Snob

There's an app called Spreadsheets that actually tracks your sexual performance, and based on the data provided by it, Nerve has put together this map of the United States, featuring the average intercourse duration for each state.


Nerve

..at taxidermy.

But first...Parp. Have you received the cookies I sent you yet? 
And I want this in my bed with fuckyou666

Play along and you’ll see.

I want you to imagine a desert, stretching out as far as your eyes can see. In this desert is a cube.

Your first task is to describe the cube. What does it look like? How large is it? What is it made of? Where exactly is it?

There are no right answers here, only your answers.  Take a moment before you continue – the detail is important.

As you look at the desert and your cube, you notice there is also a ladder. Your second task (there are just five) is to describe the ladder. What is it made of? How big is it? Where is it, in relation to the cube?

Now imagine that in the scene there is a horse. (Yes, horse. I didn’t say this desert made sense). Your third task: describe the horse. Most importantly: where is the horse, and what is it doing? Where, if anywhere, is it going?

We’re nearly there now. In the scene before you are flowers. Your penultimate task: describe the flowers. How many are there? What do they look like? Where are they, in relation to the horse, cube, ladder and sand?

Final question. In the desert there is a storm. Describe the storm. What type of storm is it? Is it near, or far? What direction is it headed? Does it affect the horse, flowers, cube or ladder?

If you’ve been playing along, this is going to be fun. If you didn’t, I must warn you: the next part ruins your ability to play this game ever again. If you won’t want to ruin it forever, go back now. Trust me.

Ready? There’s no going back.

…

…

…

The cube is yourself.

The size is ostensibly your ego: a large cube means you’re pretty sure of yourself, a small cube less so.

The vertical placement of the cube is how grounded you are. Resting on the sand? You’re probably pretty down to earth. Floating in the sky? Your head is in the clouds.

The cube’s material conveys how open you are: transparent cubes belong to transparent people, opaque cubes are more protective of their minds. Glowing? You’re likely a positive person, who aims to raise the spirits of others. Made of granite? You’re likely protective and resilient.

The trick here is that when asked to describe a blank, abstract entity – a cube – your imagination will tend to project its own identity onto it. This trick is as old as time, but it’s about to get more interesting.

The ladder represents your friends.

Are your friends leaning on the cube? Your friends depend on you, and are close. Is the ladder frail, or robust? Tall or short? Does it lead inside the cube? Or is it cast to one side, lying unloved on the sand? By now you should be able to draw your own conclusions.

The horse represents your dream partner.

The type of horse reveals a lot about what you yearn for in a partner. Some people see a steady brown workhorse, others a shining pegasus or unicorn. Make of these people what you will.

Is your horse nuzzling your cube affectionately, or taking a bite out of it? Is it far from your cube, or walking away? This can represent a current partner, or an aspirational one, but the results are often a mix of touching and hilarious.

The flowers represent children.

The number of flowers relates to how many you imagine having. Some people see just a single, withered daisy; others a resplendent garden covering the cube and desert beneath. (Guys: watch out for those).

The colour and vitality of the flowers can speak to their health and presumed prosperity. The placement – particularly in relation to the cube – can reveal interesting relations; I met one woman who’s horse was eating their flowers.

Finally, the storm represents threat.

This speaks to the current state of the person, and how they perceive risk in their life. Some may see a distant storm, on the lip of the horizon, fading from sight. Others may view themselves in the midst of a thunderous apocalypse, hailstones the size of tennis balls pelting their fragile cube and horse. Chances are those people have some immediate trauma in their life.

---

Now is this all correct? Of course it isn’t. You won’t be reading any peer-reviewed journals on the soothsaying properties of horses and ladders. This is a game, albeit one that has endured in various forms for thousands of years.

But if you play along – and I encourage you to try this on others – you will find it appears to have an uncanny sense of reliability to it. There might be many reasons: people seem to project themselves onto abstract objects (the cube), and their affections onto animals (the horse). Our nurturing of flowers bears some resemblance to that of children, a storm is a signal of environmental danger that taps into our sense of unease, and a ladder is something we find supporting.

Maybe it’s all just wishful psychobabble.

But I’ll tell you what. It’s an incredible tool for getting to know someone. In five minutes you’re able to discuss a stranger’s character, friends, partner, children, risks, dreams and aspirations. You will stand out as someone memorable, and you probably had a right laugh too.

