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Archive for June, 2011

BUSTED!!!

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BILLY JAMES WHITED

Current Address
7102 HUDSON CHAPEL RD

CATAWBA, NC

Conviction Date
05-06-2008

INDECENT LIBERTY MINOR – SEX AROUSAL WITH A CHILD

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Ethnophaulisms are defined as racial slurs.  They drive the PC crowd bananas.  They are CRUDE, CREATIVE and COLORFUL….. and as American as apple pie!

We are going to list a few each week and list them in ALPHABETICAL ORDER.  That way the Wetbacks can’t say we are showing favoritism toward the Zipperheads. LOL

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W

Wetback

(US) A derogatory term for a Latino person. Originally applied specifically to Mexican migrant workers who had crossed the Rio Grande border river illegally to find work in the United States, its meaning has since broadened.

White Nigger / Wigger / Whigger / Wigga

(US) Used in 19th-century United States to describe the Irish. Sometimes used today in reference to white people in a manner similar to white trash or redneck. Also used to describe white youth that imitate urban black youth by means of clothing style, mannerisms, and slang speech. The ‘w’ at the start of wigger refers to the white person and the ‘igger’ refers to nigger, which is a racial slur for black people. Also used by radical Québécois in self-reference, as in the seminal 1968 book White Niggers Of America.

Whitey 

A term for a Caucasian, commonly used in a derogatory manner.

Wog 

(UK and Commonwealth) A generic term for any swarthy or dark-skinned foreigner. Possibly derived from “golliwog” In Britain, it usually refers to dark skinned people from Asia or Africa, though any truly xenophobic Englishman knows that “the Wogs begin at Calais“. Wog is also a backronym for Worthy Oriental Gentleman. In Australia the term “wog” is usually used to refer to New Zealanders (Pacific Islanders), Mediterranean Europeans (Spaniards, Italians, and Greeks), Eastern Europeans (Macedonians, Serbians, Croatians, or Albanians), and Near Eastern or Middle Eastern people (Turks, Arabs and Persians).

Wop 

(North America and UK) A racial term for anyone of Italian descent, derived from the Italian dialectism, “guappo,” close to “dude, swaggerer” and other informal appellations, a greeting among male Neapolitans.[190] Although this is the term’s original origin, “wop” evolved into a racial slur against Italians and Italian Americans during the 20th century, with its most common use being a derogatory backronym for ‘WithOut Papers’.

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Y

Yank 

Shortened form of Yankee; English-speaking countries outside the United States may use it as a derogatory term for Americans.

Yellow 

Designating or pertaining to an Asian person, in reference to those who have a yellowish skin color.

Yid

Disparaging term for a Jew, although it is an endonym among Yiddish-speaking Jews. Used in Britain to describe Tottenham Hotspurs large Jewish supporting base.

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Z

Zog Lover 

Used by white nationalists to describe an Aryan who is subservient to the Jews (“Zog”=Zionist Occupation Government)

Zipperhead, Zip 

Used in the films Full Metal Jacket and Gran Torino.

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UNHAPPY ENDINGS

All good things must come to an end.  And, so it is with cartoons…. and cartoon characters….  

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COWBOY POETRY

THE SHOOTING

OF DAN MCGREW

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BY Robert William Service

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A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o’-love, the lady that’s known as Lou.

When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear.
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.
There was none could place the stranger’s face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;
But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.

There’s men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them hard like a spell;
And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived in hell;
With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day is done,
As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one by one.
Then I got to figgering who he was, and wondering what he’d do,
And I turned my head — and there watching him was the lady that’s known as Lou.

His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a kind of daze,
Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze.
The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on the stool,
So the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there like a fool.
In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway;
Then he clutched the keys with his talon hands — my God! but that man could play.

Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear,
And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most could HEAR;
With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there in the cold,
A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold;
While high overhead, green, yellow and red, the North Lights swept in bars? —
Then you’ve a haunch what the music meant . . . hunger and night and the stars.

And hunger not of the belly kind, that’s banished with bacon and beans,
But the gnawing hunger of lonely men for a home and all that it means;
For a fireside far from the cares that are, four walls and a roof above;
But oh! so cramful of cosy joy, and crowned with a woman’s love —
A woman dearer than all the world, and true as Heaven is true —
(God! how ghastly she looks through her rouge, — the lady that’s known as Lou.)

