In one of last week's stranger unnoticed stories, Zimbabwe is donating some exotic wildlife to North Korea. WTF, right? It's like sending your kids over to the local pedophile's house for a sleepover. Nothing good will come of it. It is almost kafkaesque in absurdity when one stops to consider it. What the hell does a autarkic communist relic need with some prize African game? It's always amusing to observe the bizarre shenanigans of the worlds petty dictators, but even this action defies logic.
Zimbabwe is the textbook basket-case. It desperately needs legit business partners and capital just to make it to next month. North Korea is the retarded belligerent state, that is actually irrational, destabilizing, and dangerous. Do they even know what an elephant or giraffe is in North Korea? How do these two actors benefit each other? It is no secret that Mugabe has used the North Koreans to train his infamous Fifth Brigade "death squads," which butchered the Matabele in the mid-1980s. However, trading exotic game for war crimes seems like an odd currency to balance the books with.
Assuming the animals survive the passage from Zimbabwe to North Korea, which is dubious on some levels, what next? North Korea is on the brink of famine, has no expertise in any kind of African animal care or husbandry, and, as mentioned above, is a regime that prides itself on being archaic, isolationist, out-of-touch, and strange. Let us not forget that Kim Jong Il, the leader of the North Korean Regime, has scored a 15 while playing 18 holes of golf and written several operas in his spare time. How long do these critters have?
Other than the profound weirdness, I am not sure what the reaction should be, if any. Although, I am surprised that the animal rights wackos aren't shitting bricks and throwing an international hissy fit.
Showing posts with label bizarre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bizarre. Show all posts
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Musings, high-beams, and bushy eyebrows.
Today was one of those days that went by quickly with no good reason. It wasn't too busy, it wasn't too slow. What one would assume to be an near ideal pace, methinks. Where morning arrival, lunch, afternoon tea (yes, the werewolf makes himself a Lipton's black tea around 3pm; it's rude to mock what you don't understand), and quitting time were all reasonably spaced and the lull in between never asserted itself in an ugly way.
Although, he works in a building that is directly across the street for the Capitol South metro stop, on the House-side of the Hill, the werewolf is loathe to ride the metro out of his way when he can walk. He normally uses the Union Station metro stop, which is on the Senate-side of Capitol Hill as his preferred stop on the metro. This means he is guaranteed a nice walk across Capitol, with full vistas of the Supreme Court, the Capitol Building, Library of Congress, and House and Senate office buildings. It is a walk that never gets old. The people watching is a regular spectacle unto itself to boot. Staffers with inflated egos, some with style, others hopelessly drab specimens of humanity. Young interns, old functionaries and party hacks, throngs of tourists,students, all make for added accents.
Today, there was an added distraction to the regular fray. An athletic looking female, about the same height as the werewolf, 5'9, red-headed, with a body toned to near-perfection - not overly muscular, although her stomach was as flat as the deck of an aircraft carrier, with marginal, if any flab elsewhere- was out for a late afternoon jog. True to her athletic disposition, she wore only a sleek black racer-back sports bra, running shorts, shoes, and a sweat band. Here's where things got interesting. Her breasts, smallish, yet perfectly formed C-cups, were bouncing with a rhythmic purpose that matched her cadence in the most seductive of ways. As she closed in on the werewolf and the distance allowed for details to be determined, he noticed she had very pronounced high-beams set on near blinding brightness. (For those of you that do not speak "man-talk," high-beams refer to a woman's erect nipple that is visible through her clothing.) Like two beacons begging for attention, the werewolf's radar locked on these two targets like heat-seeking missile onto the exhaust of a jet-engine. As she crested it past him, his head shamelessly turned his head and he strained his neck muscles to admire this passing siren, and then THWACK! The werewolf, being a total asshole and buffoon, knocked the wind out of himself by walking directly into a parking meter. He missed nailing his jewels narrowly. As the werewolf yelped and colorfully cursed at the parking meter, a fellow pedestrian rightfully chuckled at the werewolf's expense. After rescanning the area, the ginger-siren had drifted off screen. That sort of sums up how good things have been ending for the werewolf for the past few years.
While at the gym, the werewolf encountered an oddity of a new order. A rotund, pear-shaped older man - who liked like a dorky, civil-servant cross between the uber-dweeb introvert Milton Wadams from Office Space, and Thufir Hawit from Dune - had finished his workout and was grooming himself. Although balding, the man had the bushiest most pronounced eyebrows the werewolf had ever seen on a human. They looked almost like little flattened squirrel tails or something. They were so absurdly bushy and pronounced that the man was actually blow-drying his eyebrows. He had a little comb to brush the moisture out while he was blow-drying them. It was unreal and the strangest thing the werewolf has seen in several weeks. The werewolf was paralyzed by this scene unfolding in-front of him for about 3 seconds, do to the level of bizarreness it encapsulated.
Exile still sucks, but today had some cosmic humor injected into it.
