A Likely Lass

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Archive for the tag “please stop”

You should never look monsters in the eye

By now, probably almost everyone’s heard of Tucker Carlson’s comment that Michael Vick should be executed for murdering dogs. I have to say, this is probably the first time ever that I’ve partially agreed with Tucker. Ok, no, I don’t really think that Michael Vick should be executed – I think he should have been sentenced to life in prison, no parole. Solitary confinement if he could be so ordered.

I’ve gotten mad about this in the past (as I had about the local Mack Hudson case) and people have been quick to jump to Vick’s defense. I’ve heard it all – he has great talent, I’m being racist, I don’t understand how he grew up, I am ‘privileged’ and therefore my opinion is compromised, I’m obviously not an Eagles fan. However, I’d like to point out that it has nothing to do with Michael Vick’s race – I’d be as similarly inclined to such a punishment if Vick was female and white. I don’t think ‘talent’ defines a person’s humanity, and I do not care how he grew up – humanity and compassion aren’t exclusive to people who live in better areas or have more money. The point remains incontestible: Michael Vick routinely murdered dogs for his own enjoyment.

This isn’t hunting, where a fast and clean kill is generally appreciated by most huntsmen. It’s not a commercial abattoir where stock animals are killed for consumption and (generally) killed humanely. He personally killed dogs, apparently for his own enjoyment. He hung them from their necks until they suffocated. He drowned them. It’s difficult to account for all the atrocities committed – from the ‘rape stand’ to the fighting pit to the accounts of slamming a dog’s head into the ground until it died. For that degree of callousness and disregard of life, for being able to repeatedly torture animals without one twitch of remorse, Michael Vick proved he has no humanity.

Here’s a good example of the abuse he inflicted.

“As that dog lay on the ground, fighting for air, Quanis Phillips grabbed its front legs and Michael Vick grabbed its back legs. They swung the dog over their head like a jump rope then slammed it to the ground. The first impact didn’t kill it. So, Phillips and Vick slammed it again. The two men kept at it, alternating back and forth, pounding the creature against the ground until, at last, the little red dog was dead.”

I can’t even read half of that article without twitching.

Such a complete lack of compassion, as displayed by Michael Vick, doesn’t deserve to be applauded, even if Vick has ‘talent’. Such cruelty doesn’t deserve a “second chance”, no matter what President Obama thinks. There is no excuse for doing this – not your ‘background’ or racial makeup or your pants size or your income. To call it inhuman is to assign a word that cannot possibly convey the utter lack of humanity that Vick has.

On the heels of this, of course, is Michael Vick’s plaintive “but I want a dog again”. I ask you – do you let a convicted pedophile around children again? Probably not. Is it a good idea to allow a convicted drug addict to work at a pharmacy? Again, probably not. So why would anyone think that it would be a good idea for a convicted dog torturer to be allowed a dog?

Quite frankly, I don’t think Vick deserves anything. Sure, he’s a good football player – but devoid of that, what is he? Just another monster.

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Rabbit Heart (Bad Romance Novel Reviews)

I do have favorite romance novels, though the existence of which may be doubted considering the content of this blog. In fact, my favorite ones routinely feature the Plucky-But-Realistic-Heroine, who is usually not born under a favorable sign, or is pretty but not pretty enough, or is handed some plate of crap that she has to deal with in a non-pretty manner. Usually the hero tries to court her and she’s all “Hey, I have to DEAL WITH MY LIFE, please excuse me”, but he doesn’t give up, or maybe he gives up temporarily but he decides that her Complete Awesomeness is too much to live without… which is kind of how I wish my life went, which is the main reason women read romance novels ANYWAY…

But I tackled “Rabbit Heart” this week, because I thought it would be a good book, a quick escape from the drear of my life this week.

It wasn’t. Oh, my god, it wasn’t. Be warned: the following review contains a metric ton of SEX and RABBITS and sometimes these two terms are connected. Not for the faint of heart.

Hundred words or so: Nicollette Caron is every man’s ideal mistress. Pity, then, that all of her lovers die trying to satisfy her insatiable appetite. Forced to flee town after town so that no one will discover her terrible secret, Nicollette is haunted by the ghosts of her dead lovers as England’s top crime inspector circles ever closer (seriously, this is what is on the cover).