Atlanta rock band Black Lips are returning with their seventh studio album Underneath the Rainbow on March 18th. The 12-song set was recorded over this year in New York with the Budos Band’s Tommy Brenneck and in Nashville, with the Black Keys‘ drummer Patrick Carney. ”Our main influences [this time] are pretty traditional,” bassist Jared Swilley tells Rolling Stone. “It’s roots music.”
The band promised earlier that there’s more of a southern rock and country vibe within Rainbow, but the Black Lips’ wild side is certainly prevelant.
Boys in the Woods is an ode to Lynyrd Skynyrd and growing up in Atlanta that Swilley says is about “doing bathtub drugs and drinking bathtub gin.” Others were written the day they were recorded and one in particular, “Smiling,” chronicles…

**thanks to JuanF** 320 kbps | 80 MB | UL | MC ** FLAC

…Swilley’s brief stay in prison last year. ”[That song is] about how going to jail sucks, because the florescent lights make it hard to sleep, and you have to share five cigarettes with ten other guys all ducking in a corner smoking cigarettes,” he says. “[And] how you have to call your mom to bail you out. I wanted to write a song about Gucci Mane but I ended up writing it about myself.”

Over the last 15 years, the Black Lips have remained successful due to a committed ethic to non-stop touring and a constant desire to change things up in the studio. But as they forge on, recording hasn’t become routine by any means. “I don’t think making records gets any easier,” Swilley says. “It almost seems like the first one is the easiest because you haven’t really used many ideas at that point so almost everything is new to you.”

 Como hoy he estado muy entretenido con los falsumentales viscoleantes no ha habido tiempo de preparar más o mejor una idea para ADLO!. Por suerte en nuestra Ya Tradicional Lista de Correos siempre hay algo de lo que tirar.  Por ejemplo, este artículo que envió EmeA.



Y es que así podemos ver bien claro cómo la normalización. Gracias a ella puedes decir que #ERESGEEK si sabes datos como:

- En el pasado las portadas eran en Blanco y Negro. Como el cine o la tele. 

- Originalmente Superman solo llevaba puesto unos shorts y la capa. Los shorts estaban para poder explicarle a la gente el nombre de Superman con un solo gesto.

- En 1939 las portadas no tenían valor real. Crecían en árboles.

- Este cover art "sí es de los más viejos que se conocen ya que al parecer, los anteriores han desaparecido completamente o bien, alguien los tiene guardados por ahí sin que el mundo se entere." Fíate tú de la gente.

Una vez más la información sobre el mundo del cómic está a salvo gracias a la normalización.

¡Y gracías también a tí, Superman!

Come March 1st, comedian Patton Oswalt will lead us in a celebration of all things independent film when he hosts the Film Independent Spirit Awards on IFC on March 1st, but now he has a revolutionary way to apply the selfsame independent spirit that the awards show celebrates to some of Hollywood’s biggest blockbusters. With a brand new device known as the INDIEIZER (patent pending), Oswalt has figured out a way to metamorphose big budget popcorn fare into heartfelt, hard-hitting indie flicks that will be the talk of every vintage hair salon-cum-vintage cocktail bar, organic falafel truck, and $9-latte-slinging fair-trade coffee shop across the land. Better bust out your mustache wax for this one, because I’m predicting some major handlebar mustache twirling in your immediate future.

Seriously, though, how much better is The Lone Ranger as mumblecore? Plus, it’s hard to go wrong when you have the 5 Second Films team involved. In any event, you independent spirits, you can catch Patton Oswalt hosting the Film Independent Spirit Awards on IFC, March 1st at 10 PM.

What do you think? What other movie would you like to see Indieized? Let us know in the comments below.

"Venus" by the Shocking Blue

Take Me High
Summertime

One of the most cliche criticisms of a photo service like Instagram is that it’s clogged with pointless photos of people’s food. Amateur foodies and people longing for human recognition during a brief moment of existential dread post their vintage-filtered photos of their gourmet lunch for the world to see, like some kind of nostalgic burrito from 1972.

