art, politics, religion: discuss
I hope you take the time to watch this video. The link above and here will take you away from Le Café.
I hope you let it challenge you. And I hope if you aren’t challenged, it’s because you know this crap information already.
And if you watch it and say to yourself, “This is from a ‘liberal’ news source. I don’t believe it.” I hope that you wonder why it is you think that’s a bad thing.
The world is full of lies, and this is probably another one of them.
Or maybe it’s not … bum bum bum.
Christians respond to atheist group suing to keep cross off of ground zero.
The love force brings it full throttle.
About the video:
FOX News was covering the story of the legal battle over a large cross being placed at the Ground Zero Memorial in New York. After Blair Scott, the communications director for American Atheists appeared on air he started getting death threats. He was quoted on the American Atheist blog saying he can always tell when someone from the group is on FOX News because his inbox explodes with hate e-mail. Over at the Fox News Facebook Page irate “Christians” didn’t like the interview either.
Guess who needs better PR?
Scientists found a 20 million year old ape skull in Uganda? Yeah, right!
That means the skull is 19,990,000 years older than biblical creation.
The devil is a crafty beaver and he has atheists and scientists wrapped around his slimy little finger. There’s NO WAAAAAY that there’s a 20 million year old skull for reals.
Get out of here, science! Leave the age of things to the experts with the bibles.
Read the fabricated nonsense here.
I saw this image of a snake with a can on its head, and I can’t stop laughing to myself about it. The caption reads, “These aren’t my glasses.”
The pug video is as funny as it needs to be.
Both can be found at, I have seen your hole and I called it the Internet
When in Carbondale, we stay at my brother-in-law’s parents’ home, the Bradleys.
Jason Bradley is Tina’s brother’s boyfriend, but he may as well be Michael’s husband, because they’ve been together 15 years.
Jason’s dad is a retired psychology professor, and he is eccentric in many ways. Suffice it to say, he’s particular about a lot of things.
In the past, he will ask me to do little chores around the house, which is completely fine. For example, he asked me to sweep the dinning room after dinner a few times. Once he asked me to vacuum the upstairs floor. He identifies different chores to each of us while we are there. And it’s our job to follow through.
While there this time, I was given a few tasks straight away. I moved chairs out to the poolside for everyone to sit in. I swept around the pool. These were things Jason’s dad asked me. It was all pretty easy.
The first morning we were there, Michael — who picked up smoking again after he quit for a few years — came out to the pool and said, “I’m going to have a cigarette, and then clean the pool.” I looked at the pool and there were a few leaves in the bottom, but otherwise it was clean.
I said, “I’ll do it. I’m already swimming in it.”
So I grabbed the skimmer, and started plucking out leaves.
I sank back into the pool when I was finished, and proudly looked over the clean pool which I conquered.
I beat my chest, and roared like a lion.
Later that day, I was in the pool with Tina and I heard a voice calling down to the pool from a nearby deck above us. From certain places in the pool, you couldn’t see who was up there. The deck overlooks the pool from the main floor of the house.
It was Jason’s dad. He said, “Is Michael down there?”
“No,” I said.
“I was going to tell him how great the pool looked. I’ll have to tell him later.”
I laughed.
“I don’t mean to laugh, Mr. Bradley,” I said. “But I cleaned the pool. Had I known you asked him to do it, I wouldn’t have.”
Mr. Bradley thanked me. But I could tell he was stewing over Michael not completing the task.
Mr. Bradley is particular.
Another example is Tina had placed a wet towel over Talulah’s crate in our bedroom. She did it, because it would help it dry and because Talulah likes it dark when she sleeps. That’s what we tell each other anyway.
Soon after, Mr. Bradley walked up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, “Would you remove that wet towel from Talulah’s crate and hang it outside?”
“Sure,” I said.
“We don’t hang wet towels inside during this humidity. They will never dry.”
You had me at, “Take the towel outside, Mr. B.”
Besides, what was he doing going into our bedroom while we weren’t in it? Weren’t the doors shut? He is a nosey mother fucker. What if Tina were in there naked?
These are minor examples, but over the course of the weekend, the stories build up to become a collection of “All the things Mr. Bradley asks you to do.”
Just before we left for home on Saturday, we were gathering our bags. Each of us packs a grocery bag of snacks to munch in the car. Tina was gathering our groceries. She placed our grocery bag from the floor onto the counter to make it easier to reach.