Although, he works in a building that is directly across the street for the Capitol South metro stop, on the House-side of the Hill, the werewolf is loathe to ride the metro out of his way when he can walk. He normally uses the Union Station metro stop, which is on the Senate-side of Capitol Hill as his preferred stop on the metro. This means he is guaranteed a nice walk across Capitol, with full vistas of the Supreme Court, the Capitol Building, Library of Congress, and House and Senate office buildings. It is a walk that never gets old. The people watching is a regular spectacle unto itself to boot. Staffers with inflated egos, some with style, others hopelessly drab specimens of humanity. Young interns, old functionaries and party hacks, throngs of tourists,students, all make for added accents.
Today, there was an added distraction to the regular fray. An athletic looking female, about the same height as the werewolf, 5'9, red-headed, with a body toned to near-perfection - not overly muscular, although her stomach was as flat as the deck of an aircraft carrier, with marginal, if any flab elsewhere- was out for a late afternoon jog. True to her athletic disposition, she wore only a sleek black racer-back sports bra, running shorts, shoes, and a sweat band. Here's where things got interesting. Her breasts, smallish, yet perfectly formed C-cups, were bouncing with a rhythmic purpose that matched her cadence in the most seductive of ways. As she closed in on the werewolf and the distance allowed for details to be determined, he noticed she had very pronounced high-beams set on near blinding brightness. (For those of you that do not speak "man-talk," high-beams refer to a woman's erect nipple that is visible through her clothing.) Like two beacons begging for attention, the werewolf's radar locked on these two targets like heat-seeking missile onto the exhaust of a jet-engine. As she crested it past him, his head shamelessly turned his head and he strained his neck muscles to admire this passing siren, and then THWACK! The werewolf, being a total asshole and buffoon, knocked the wind out of himself by walking directly into a parking meter. He missed nailing his jewels narrowly. As the werewolf yelped and colorfully cursed at the parking meter, a fellow pedestrian rightfully chuckled at the werewolf's expense. After rescanning the area, the ginger-siren had drifted off screen. That sort of sums up how good things have been ending for the werewolf for the past few years.
While at the gym, the werewolf encountered an oddity of a new order. A rotund, pear-shaped older man - who liked like a dorky, civil-servant cross between the uber-dweeb introvert Milton Wadams from Office Space, and Thufir Hawit from Dune - had finished his workout and was grooming himself. Although balding, the man had the bushiest most pronounced eyebrows the werewolf had ever seen on a human. They looked almost like little flattened squirrel tails or something. They were so absurdly bushy and pronounced that the man was actually blow-drying his eyebrows. He had a little comb to brush the moisture out while he was blow-drying them. It was unreal and the strangest thing the werewolf has seen in several weeks. The werewolf was paralyzed by this scene unfolding in-front of him for about 3 seconds, do to the level of bizarreness it encapsulated.
Exile still sucks, but today had some cosmic humor injected into it.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
"Luv Gov"Mark Sanford dropped 'faithful' from vows from marriage: Preempted honesty in a painful form?
Just when we thought we had collectively forgotten about South Carolina's infamous "luv gov," Andy Barr, from the Politico pens the bizarrely revealing article "Mark Sanford dropped 'faithful' from vows."
The article explicitly states "South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford refused to include a promise to be faithful in his wedding vows, according to his wife, Jenny." Several things snap to werewolf's brain upon reading this weird revelation. Firstly, this is not to blame Jenny Sanford, but it looks like Mark sent a very direct signal to her from an early point that he did not take fidelity seriously. She allowed it to be omitted from the contractual vows that are the foundation of marriage. In a weird twists of fate, was she a victim of her own naivety, and he just an actor operating within the perceived construct of their marriage contract? However, Mark clearly felt guilty about his actions and he tried to hide them, in many ways suggesting he wasn't comfortable enough with that omitted clause to be forthright and honest with his spouse. The werewolf thinks very poorly of Governor on account of his behavior, but can't help but acknowledge that the boundaries of weirdness in this instance make this case of a "cheating politician" somewhat exceptional.
Cheating politicians are sadly an accepted norm in society and nothing new.
Giuliani and Gingrich: The same old guys that ditch their wives for their misstresses. Boring and standard.
Clinton: Classic horn dog, who's too cowardly to properly confess when caught, has a taste for fat chicks, and has a wife who puts up with his shit to advance her career politically.
McGreevy: Cheating politicians are gay. Really sucks to be his wife. A national first.
Spitzer: Cheating politicians like sleazy Jersey-shore-esque hookers. Confirmed what everybody knew.
Edwards: Co-opts wife's fatal cancer to advance phony image of crusading populist douche-bag, all while he is really just another narcissistic tool extraordinaire, who happens to have taken his dalliances to new level of irresponsibility and creepiness. Sadly, the media covered for him and he was exposed by the National Enquirer. He may be the most shameless and disgusting of the bunch.
Sanford: Never promises to be faithful to spouse in first place, spouse accepts that term; lies to everyone about jet-setting to Argentina to see his Latin babe; calls his mistress his soul mate on national television, seems to accept his fate. Weirdly, there is an honesty to this guy's actions. The behavior is disciple, consequences deserved, the pain very real, but the dude did not violate the vow, since it was omitted on the front.
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