The reality is, due to lack of time and money and imagination, most of us eat terrible swill, and consequently, there’s something stifling and overly-manicured about most food photos. Enter Sad Desk Lunch and Dimly Lit Meals For One, two blogs that gleefully collect people’s terrible photos of their less appetizing meals (among many other similarly themed blogs).

These “bad” food photos are way more honest and humorous than most, as if they’re working against the conventions of the polished, “curated” lives we typically see online. It’s worth wondering if the content posted on social media is trending in this sort of casual, rough-around-the-edges direction, where people are willing to make themselves look foolish, like we’ve seen with selfies of people falling down stairs.

Here are a few from Sad Desk Lunch:

And others from Dimly Lit Meals, aka “heartbreaking images of one man’s home cooking gone wrong”:

via Sad Desk Lunch and Dimly Lit Meals For One, h/t The Guardian

I can't find other parts so here in read more is comics itself.

read more

Este domingo he tenido la suerte de poder acercarme hasta mi tierra en A Coruña y disfrutar de una jornada maratoniana en el Fórum Gastronómico 2014, evento que se celebra hasta mañana martes en la ciudad gallega y cita para todo aquel amante de la buena cocina y la gastronomía, desde el profesional hasta el aficionado. Allí se eligió al mejor cocinero del año gallego tras la demostración en directo de la cocina de los cinco candidatos a optar a este galardón.

Los seleccionados en esta ocasión eran cinco chefs que ya se perfilan como el futuro prometedor de la cocina gallega, Diego López de La Molinera en Lalín (Pontevedra), Álvaro Villasante del restaurante Paprica en Lugo, Dani Guzmán de Nova en Ourense, Diego Bello de Alborada en A Coruña y Lucía Freitas de A Tafona en Santiago de Compostela.

El título de mejor cocinero del año gallego surge de la selección por parte de un comité de expertos, pero también del público que pudimos votar a nuestros chefs favoritos hasta el 18 de febrero a través de la web que organizaba este evento.

Diego López fue finalmente el escogido como mejor cocinero gallego del año. Este chef de 25 años, criado entre ollas, fogones y cocidos desde niño, interpreta ahora desde hace tres años la cocina tradicional de su tierra de forma innovadora en el restaurante familiar La Molinera.

Aquí platos tradicionales como el cocido, que nunca falta en su carta, conviven con su cocina entrenada en restaurantes como el Dos Cielos de Barcelona, La Terraza del Casino en Madrid o Casa Solla en Pontevedra.

Y fue uno de sus maestros, Pepe Solla, el que orgulloso le entregó el premio a Diego López después de deleitarnos en directo con la preparación de un plato de ostra con caldo de ternera, dado de panceta de cerdo, huevas de pez San Martiño, oxalis, cebollino, aceite de arbequina y hojas silvestres. Una explosión de sabores que hizo que el público allí presente nos arrancáramos en un fuerte aplauso celebrando su cocina.

Ahora tendrá que competir con otros chefs nacionales escogidos como él mejores cocineros de su región. A mí en esta ocasión como gallega, y tal y como decía Diego López este domingo en A Coruña, “me tira el terruño”, así que ojalá que pueda alzarse finalmente como mejor cocinero de nuestro país. ¡Mucha suerte Diego!

En Directo al Paladar | Fórum Gastronómico 2014
En Directo al Paladar | El grupo Nove cumple diez años a la vanguardia de la cocina gallega

-
La noticia El mejor chef gallego es Diego López de La Molinera en Lalín fue publicada originalmente en Directo al Paladar por Esther Clemente.

Photo: Bloomberg via Getty Images. This story is from VICE News, our new news website. See more and sign up now at vicenews.com.

“I’m a farmer.”

So said Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán when the press asked him what he did for a living on June 10, 1993, following his arrest and extradition to Mexico after years on the run. In a way, no truer words have been spoken in the history of the country’s bizarre and bloody drug war.

Guzmán was indeed a kind of “farmer.” The poppy and marijuana crops under his control were the basis of a multibillion-dollar transnational trafficking empire that would eventually make him one of the richest and most wanted men in the world.

He was sentenced to 20 years in a maximum-security prison, but in 2001 he managed to escape, cartoonishly, in a laundry cart. Guzmán expanded his reach by trafficking marijuana, heroin, and cocaine into the United States, Europe, and Australia. He is said to exert control over most of western Mexico, parts of Guatemala, and trafficking ports in West Africa. While his nickname means “Shorty,” there’s nothing diminutive about El Chapo’s stature in the illicit drug world. Forbes has regularly named him in its lists of richest and “most powerful” people.