Renowned for his tenacity, handsome detective Jackson Lang will stop at nothing to prove that Nicollette is a murderess. Powerful Lord Baston is equally determined…to make Nicollette his mistress despite her breathless warnings. A fortune-teller foresees that only one man is strong enough to save Nicollette. But how will she know which man to trust until it is too late?
Pages: 353
Author: Colleen Hitchcock
Year Published: 2006

Summary:
Nicolette, or “Nicole” as she sometimes goes by, is a no-name noble sexing her way through late-1800s England. At birth, she was raised for a few hours (!!!) by rabbits which has inexplicably given her an incredibly fast heartbeat that can inexplicably make other people die just by being near her if she’s inexplicably sexually aroused by something like a piece of paper or possibly a suggestive looking fruit. She’s also ungodly beautiful, “intelligent”, has gobs and gobs of money, and of course has a calm logical mind (amid the TORRID ORGASMS and UNCONTROLLABLE LUST).

However, she’s on to her thirteenth victim whom she’s killed by her first sexual encounter with them. Not only has she hidden thirteen bodies all over England of men she’s killed in the heat of passion, but she’s haunted by their ghosts who all inexplicably try to have sex with her though they’re dead (because yay, ghost party, like zombies only less NUUUHHH BRAINNSSSS). As she moves into this little town in the south of England, she’s inexplicably confronted with the idea that she wants to stay in that town. Sensibly and logically, she christens the town by screwing the mayor to death, and not-really hiding his body on the banks of the river.

Meanwhile, the richest and most elegant and DASTARDLY noble in the land, Lord Baston, is having sex with a deaf-mute in 5426758943 different positions all at once (seriously, I am not even kidding. I am pretty positive I picked this book up out of the “romance” section, not the “halfhearted erotica” section).

The town’s hotelier, Miriam, really loved the mayor named Frederick, but is inexplicably taken with Nicolette (my auto-correct keeps wanting me to type Nicorette so excuse me if it happens) and wants to be her bestest friend evar. Since Frederick is “missing” (i.e., his body is on the riverbank sprinkled with pretty flowers, sporting a ginormous erection, yes, seriously), Miriam convinces Nicolette to go to a seer to try to find Frederick (instead of logically searching the river banks where he said he’d be fishing). The Seer sees Nicolette and calls her into her cave where there are bones and candles and all that seer-like stuff there. Of course, she knows all about Nicolette and her string of dead lovers, but promises to keep mum as long as Nicolette “finds the one meant to be”. She doesn’t say anything about Frederick**, really, but with a bisectioned head and multiple personalities, what can you really expect?

So anyway, despite Miriam’s apparent weeping and sadness, they dress up and go to a ball where, inexplicably, Lord Baston has arrived (sans deaf-mute). There is discussion of cleavage for awhile, then Nicholette dances with every man in the room and makes every man’s pants “tighten” and “ready for love” . There is a fight over her between Lord Baston and one of her suitors, where naturally she uses her logic to scream “No, stop it!” and stand aside. This is, of course, the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to the town, outside of some earthquakes and three headed cows and that stuff.

Lord Baston decides he’s going to court Nicolette. Meanwhile, she’s slept with another gentleman and killed him in a carriage with her ORGASMS OF DOOM, which was an accident, but oh well. So logically she stays in town and accepts her suitor’s invitation to dinner, though by now everyone’s seen the mayor’s body sprinkled with flowers and put 1 and 14 million together, though no one really cares for some reason. Nicolette’s trusty servant, Marie, has inexplicably arrived by invisible plane to chaparone her mistress.

During dinner, the deaf-mute (who was hooked on cocaine) inexplicably bursts into the room, bedraggled, weeping, crying and trying to hug Lord Baston for god knows what reason, it’s never really explained. She is taken away by a servant. Conversation continues as normal (invisible mute!) with the horde of townspeople Lord Baston has inexplicably invited to his private dinner. Nicolette inexplicably falls in love with him, while inexplicably counting to herself, one plus one is two, two plus two is four, two plus one is three… go away, voyeur! because she is an insane rabbit woman, and maybe that’s what rabbits think.

Meanwhile! there is a (handsome, charming, rich) detective hot on Nicolette’s trail of murders and evil sluttitude. He’s determined to expose her now that she’s inexplicably killed men and left them with their John Thomas saluting the sky (for SHAME!!).