“Tina, would you please put that filthy bag back on the floor,” Mr. Bradley asked. “It was just on the floor, and we don’t put dirty things on our counter tops.”
Tina didn’t hear Mr. Bradley at first. And after repeating himself a few times, he finally told us a story that Mrs. Bradley read an article about how women’s purses are loaded with bacteria, because they go to public bathrooms, put their purses on the floor while they do their business, and then go home and put those dirty purses on their countertops or tables.
Tina said, “Mr. Bradley, I’m not in the habit of putting grocery bags on the floors of public bathrooms.”
I laughed.
Mr. Bradley didn’t.
In the meantime, Jason picked up a bag off the floor and put it in the exact spot that Tina had put her bag. And Mr. Bradley didn’t say a damn thing.
Apparently the rules only apply to the strangers.
Zach Galifianakis is on a boat headed through New York Harbor near Liberty Island. He is holding a folded sheet of paper that says, “- Go to America. – Tell Jokes. – Sell out.”
Graphic says, “Men socialize by insulting each other. But they don’t really mean it. Women socialize by complimenting each other, and they don’t really mean it either.”
Graphic and image of otter says, “I’ve had it up to here with your otter nonsense.”
“If you were married to your grocery list, you just got separated … and I don’t want you to get a divorce,” says Pope Mohammed to a woman you’ve never met.
Pope Mohammed’s hand is outstretched. There is a piece of white crumpled paper between his thumb and forefinger. The paper has hand-written scrawl on it. A stranger stands in front of Pope Mohammed. She appears 23 or 24. She has a toddler stuffed in a baby seat of a shopping cart.
You follow behind Pope Mohammed after pulling a nested shopping cart from a long line of carts snaked in a holding area. The sounds of scraping and slamming metal is echoing around you. You are in a Piggly Wiggly grocery store. You rip an anti-bacterial wipe from a dispenser and smooth it over the handle. The door that you entered through is moved with an electric eye.
The woman takes the paper. She says, “Thanks,” and pushes her cart forward.
Before she is too far away, Pope Mohammed pats the woman’s toddler on the head. You stand next to Pope Mohammed for a moment before he looks at you and says, “Have you ever heard of Frotteurism?”
You say, “No.”
Pope Mohammed moves toward produce. You follow. He picks the anti-bacterial wipe from your hand, he wipes the cloth over his hands and says, “Frotteurism is rubbing against a ‘non-consenting person’ in a public space while fantasizing an exclusive, caring relationship with the other person.”
There’s a pause. Over the intercom, you hear a voice saying, “21 on 4.”
Pope Mohammed is fondling a cantaloupe. He says, “Most acts of frottage occur when the person is aged 12-15 after which there is a gradual decline in frequency.”
You nod your head, and follow Pope Mohammed heads toward the bananas. You are holding a shopping list that reads, “Beef Kabobs”.
Pope Mohammed asks, “Ever hear of prosopagnosia?”
“No,” you say.
Pope Mohammed picks up a head of lettuce and says, “Prosopagnosia is face blindness.”
“Hmm,” you utter.
“Friends of people with Prosopagnosia complain that the victim never recognizes them,” explains Pope Mohammed. “Prosopanosiacs don’t remember the faces of those whom they have hurt.”
You glance at your list. You pick up an onion.
You push the cart a little further. You pick up a green pepper and then a red one.
Pope Mohammed reaches for the red pepper you put in the cart, lifts it to his face. He examines it by lowering his glasses to the tip of his nose and looking over the rims. He puts the pepper back and picks up another. He examines it. Smells it. He places it in your cart. “Did you know that Piggly Wiggly is the oldest American grocery store chain?”
You say, “No … I didn’t.”
Pope Mohammed says, “Shopping is like choosing one of my teenage wives.” Your brow furrows. You look at Pope Mohammed’s lips moving. “Choosing a wife is like picking vegetables from a grocery stand,” he says.
Your eyes avert from discomfort. You’re hoping to conceal your confusion.
“One day you pick a beautiful fruit,” says Pope Mohammed in a sing song voice. “The next day, the fruit is blackened with age. It is withered with time. It is molded and rotted.”
You feel the embarrassment of a red face. You feel the heat emitting from it.
“You … you throw that fruit away?” You ask.
Pope Mohammed looks at you and shakes his head. He walks away from you. He talks with his back to you. “No,” he says. “You compost the old. You replant and wait for a more lovely yield to come from the next harvest.”
Le Café Wittypoots 