Guzmán’s prosperous stint as a fugitive came to an end again on Saturday morning, following an epic 13-year manhunt that left a trail of blood and tragedy as Sinaloa, his cartel, ruthlessly fought off Mexico's security forces on one front and combated rival cartels for control of the country’s lucrative drug trade on another.

Shortly before 7 AM, Mexican authorities captured Guzmán in a condominium building overlooking the water in the Pacific resort city of Mazatlán, in Sinaloa. No shots were fired in the raid, which was assisted by the US Drug Enforcement Administration, the US Marshals Service, and the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency.

Condo 401 looks plain, almost shabby, in photos taken after the raid that led to Guzmán’s capture.

Mexican authorities addressed the media on February 22.

Guzmán was flown to Mexico City. In the afternoon, after Attorney General Jesús Murillo Karam delivered a brief statement on the tarmac of the international airport, uniformed soldiers wearing face masks led the drug lord from a navy hangar to a federal police helicopter.

Guzmán wore dark jeans, a pale long-sleeved shirt, and a formidable mustache. The kingpin was briefly seen hunched over and wearing handcuffs. He didn’t take questions and wasn’t heard speaking before the helicopter swiftly carried him away to the Altiplano federal prison. (The Justice Department announced on Sunday that it will seek Guzmán’s extradition to the US.)

Mexican authorities also took no questions; the dais and flag that were used for their statements were packed up within seconds of the helicopter’s departure.

Mexicans were left to absorb the fall of a mythic figure in the country's recent history. Many wondered what would come next. Despite recent drug-liberalization initiatives within the United States—the leading drug-consuming nation in the world—Mexico’s drug war has shown no signs of abating.

Guzmán’s role in the US-Mexico drug trade is a mystery, colored by allegations that he or his operatives maintain contact with US and Mexican authorities, perhaps as protected informants.

Jesús Vicente Zambada, a major Sinaloa cartel operative who was extradited to Chicago to face trafficking charges, has claimed in court that US agents in Mexico gave him and other cartel members immunity in exchange for information about rival cartels, particularly the bloodthirsty Zetas. US prosecutors insist that he had no such deal with federal agents. (Zambada is still awaiting trial.)

While associates and relatives of Guzmán have been arrested or killed in shoot-outs in recent years—among those killed was Guzmán's 22-year-old son, Édgar, in 2008—others in his inner circle have been known to move about on either side of the border.

In the summer of 2011, Guzmán’s wife, Emma Coronel, gave birth to twin girls at a hospital in Los Angeles County. Guzmán married the former beauty queen in a extravagant party in 2007, when she was only 18. Federal agents monitored Coronel, a US citizen, while she was in California. Because there were no charges against her, she freely returned to Mexico with her children.

Guzmán was born in 1957 in a village called La Tuna, located in the Sinaloa municipality of Badiraguato—one of the poorest counties in all of Mexico. His father was a gomero, or poppy farmer, but Guzmán grew up mostly poor and neglected, and eager to prove himself.

Badiraguato is considered the gateway to the "Golden Triangle," the rough and remote poppy- and cannabis-growing region of the Sierra Madre mountain range that runs down western Mexico, dominating Sinaloa and neighboring Durango and Chihuahua. Some of the biggest names in Mexico’s narcotics industry were also born in Badiraguato, including Rafael Caro Quintero, an old-school drug lord who was released from prison on a technicality last August, after 28 years behind bars.

According to the book The Last Narco by Malcolm Beith, Guzmán got started in the drug industry as a lieutenant to Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo, considered the godfather of Mexico’s cocaine shipping trade, in what was then known as the Guadalajara cartel. After Félix Gallardo’s capture in 1989, Guzmán and his group within the Sinaloa cartel effectively took over and began expanding, killing, or disappearing anyone who stood in their way. By 1993, when Guzmán survived an assassination attempt in Guadalajara that left an archbishop dead, El Chapo’s legend already loomed large in Mexico.