Then on a sudden the music changed, so soft that you scarce could hear;
But you felt that your life had been looted clean of all that it once held dear;
That someone had stolen the woman you loved; that her love was a devil’s lie;
That your guts were gone, and the best for you was to crawl away and die.
‘Twas the crowning cry of a heart’s despair, and it thrilled you through and through —
“I guess I’ll make it a spread misere,” said Dangerous Dan McGrew.

The music almost died away . . . then it burst like a pent-up flood;
And it seemed to say, “Repay, repay,” and my eyes were blind with blood.
The thought came back of an ancient wrong, and it stung like a frozen lash,
And the lust awoke to kill, to kill . . . then the music stopped with a crash,
And the stranger turned, and his eyes they burned in a most peculiar way;

In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway;
Then his lips went in in a kind of grin, and he spoke, and his voice was calm,
And “Boys,” says he, “you don’t know me, and none of you care a damn;
But I want to state, and my words are straight, and I’ll bet my poke they’re true,
That one of you is a hound of hell . . . and that one is Dan McGrew.”

Then I ducked my head, and the lights went out, and two guns blazed in the dark,
And a woman screamed, and the lights went up, and two men lay stiff and stark.
Pitched on his head, and pumped full of lead, was Dangerous Dan McGrew,
While the man from the creeks lay clutched to the breast of the lady that’s known as Lou.

These are the simple facts of the case, and I guess I ought to know.
They say that the stranger was crazed with “hooch”, and I’m not denying it’s so.
I’m not so wise as the lawyer guys, but strictly between us two —
The woman that kissed him and — pinched his poke — was the lady that’s known as Lou.

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It’s that time of year again. The time when we get the Winnebago down off blocks

and drive 140 miles out into the countryside to the Medieval Renaissance Fair where somebody bulldozed a soybean field so we can watch fat girls in flouncy dresses play the lute while we munch on an authentic Weasel-on-a-Stick shishkebob treat.

You probably have your favorite part of the Renaissance Fair, just like I do. Maybe it’s those fabulous strolling minstrels in elf hats, playing mandolins with their elbows and singing songs never before heard outside the public library on “Special Education Storytelling Day.”

Or maybe it’s the guys who dress up in wimp armor–you know, it’s not the REAL stuff that weighs 940 pounds, it’s this Frederick’s-of-Hollywood armor that’s made out of chicken wire and papier-mache–and they run around with cardboard swords whacking each other over the head while people in Bermuda shorts that drove in from Wauwatosa, Wisconsin, holding Fudgsicles in their hand stand around yelling “Knock him on his rear end!”

Another thing. Remember when you were in elementary school and they forced you to learn how to play the “recorder,” that thing that’s more complicated than a kazoo but it’s not quite a clarinet? And remember how, after you practiced on it for about eight weeks, you invited the parents to the school to hear you make the sound of sixty terrified sewer rats being run over by a steamroller? And remember how, after you got home that night, you said, “Mom, how come the only place anybody plays the recorder is third grade?” And remember how your mom could never answer that question?

Well, now we have the answer. THERE’S 17,000 PEOPLE PLAYING THE RECORDER AT THE RENAISSANCE FAIR! Not only that, but they still sound like sewer rats being run over by a steamroller.

Where do these people come from? Are they born this way? Do they grow up saying, “I can’t wait till I’m old enough to put on a frilly shirt and some pantaloons and juggle bowling pins while balancing on a beach ball”? Or is it something that happens later in life? They wake up one morning, their brain has been scrambled during the night, and they’re thinking, “You know what? I’ve always wanted to dress up like a deaf-mute beggar and go around pulling on the pants legs of tourists.”

You know what I’m talking about? They hire these people to be scenery. If you were in New York City, you’d see these people and say, “Why can’t they get these crackheads off the streets?” But you’re out in the country, at the Renaissance Faire, and so you say, “Isn’t that cute? A crackhead from the sixteenth century!”

But, of course, everyone’s favorite part of the Medieval Renaissance Faire comes at the end of the day when we all the fat girls link arms and sing the Simon and Garfunkel version of “Scarborough Fair.” You know the song that’s just a list of herbs and spices? “Parsley, Sage, Strawberries and Wine”–something like that. Or maybe it’s “Celery, Beige Berries and Lime.” Anyhow, it’s this song about stuff you put on food, and when they get to the end of it they’re all teary-eyed.