The next day, Nicolette is asked to view Frederick’s corpse by the town doctor. He inexplicably knows about her “condition” with the heart thing though he’s never met her or heard of her and simply by standing next to her he gets dizzy (I personally think that may be her body odor as she inexplicably bathes only once in the entire book). Later, he gets drunk with the detectives and tells them all about “Miss Tweeter’s Thing” which is inexplicably left up to the imagination of the reader. Of course, Jackson Lang, the detective, puts 15 billion and 15 billion together and comes up with a nice sum, so he goes to arrest Nicolette Caron.

…who has gone out on a carriage ride with Lord Baston but he inexplicably knows about the detectives coming to arrest her and intends to spirit her away. Inexplicably, Lord Baston’s servant has fallen in love with Marie for some reason, though it’s unknown why this is important. There is a ferry involved in their “escape”, the deaf-mute inexplicably turns up again and handily drowns, and oddly enough they have to “swim for it” even though they’re on a damn ferry and it’s not like the detective can exactly come swooping in riding a helicopter or something. However, justice does prevail and Nicolette is arrested for sexual perversions and being a crazy rabbit woman.

Of course, she goes to jail and is scheduled to have her head cut off by the inexplicable guillotine, which inexplicably is in ENGLAND and not FRANCE. In a twist that no one could ever expect, her guards attempt to sexually assault her but die in the process, again because of her MASSIVE UNBELIEVABLE ORGASMS OF RABBIT DOOM!!! She writes Lord Baston passionate love-letters and knits the straw of her cell into animal shapes for companionship. There’s a trial, at which evidence is presented that Nicolette just can’t help killing people, but inexplicably its dismissed.

Of course, as Nicolette is led to be killed, she escapes and chaos breaks loose. Inexplicably, one of the townspeople is up on the castle wall (doing what I just can’t imagine) and sees her trying to escape. Inexplicably, it is the detective who was trying to have her killed who is helping her escape. Events unfold rapidly like invisible coffee tables and are thrown about and knock people on the head until it is accepted that Nicolette has died as she flung herself into the sea (really, it was just her dress weighted with rocks) and nothing is ever recovered of her, inexplicably. Lord Baston and Nicolette escape to America and live there after a couple of weeks at sea (invisible spaceship!) happily ever after, presumably having sex in 2039478327543 positions all at once, like he says he likes it. Inexplicably, he doesn’t die from her RABBIT ORGASMS OF DEATH, possibly because he is also a rabbit. It doesn’t say if she has 27000 children because of her rabbit like tendencies, either, which is disappointing.


*Who is homely-looking, as all good servants should be.
**Plot!Device, if you were wondering.


Reviewer’s Notes: This book is just… inexplicable! Full of deaf-mute death and crazy nobles, I would definitely recommend it to anyone who’s been hit about the head with a cement cudgel and can wrap their 2 brain cells they have left to bang together around the inexplicable plot twists and loose erotica threaded together by the hairy underarms of Justice.
By the Numbers:
“Love” Scenes:
8
References to stolen/misplaced/otherwise lost virginity: -10. There are no virgins in this book. 0. That makes less than one virgin.
Plot “Twists”: Divided into two categories: Outrageously unclever: 10, Inexlicably inexplicable: 45.
Number of Men Lusting After the Heroine: 4 towns worth, an entire jail worth, plus a handful, I suppose.
Number of Mary Sue Incidents: 1
Number of Fights/All Out Wars over the Heroine: 2
Times “Fate” Intervened: 8 times, not including Saved By Rabbits.
Times “Fate” Intervened by 500 or more miles: 2/8
References to the supposed love-book “777”: 15000

Overall Grade: D-. This book needs more deaf-mute.

Harmonicas: the evil that never sleeps

hate songs with harmonicas in them. I hate harmonicas, too. The sound is like the death wail of a large animal with a tiny head that should have been extinct some hundred thousand years ago. It’s like the super-annoying cousin with braces that hits on everything that moves and thinks he’s the shit. In fact, if Urkel was a musical instrument, he would be a harmonica. If David Hasslehoff had a theme song, it would be played with a harmonica. If the harmonica was a show, it would be Jersey Shore.