Pressure began mounting on the government to score a victory against the drug traffickers, which led to Guzmán’s capture in the summer of 1993 by Guatemalan authorities and his extradition to Mexico. Guzmán reportedly enjoyed a lavish lifestyle within the maximum-security prison Puente Grande. According to a 2009 Wall Street Journal profile, he was so well-pampered during his stint in the pit that his set-up rivaled the comforts of his beachside condo in Mazatlán. He had a television and a cellphone to direct his drug empire, selected meals from a menu, smuggled plenty of contraband, and received visits from cartel members and prostitutes. He kept a supply of Viagra on hand.

Guzmán’s escape coincided with the transition to a multi-party democracy after the 71-year rule of the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) was interrupted by the election of President Vicente Fox, a member of the conservative National Action Party (PAN). Fox took office in December 2000 as the first non-PRI president in Mexico’s post-Revolutionary history. Guzmán escaped from Puente Grande a month later.

The country’s bitterly contested 2006 presidential election resulted in a second presidential term for PAN under Felipe Calderón. Immediately after taking office, Calderón launched a military campaign against drug cartels in his home state of Michoacán. The new president even made an appearance in public wearing military fatigues.

Troops rolled into cities and towns within cartel territories, sparking warfare in major cities like Monterrey, Ciudad Juárez, Tijuana, Morelia, Acapulco, and Culiacán, Sinaloa’s capital.

The six years of Calderón’s presidential term proved to be the bloodiest period in Mexico’s history since its revolution, more than a century before. At least 70,000 people were killed in drug violence during that time, and some 26,000 people went missing. Only a small fraction of these cases will ever be solved. Most of these atrocities occurred because of a government-approved, prohibitionist drug war in which Guzmán was arguably the most symbolic figure.

Sightings of Guzmán abounded for the next several years. He was said to be in Argentina, Guatemala, Honduras, and even the US. Narcocorridos about his exploits could be heard in nightclubs, on YouTube, and over the airwaves in northern Mexico (until authorities banned their broadcast). When Guzmán dined out, he would pay the tabs of the other diners. It seemed for a while that El Chapo was everywhere except prison.

In 2009, a Catholic archbishop in the state of Durango said that Guzmán was living just up the road from a town called Guanacevi. “Everyone knows it, except the authorities,” he said.

The Sinaloa cartel made strategic decisions to combat its rivals—the Gulf cartel, the Zetas, and the Beltran Leyva gang—across Mexico. Violence erupted in Guerrero, Veracruz, and Michoacán, with Mexico’s security forces killing and capturing various capos.

Ciudad Juárez saw the worst of the warfare by far. An estimated 11,000 people were killed in there between 2007 and 2012. Over the same span, more than 7,000 civilian complaints of military abuses were registered with the country’s National Human Rights Commission.

In the course of the conflict, the US played an unprecedented role in Mexican law enforcement, making it seem almost as though the US agents operating in Mexico were practically in control of the push to find and capture Guzmán and others. Calderón left office in December 2012 and turned over power to Enrique Peña Nieto, returning the PRI to the presidency and introducing uncertainty about the direction of the fight against cartels.

With Guzmán’s capture, there’s no telling what will happen next. History has shown that the capture of top capos in Mexico often precipitates a violent struggle among splintering forces to fill the power vacuum. The leadership of the Sinaloa cartel is said to have shifted to Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada, Jesús Vicente's father, who is believed to be Guzmán’s second-in-command. But reports have also noted that Dámaso López, a young, flashy capo known as “El Mini Lic,” could position himself strongly within the top ranks of the Sinaloa cartel in Guzmán’s absence.

At the same time, rival cartels could detect an opening in Guzmán’s arrest and seek to regain ground that they have lost to the Sinaloa cartel in recent years. This would be a very dark turn of events.

Follow Daniel on Twitter @longdrivesouth

Subscribe to VICE News on YouTube

Follow VICE News on Twitter

Like VICE News on Facebook

 

Last year HBO gave us a show, with the only stipulation being to do what we do best—bring our audience under-reported news from a wide range of cultures around the world. Astute followers of this website will note that we've been doing that for years now, and so with the backing of the only channel still worth watching, we were able to produce some of the best television on television last year. We talked to child Taliban suicide bombers, explored strange dating customs in China, traveled to Mumbai's Dharavi slum, hung out with Indonesia's nicotine-addicted children... and the list goes on. Not to gloat or anything, but people seemed to dig it. We even got nominated for an Emmy and renewed for a second season.

