald's employee is a nervous, crying young woman. She's as useless as me at the moment. She's wringing her hands and looking around, waiting for someone to do something for her fellow coworker, the victim on the floor. She kinda walks around in the dining area, fidgeting and looking afraid. I look at her and wish she would help the woman in the back kitchen area but then I wish I would do the same.

My wife, on the other hand, with a tone of controlled urgency, explains to the 911 dispatcher what has happened, as far as she knows, and where the accident has taken place. I watch her until it finally dawns on me of what's going on. Then several people walk up to the counter and begin to become agitated because they can't place an order. I become agitated because it is starting to become apparent that there is a real emergency situation afoot and these dumb fuckers are worrying about getting their next Quarter Pounder with cheese.

While customers are grumbling about being waited on, my wife goes into the kitchen and kneels by the poor woman's side. The woman was getting paler by the minute, according to my wife. A pool of blood was forming all around the woman and running into the crevices of the floor. Still, the woman was mumbling and trying to raise her head off the floor. My wife told her to lie still and not move. My wife likely helped save her life, just doing that part. Not to mention calling the emergency telephone number. I think she helped keep the woman alive several ways that night.

Minutes passed until a Wal Mart manager finally shows up. The manager was accompanied by two other employees. Instead of helping the woman on the floor, they ask my wife how the woman is. My wife tells them her breathing is erratic and she's lost a lot of blood. My wife is shaking now, at this point, afraid the woman is going to die. Still, she stays by the woman's side, crouched down, saying words of comfort near her ear. The Wal Mart employees at the door tell my wife to keep doing what she's doing. In my mind, they're being useless in the situation, as well.

The manager does do one thing. She grabs a towel and throws it to my wife, who she apparently believes is the only one who can do anything (even though my wife has zero medical training) and tells my wife, "You should put that over the cut in her head and apply pressure."

Fearing the woman is going to die, my wife takes the towel and applies pressure over the gash. Eventually, a couple emergency first responders show up and come into McDonald's. I point to the kitchen area and say, "Back there."

Dad stops eating french fries long enough to ask what's going on. When I tell him about the situation, he says, "Ah... I've seen people bleed before. It's no big deal. Who is it? Anyone I know? Why are you looking like that? You're acting stupid." I tell him, "I don't know what her name is. I didn't ask the woman her name or look at her name tag as all the blood was gushing from her head."

One of the customers, pissed off, said, "The service is really bad in here. I tried to get some Chicken McNuggets up front and no one would come up and take my order." I find this statement disgusting and for a second, oddly humorous. But then I become annoyed at this redneck's stupidity to the point where I walk over to his table, turn around and cut a silent but pungent fart, directly in his face.

Of course, since we were at a McDonald's, he probably couldn't distinguish the aroma of anything on the menu and my turd fog.

Worried about my wife's emotional welfare, I went to the kitchen and motioned for my wife to rise up and come out into the dining room area. She had done enough and it was time for the first responders to do their job. After coaxing her with gentle words and hand gestures, she finally leaves the woman's side and joins me. Around this time, the EMT's come to the back and do what they're trained to do.

I tell my wife how brave and kind I thought she was for doing what she did for the victim. I tell her how impressed I was that she took action whereas I and everyone else didn't do enough or anything at all.

My Dad sees my wife and asks, "What's that woman's name back there?"

My wife said, "I don't know. I think her name tag said Sarah."

And then my wife grabbed me and started crying into my chest. I rubbed her back and told her she did everything that could be expected of her and more and that everything might turn out okay. She was shaking and crying. I tried comforting her as best I could.

Meanwhile, people were grumbling and taking their sweet time in getting the hell out of the way after being told to move for the victim who was being taken out of the store on a gurney. At this point, I was telling them to move out of the way, as well and that it wasn't a sideshow act taking place. I was finally starting to return to my normal state of mind. Actually, when I farted in Mr. Chicken McNugget's face, earlier, I may have been getting back into my normal groove, my normal state of mind. Who knows?

Everyone reacts differently in extreme emergency situations, for certain. I'm just glad my wife took appropriate action when others didn't. In my mind, my wife had an important hand in saving the woman's life. There aren't enough words to describe how impressed I am of her and how much I think of her as a hero. Whenever I bring up the story to other people, it bothers her because of all the memories of the blood on the floor and the woman, in pain, come into her mind. I feel bad that it causes her this distress but I can't help telling the story because of how proud I am of her.

We found out later that Sarah, the woman who fell to the floor and almost lost her life, turned out to come out of the accident, alive. We were also told Sarah had a history of seizures, before. That night, she had had the most devastating seizure of them all. Sarah was released from the hospital two days later. I was surprised at that, considering how much blood she lost that night. She was likely released in only two days because the health insurance company didn't want to pay for her to stay at the hospital any longer. I've heard that with a lot of head wounds, people have a tendency to bleed profusely but the amount of blood I saw looked like something out of a horror movie.