You know what would be better, though? They should have a few of those guys dressed up in spaghetti-strap fishnet armor take their wicked lances and plunge em right directly into the fat girls’ stomachs WHILE they’re singing “Scarborough Fair.” I think that would be more historically authentic, and it would sure make the singing sound better.

Speaking of people that should be set on fire and dropped off a ten-story building, “Maniac Cop 2″ just came out, and I know this is gonna be hard to believe, but it’s even BETTER than “Maniac Cop Uno.” Remember that one? “You have the right to remain silent . . . forever!” About the cop that got framed and sent to Sing Sing, where twenty guys surrounded him in the shower and carved Indian totem pole designs all over his body and made him REAL mad? Well, he was supposed to be dead at the bottom of the East River with a giant steel girder through his chest. But what you didn’t realize is that he SURVIVED that injury, and now he’s once again roaming the streets of New York, like Jason-with-a-badge, twisting the necks off innocent people, making the cops look like serial killers–and this time he has FRIENDS. Officer Stir-Fry Face Cordell moves in with the city’s most successful killer of topless dancers, a beardo geek played by Leo Rossi, and together these guys are like a couple of goofy cannibals. Cagney and Gacy.

Of course, nobody believes Cordell is really alive–EXCEPT for Laurene Landon, better known as “Hundra,” better known as Christian Brando’s girlfriend, who was one of the two cops in the FIRST movie who knew what Cordell was up to, along with her partner, the great Bruce Campbell, of “Evil Dead” fame. I won’t tell you what happens to Laurene and Bruce this time, except it involves shrinks and chainsaws. The shrink is played by Claudia Christian–best remembered as the stripper in “The Hidden,” although she keeps all her clothes on in this flick–and she’s teamed up with the pock-faced Robert Davi, the greatest bad guy working today, who plays a good cop who ACTS like a bad guy, which is the same thing.

In other words, it’s one of those Larry Cohen scripts that’s got a whole lot of plot getting in the way of the story, but it’s directed by William “Maniac” Lustig, who outdid himself in this flick. There’s one high-speed motor vehicle chase scene that might be the best one ever filmed.

Thirty-one dead bodies. Eight breasts. Stiletto through the back. Shotgun in the face. Neck-snapping. Cop-on-a-meathook. Two motor vehicle chases, with five crashes. Three guys set on fire. Kung Fu. Chainsaw Fu. Convenience store Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Laurene Landon, as the cop with a chainsaw, for saying “You can’t kill the dead!” and “I have no reason to kill him–I LOVE him!”; Robert Davi, as the tough cop, for saying “I shot him before he shot me”; the great Charles Napier, as a TV host, for saying “When it comes time for your execution, you can’t con Con Edison!”; Leo Rossi, as the sleazoid serial killer, for saying “You’re the prettiest one in my collection so far” and “You know, I feel like I’m a crusader against the whores of the world”; Claudia Christian, as the cop shrink, for saying “Shooting Cordell is only good for getting his attention”; William Lustig, the director, who did his usual excellent job; Larry Cohen, the writer, for lines like “There’s a piece of Cordell in every cop” and “There’s only that much difference between a cop and a MANIAC cop”; and, of course, Robert Z’dar, who does it again, as the Maniac Cop his ownself.

Four stars. Best of 91.

Joe Bob says check it out.

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Man’s penis eaten by dog

An elderly Romanian man is recovering in hospital after mistakenly cutting off his own penis, which was then eaten by his dog.

Constantin Mocanu, a 67-year-old from a village near the southeastern town of Galati, rushed out into his yard in his underwear to kill a noisy chicken keeping him awake at night.

But instead of cutting the chicken’s throat, Mr Mocanu cut off his own penis.

He said: “I confused it with the chicken’s neck. I cut it and the dog rushed and ate it.”

Doctors said the man, who was bleeding heavily when brought in by an ambulance, was now out of danger.

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The Belly Button Biodiversity project at North Carolina State University has begun examining the “faunal differences” in the microbial ecosystems of our navels, to foster understanding of the “tens of thousands” of organisms crawling around inside (almost all benign or even helpful). An 85-year-old man in North Carolina may have “very different navel life” than a 7-year-old girl in France, according to a May Raleigh News & Observer report. So far, only the organisms themselves and the host’s demographics have been studied; other issues, such as variations by hairiness of navel, remain. [News & Observer]

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