At 11 PM on Friday, March 14, right after Real Time with Bill Maher, our eponymous news show will be back for season two, exclusively on HBO. In addition to a variety of new hosts, the formula is pretty much the same—covering stories that most journalists don't, from an on-the-ground perspective that you won't find anywhere else. Here's a trailer to whet your appetite until next month.

Season two of VICE premieres on March 14 at 11 PM, exclusively on HBO.

If you missed it, season one can be watched for free, in its entirety, here.

As limp a dick as “The Tonight Show” seemed with Jay Leno’s zipper at the base of it, please consider the possibility that Leno’s 22 years behind the desk will have felt like a raging hard-on once Jimmy Fallon has his chance to fuck with it.

This is not about whether Fallon is funny. This is not about whether Leno is funny. This is not about whether Fallon is funnier than Leno or vice-versa. This is about NBC’s choice to turn “The Tonight Show” more vanilla. And “The Tonight Show” hosted by Jimmy Fallon’s brand of whitebread comedy makes Leno’s “The Tonight Show” look like pumpernickel.

When Leno ruled “The Tonight Show,” he did it safely. He didn’t want to offend anybody. But, really, even if he did, who could tell? Leno worked clean. He felt safe. He was reliably inoffensive. And that appealed to the unhippest of viewers. Your grandma. My mom. Middle-of-the-road-watch-your-baseball-eat-your-fajitas-TGI Friday’s America. And that is okay. It was not for me, but neither was Leno. It was for the most easily offended middle-class Americans.

However, the middle class is thinning out and becoming the lower class. And the lower class likes to get edgy! They like their inoffensive comedy like they like their jobs. They don’t. So, in 2009, NBC brought in somebody younger, cooler, and orange-er. Conan O’Brian stomped into Universal Studios in Hollywood and did his thing. His young, cool, orange thing. But, it’s “The Tonight Show.” The middle class wasn’t dead just yet.

Your grandma and my mom were still the audience, and they were pissed. But they’re middle-of-the-roaders, so they used the term “not watching” instead. So out went O’Brien to a network so hip that nobody could find it on their cable boxes. And Leno returned. Except this time he paved the way for what NBC considered a younger and cooler version of Leno: Jimmy Fallon.

But Fallon isn’t young Leno. Fallon isn’t cool Leno. Fallon isn’t Leno at all. The 39-year-old, who just finished his first week on “The Tonight Show,” appeals even more to Middle America than even Leno did. How, you ask?

CUTENESS

There is nothing that the middle-class loves more than “cute.” That’s why there are so many fuzzy pets in middle-class America. The lower-class gets stuck with rats, cockroaches and dollar store frozen chickens. The upper-class has the heads of a million endangered yaks hanging on their golden walls. Nobody likes it cuter than the middle class. And what late night host is cuter than Fallon? He’s got an “aw shucks” mug, rather than Leno’s “oh fuck” face. Fallon’s face is like a glass of warm milk. Leno’s is like a thermos of sharp rocks. Which is the middle-class going to choose to drink before bed?

VARIETY SHOW

Leno hosted a talk show. Fallon sings and does sketches, even during a monologue or an interview. Fallon is hosting 2014′s version of “The Brady Bunch Variety Hour.” Essentially, he took a spin in the ol’ Delorean and headed back to the year 1975. He is in the process of turning “The Tonight Show” into a variety show, a throwback to classic vanilla television. I’m looking forward to Sha Na Na’s guest appearance next week.

ANYTHING WON’T HAPPEN

Leno is Mr. Talk Show. He followed the format to a T and made it HD. But it’s not the format that makes late night talk shows fun. It’s what is done with them. A talk show should feel like anything can happen. A monologue bombs. A guest says the word “dick” 70 times, then throws the Nazi salute by mistake. That’s not whitebread TV. That’s motherfucking watercooler television.

As prepared as Leno was, sometimes things slipped past him. For instance, Google the clip of that time in 1994 when Bobcat Goldthwait set “The Tonight Show” couch on fire. Comedy gold. Dangerous comedy gold. Fallon however, is an NBC-created actor. He has been built to roll with the punches. During “Saturday Night Live,” he made cracking-up during sketches expected. That’s right! The unexpected is expected now, and thus Fallon’s “The Tonight Show” has zero danger factor. Leno at least burned it down once in a while.