In conclusion, I would say my wife is a better person than I, when it comes to helping people. She's certainly more generous with her time, when it comes to listening or taking action. I know she helps take care of me everyday and I try to do the same for her but I feel like I don't do enough at times. But that's my hang up. When I look back on that night and all of the varied ways she gives of herself, I feel blessed that I married a woman like that.

Bad Service, Truths and Perceptions

There's been a lot of false starts, bad service, unwanted absence and too much of that unwanted shit and not enough of that preferable shit going on around here.

I hate to complain (actually, I quite enjoy it since complaining acts a release valve on my usually bottled up seething rage) but as I found myself on the righteous track of coming back to the wonderful world of blogging, a series of incidents preventing me from making a triumphant stay in my own neck of the bloggy woods occurred once again.

Hell, for a couple days there, I was even able to put out a couple posts without anything falling out of the sky to cave in my head. I thought I was in a utopia or paradise or an island filled with beautiful women, cheerfully sucking my meat pole for all it's worth. And it's worth a great deal, let me tell ya. At least to me. Okay, so that part about me feeling like I was on an island filled with tasty gals slobbering on my knob was an exaggeration. But I was starting to feel not tormented for a change in life and it was pretty decent, to tell ya the truth.

My friend asked me to go to his place to wait on a cable repairman (that didn't come) while the friend went to work. I owed my friend a couple favors so I did it. Besides, I'm a helluva great buddy. It's true! Believe it or not!

But the cable guy neither called or came. So my friend calls up the company support number when he gets home, listens to instructions on pushing this numbered button for this department or reason or service which connects him to more instructions for more buttons to push until he finally reaches a real human being and then proceeds to talk about how unsatisfied he is with the service.

He has a helluva lot more patience than I do. He had been without cable service for three days and the company he was dealing with had been promising to send somebody and no one called or showed up.

So instead of being at home, I was at his place, listening to the radio, reading a book and not doing anything on my blog or visiting other blogs. It sucked. And I did this on Monday and Wednesday, for my friend, waiting for the repair dude. I know. I'm a great friend. I mentioned that, right? Of course, when my friend got home from work both of those days, he fed me. Monday, it was grilled steaks for my wife and I. Wednesday, it was a dinner at a good Mexican restaurant.

By the way, the cable repair dude finally showed up Wednesday. He ended up temporarily fixing the friend's TV reception but said that the problem was actually the tuner on his TV. In other words, it wasn't the cable company's fault for his shitty reception but they are at fault for giving him the runaround and not giving him service until he finally reached an upper management type person during that last phone call he made.

Now, Tuesday, I was without Internet service. This would be the day between the days I sat at my friend's house, waiting for an idiot repair guy. I called the tech support, as I was going through some severe withdrawal symptoms from not being able to go on the Internet and after pushing several buttons to direct me to this number or that number, I was finally told a message by an automated machine. It said: There is no Internet service (with the company I have it with) for the entire state (I was living in) for an indeterminate amount of time but our experts were working on the problem.

There was no apology for this situation but at this point I was thinking:

At least the voice was clear and not heavily accented by somebody in India or Russia or BumFuck, Egypt. Usually, when you contact tech support for whatever electronic fuck-a-ma-jig you own, you usually get some asshole you can't understand.

Bad service is getting to be like a contagious disease in this country from what I've read, heard about and seen, first hand.

Don't ya just love the push button routine you have to go through with these companies? If you're lucky, they might give you a number to push to speak to a representative. But it's usually not the case. Especially when you want service within the next 24 hours.

I could go on and on about bad restaurant service but I'm sure you've had your own unfair share of that, too. Like when they don't give you a refill on your drinks. Or don't get your order right. Or bring your salad, main entree and dessert, all at once.

Since I'm back for the moment and terribly paranoid now about attempting to actually research a subject and write up a real post without something else happening, this post will have to do for now. Please enjoy the rest of these images, featuring truths and perceptions. Good day, good weekend and I'll try to catch up on all your blogs later after I get some shit done around here.

I thought I'd offer a wonderful clue at this point in the post: If you can't make out what you're ssseeeinng, use your fucking mouse to click and enlarge the image.

I'm always the Good fucking Samaritan. I tell ya.

I really liked the not-so-subtle truth that can be found in this Saturday Night Live skit. I know it's an exaggeration but there is a bit of truth and a big heaping helping of humor to be found while watching this. Heh heh.

An Award From The Minute Man's Wife and Unbridled Insanity

And by god damned it, I'm back and seething with such ungodly friggin' rage, I'm gonna park my small car after just having gone to the bar parking lot for some excitement, stick pickles up my ass, while using a sawzall on my penis head, all the while using a penis pump, beforehand, (to get my junk- Grade A- good n' hard, ya know) while having a crooked neck giraffe give me a deep anal lickin' and have it topped off with the spiritually uplifting rim job of a lifetime from an anteater at the zoo.