Facts About Harmonicas:
They are sold in supermarkets, usually in the “canned foods” aisle.
They are made of metals that cans are usually made out of and some kind of reed things.
Their construction is like the bastard child of a sardine can and a piano, which an oboe is currently caring for because no one else will.
45% of third world countries blame harmonicas for their poverty.
Harmonicas were responsible for many of the dubious fashion choices in the 80s.
Cher’s outfits were conceived when she was tripping on acid and playing a harmonica she found in the canned foods aisle at the supermarket.
Melting ice caps are the result of way too much harmonica playing. The polar bears are losing their habitat because people make the dubious choice of playing harmonicas!

There are lots of other, better musical choices than a harmonica, people. Like cigar-box guitars, or whistles, or membranophones. Just stop playing the harmonica. In fact, you could recite this simple rhyme before you pick up your harmonica:

Everytime you play the harmonica, a polar bear dies a painful and needless death.

On using the scanner

Dear Various Departments At Work,

I realize that with the advent of the new and exciting scanner technology, everyone is eager to scan and email their papers instead of waiting a few hours for documents to travel to their destination by courier. While I encourage you to continue to embrace this technological improvement, there are a few suggestions I would like to make.

Please make sure that none of the following takes the place of important documents:

A scan of:
your hand
your grocery list
the bottom of your sandwich
a receipt for your spa-afternoon on work hours
the contents of your purse spilled on the scanner
a yogurt cup
any body protubrences in the area of the chest
a ruler (quite unhelpful when not to size)
your arm
a photo of Kat Von Dee with the caption “BUTTERFACE”
your babysitter’s notes on the bowel movements of your child
your cousin’s letter to you
the contents of your sandwich after you have accidentally tried to photocopy it

While the receipt of above-said scans is titillating, they are unhelpful for the processing of your request to the accounting department and all pertinent documents should be e-mailed in a file free from these interesting works of art.

It is also recommended that you do the following, before emailing a time-sensitive document to the accounting department for expedited processing:

Make sure all the papers are right-side-up when scanning, so as to actually scan the text-side of the document instead of the blank side.

Thank you for your compliance with this request,
The far-left office of the accounting department

Weight Watchers Diet Cards!!

Slender Quenchers: These are the saddest diet beverages ever. The one on the right is skim milk and orange pulp. The one on the left is made with water, sherry extract, and two beef bouillon cubes. No, really.

Well, there’s also celery in it. Oh, and SELF-LOATHING.

Weight Watcher’s diet cards.

Crown of Swords: Robert Jordan

The entire ending of what seems like half of the Wheel of Time books can be summed up as the following:

Rand: *gets angry, decides to kill one of the Forsaken, assembles army/friends/peasants/rabble*
Forsaken: Mwahahahaha! I am confident I will beat you into submission, little boy!
Rand: I am the Dragon Reborn!
Forsaken: Oh yeah? *balefire*
Rand: *balefire x2*
Forsaken: *dodges, runs to palace*
Rand: *follows*
Forsaken: Mwahaha! I am in my own element! You will DIEEE! *balefire*
Rand: *dodges, palace falls down around his ears*
Forsaken: *runs away*
Rand: *follows, palace falls down some more*
Forsaken: *balefire*
Rand: *balefire x2*
Forsaken: *runs away*

Etc., etc., until THE END:

Rand: *balefire x40967^10*
Forsaken: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! *bursts apart*
Rand: Haha.
Rabble: HORRAY LORD DRAGON!
Rand: Now crown me, you idiots. But I really don’t want the crown! *fights with himself*
Lews Therin: KILL THEM ALLLLL!
Rabble: *confusion*
Rand: Ok, you can crown me now.
Rabble: *crown*
–end–

Dear Mr. Jordan:

Please make some other ending than Rand killing the Forsaken. Obviously, you are quite enamoured of this ending, as you’ve used it for many of your books. However, it would please me mightily if you thought up a brand-spanking new ending. Like maybe Rand falling down some stairs and not being able to balefire the hell out of the world. Or someone close to him dying. ANYTHING BUT ANOTHER FRIGGIN’ CROWN.

Thanks,
Mel

PS: If you can, in ANY way, avoid the Aes Sedai breast-baring bit in the future, Please do so for the love of all that is holy.

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