EDGINESS

People mistake Fallon’s youth, fidgetiness and pop cultural reference gag-bag as edgy. Sure, 63-year-old Leno is ancient when standing beside Fallon. And, granted, Fallon’s got some form of neurological damage or stage fright that makes him appear awkward, and awkward is hip. But neither makes him edgy. They just make him the popular kid.

So, this last point is important. Leno told jokes. Even if they were a little dated or weren’t always funny, they were jokes. Jokes are commentary. Commentary is the result of opinion. And picking a side is not middle of the road. References are just that. With an opinion, you can’t please all of the people all of the time. With a reference, you can try. Fallon is more about references than jokes. Why? Because Fallon wants to please everyone. And there is nothing less edgy than somebody who wants everybody to like him.

Lee Roy Myers is a pornographic film director responsible for titles such as “The Godfather XXX,” “Game of Bones” and “SpongeKnob SquareNuts.” He is one of the creators of WoodRocket.com. [link NSFW, obviously]

The town of Hampton in north Florida is so corrupt and dysfunctional that it’s about to be erased from the face of the earth.

The town of 477 people sits on a stretch of Route 301 between Jacksonville (home of Limp Bizkit) and Gainesville (home to the University of Florida and serial killer Ted Bundy). There’s nothing to do there except listen to old Against Me songs and hate life, but some of Hampton’s residents have found some pretty interesting ways to pass the time.

The town of Hampton is really no more than a notorious speed trap in the middle of rural Bradford County. I mean, AAA told drivers to avoid the area. It basically consists of a gas station, post office, city hall, and a water utility facility. Hampton somehow, though, had 17 police officers, who in 2012 generated over $200,000 worth of speeding tickets over a 1,200-foot length of road, and then promptly lost the revenue. Their aggressive ticketing and cash loss raised the attention of state auditors, who turned up over 30 violations of local, state and federal law.

They also discovered that the town’s finances had been so poorly and disastrously managed that Hampton was in a six-figure deficit. There were bogus credit card charges totaling over $27,000 with “no public purpose,” town employees were just taking their work cars whenever they wanted, they employed a bunch of their own family members, and 46% of the town’s water was lost. (How does that even happen?) The town clerk illegally kept the budget secret while he and other town employees were overcompensated for expenses. It was a  free for all. These people were running wild.

When the state auditors showed up, the gonzo town officials claimed that many of their documents were… wait for it… lost in a swamp. I swear to God. When citizens complained to local officials about how fucked up their town was, their water would be mysteriously turned off. They had to call the county sheriff for help.

Then, last week, as the state audit became public and the legislature moved to push for criminal prosecutions and to dissolve the town, the police force and other officials just straight-up resigned. The entire town resigned. For all intents and purposes, there is no government in Hampton right now. Even the water utility guy quit. Though he has apparently agreed to come back on a part-time basis. One imagines this one-horse town flying into anarchy and pandemonium with “House of the Rising Sun” blaring while badges and boxes of civic documents are dumped into the surrounding swamp by departing former officials in stolen police cruisers.

Who is running this town, do you ask? Up until recently it was a guy named Barry Moore, but he was removed as mayor because he was arrested back in November for selling Oxycodone.

This was actually happening in the 21st century. In a swing state. The legislature is moving to have the town officially dissolved by next year. When your town is too wild for the Florida State Legislature, you know you’ve taken it too far.

The problems with Hampton are pretty endemic of the state itself. Florida has been called “America’s Australia.” Murder is apparently legal in Florida now, as long as you kill a black teenager. The state is beleaguered by hurricanes all while experiencing a perpetual real estate boom aided by sub-prime hustlers and wall street dropouts. The homeless occasionally have their faces eaten. The traffic is nuts. Florida Man is a bonafide meme, making the state a national laughingstock. Let’s not even get into the political past: historic voter suppression and George W. Bush. Enough said. I mean, fraud-master and all around creeper Governor Rick Scott replaced douche-a-rama Charlie Crist, who replaced Jeb “2000 Election” Bush. Need I go on?