Woo Fucking Hoo! and pass the fucking Valium after I go really crazy and drink a cup of shitty, chemical-tasting decaffeinated coffee. What in the fuck is decaffeinated coffee for? Don't give me any of that bullshit like "It's for people who enjoy the taste of coffee but are afraid of the staying awake a couple hours past their wussy bedtime". Fuck that! Grow a set of balllllllssss or flabby pussy lips, depending on your gender! That shit ain't coffee!!! That shit defeats the goddamn purpose of drinking god damned coffee!!! Excuse me here for a split second while I chop some fucker's head off and wear it on my rigid, cheerfully erect pecker (reference to the book, American Psycho) while I pour myself a god damned fresh cup of REAL COFFEE.

So... how have you guys been? Good? Ah, that's nice.

So, yeah, I'm back one more time until something eventually falls from the sky and caves my head in. I wonder what it will be? A meteor. I can handle that. A hundred pounds of frozen waste from an airplane going overhead? That would be like a fly gently floating by my ear and cutting a fart. Hardly noticeable.

Fuck, I'm so fucking shell shocked by recent events, nothing could be a surprise. Actually, when nothing at all worrisome is happening to the wife and I and all is cool and all is right- that's when I begin to worry. If my life suddenly begins to transform into something resembling almost harmonious, take fucking cover, immediately! That will be the true sign of the Apocalypse! Fuck that old idiot, Camping and his Rapture. Buddy, I got your Rapture right here!

But things are starting to head in the right direction. If nothing else occurs, I will be 60% satisfied. That's equivalent, to some fuckers that have a hard on or wetty for that most dreaded of made up percentages, that some like to say out loud, in a sad attempt to impress- and that would be "110%". Take your 110% and shove it way up your ass with your decaffeinated coffee you superficial, motherfuckin', crooked neck, rim job lickin' stain from a rancid pussy fart!

No, not you, my friend. The guy or girl behind you.

Sorry. Where did I hide my mind again? Ohhh yeahhhh...

Did you know that Winnie The Pooh, Rabbit and Tigger violated Piglet in all of his orifices, so brutally, until his colon eventually fell out onto the ground where it was eaten by all of the rest of the crack-addicted Hundred Acre Wood critters? Well, it's true. It's says so in the bible. It's the start of the Rapture, in fact! You're welcome for the heads up.

While on a much needed sabbatical, three (and possibly a fourth one on the way) bloggers acted as guest posters.

Mrs. Pickle from the blog, Pickles In My Ass, The Wolf, from the blog, The S.N.A.F.U Report and Pickleope from the blog, Pickleope.com have all been generous enough to give of their unique talents and be my guest posters for the last couple of weeks. I thank all of you for your support, time and well-written and often, extremely hilarious, posts. In my tirade, at the beginning of this post, I think you might have noticed a little referencing to their posts in a somewhat genial way.

You guys really know how to make me laugh out loud while sticking my pecker in a pickle slicer.

I also want to thank genuine supporter and thoughtful blogger, The Minute Man's Wife, for the Good Bloggers Pay It Forward Award, while I was away. I've connected with her the last several months, at a sympathetic, supportive level in the blogging community in a way that I feel honestly appreciative for. She's one of the nicest of nicest people that you'll ever have the pleasure of interacting with. The Minute Man's Wife gave me, a crazy bastard, who has a heart of gold, filled with flesh-eating maggots, this award for being supportive. I am grateful and touched by this.

Amazed? Choking on a drink, suddenly? You shouldn't be. Not only am I swell but I'm modest as hell, too. Yep.

Take a gander at The Minute Man's Wife's blog, but please remember, no sex toys allowed while visiting.

Look to your extreme right. It's already there with the rest of my awards.

Oh dear lord almighty, have I just been blessed again? Easy rules for this award! Hooray!

The rules for this particular award are, thankfully, weep-worthingly easy.

1) Tell everyone who gave you the award. (I did)

2) Put up a link to their blog. (Done)

3) Pay it Forward to five more bloggers. (Going to)

In no particular order, here are the five bloggers, in my opinion, in the past, who have exemplified support, which the award is supposed to represent:

(1) Rebecca (The Snee) from the blog, The Sometimes, Never, Eventually Express

(2) Gary, from the blog, klahanie

(3) LilPixi, from the blog, It's a Lollipop world

(4) GEM, from the blog, the modern day spinster

(5) Last but not least, Mrs. Pickle, from the blog, Pickles In My Ass

Be sure to check them out or you'll get the lash!

Now this isn't to say the rest of you have not been supportive and secretly or not so secretly wish me a slow, torturous death involving me being naked, with my nuts, honey coated and ready to be torn away by the sharp teeth of rabid rodents. Besides, I don't wash my scrotum but once every leap year. Ah Ha!

I do this to keep the rodents away and because I like the sticky, pasty feeling so much. Plus, it's for the sake of any house guests who come over every so often for my famous homemade putrid cheese dip.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

I want to thank the rest of you for your support by way of commenting on my blog while I was gone, just visiting and for all the other interactions on the Internet. You know who you are. You guys have been great. Thank you!

Don't forget to take home some of my homemade cheese dip before you leave. It's deeeeelish! But whatever you do, don't drink decaffeinated coffee.

Take care, my friends!