I myself have criticized Florida as being a sweltering hellscape of depravity, proud ignorance, desperation, southern hate, and true human evil. It’s like it’s a permanent “Fast and the Furious” sequel down there. I lived in Florida for business for a short time. I have traveled its streets and gotten to know its people in a way that has taken years to recover from. I’ve drunk beer on South Beach with topless foreign models and blasted “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” while drifting down Ocean Drive. I love Miami. I have attended drag races in central Florida, just a mile down the road from the residence of a KKK grand dragon wizard, or whatever those bastards call themselves. I’ve gone to a tent revival in Pensacola, just across the bridge from a UFO hotspot.

I have also lost about five pounds in a day just from walking around in the heat, had a gun pulled on me a month after “Stand Your Ground” went into effect, been harassed by cops for having northern license plates, and witnessed more fights in traffic than were ever called for. I’ve seen a bunch of naked people in professional settings and forgotten more car accidents than most people will see in their lives. I have loved and hated Florida. But most of all, I know Florida. And Hampton sounds like the unofficial capital.

I’m from Baltimore, and parts of my city are like a Carcosa-esque Fallujah set in Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road.” So who am I to judge? I have some friends and family in Florida and they all call it heaven on earth, so what do I know? But we’re not eating our homeless in Baltimore. At least not yet.

As with all things, like religion or politics, it’s not Florida that is fundamentally rotten. It’s not the state, or government or the weird backwater forgotten towns like Hampton. It’s the treacherous monsters masquerading as people who are the problem. The inevitable browning of the redneck population will help to make the state a little more blue and a little less insane. Hopefully that will take place before the peninsula itself sinks into the ocean.

It can be wiped off the map, but its people will still somehow hang around the area—like the corrupt and now resigned Hampton officials. They have sunk back into the multitude to continue doing wrong. They’re still out there… like hilariously deranged ghosts haunting a beautiful swamp. That’s Florida in a nutshell.

On Monday, Reddit user shystone posted a series of really cool mashups of old paintings and their modern settings. With the help of Google Street View, he photoshopped the classic paintings of London by William Logsdail, Balthazar Nebot, and Canaletto, to line up with their contemporary surroundings.

It’s fascinating to see what has changed in the last 300 or so years. A few glassy skyscrapers now peek out from behind the formerly more open skylines depicted in the paintings; the River Thames contain a conspicuous lack of tall-masted ships; and giant containers of garbage now take the place of hookers. Many other sections—notably trees and railings—still line up remarkably well.

You can view the full set with commentary on Imgur here.

The 9th of November, 1888 (1890), by William Logsdail

Covent Garden Market (1737), by Balthazar Nebot

A View of Greenwich from the River (~1750), by Canaletto

St. Martins in the Fields (1888), by William Logsdail

Northumberland House (1752), by Canaletto

The River Thames with St. Paul’s Cathedral on Lord Mayor’s Day (1746), by Canaletto

Westminster Abbey with a Procession of Knights of the Bath (1749), by Canaletto

Source: Reddit

La salida irrevocable del sector más próximo a Beiras, con Mario López Rico y Luis Eyré al frente, descabeza la dirección

• Consideran «un erro estratéxico e político» la decisión de la militancia
• Xavier Vence, sobre el resultado de Anova: «É unha pena que se aposte por reforzar o proxecto de forzas estatais»

Dez dos trece concelleiros populares que gobernan Santiago están imputados nalgunha causa coa xustiza, incluído o actual alcalde, Angel Currás. Agora, confírmase unha presunta prevaricación por pagar a defensa do edil de deportes con cartos públicos.

A esta chica, que descansaba tranquilamente en la playa, le han propuesto un reto: ¿Te crees capaz de reconocer a tu novio por la polla? Le taparon los ojos y pusieron a cuatro apuestos jóvenes delante, haciendo fila para dejarse manosear las mandangas. Entre ellos, claro, su cónyuge, temeroso ante la idea de que su chica lo dejase en evidencia al fallar a la hora de reconocer el miembro al que se supone debe rendir culto 24/7. ¿Qué creéis que va a pasar?

La entrada Video #002 ¿Reconocerías a tu novio tocándole la polla? aparece primero en POR NO BUSCAR PORNO |XXX|.

 

  




    





      

   

Disfraz de Ratatouille 

Resumo dos últimos 15 anos de política compostelá