We all want to be victims

This human inability to register that other people can suffer has driven us to define “justice” as the perfect excuse to extinguish the person that looks-at-me-the-wrong-way. From the first baby utterances of the “he did it!” to the “but I was only following orders”, humans have found ways to justify their horrors, massacres and genocides. All under the egotistical vision of “but my intentions were good…” or even worse, “but I am the good guy! I was only defending myself”

The worst part is that people are not essentially evil, it is just that they have their heads so high up in their own asses that they are unable to realize that their stupid good intentions has turned them into ghastly monsters.

Here is a nice historical collection of self proclaimed victims:

Cats on walls

Everyone knows that cats control human thought.

This is the obvious reason for human activities toward cats: building fine sand boxes which are meticulously cleaned of dung and pee; brushing elusive fine hairs which will be lodged in human nostrils; buying expensive cat toys that will be discarded after 120 seconds; tending on to every possible cat need without any contemplation of own´s safety (have you ever brushed a cat´s teeth?).

There is absolutely no retribution: neither economic, nor emotional (cats do not even recognize their humans), nor physical. In other words, a cat is like an everlasting teenager.

And when this dominance is mixed with creative activity, the product is a cat. This was proven after viewing some graffiti in Bogotá.

meow!

Bad tits

Sevilla. By trying to escape the sexual advances from a donkey owned by the local government, a cow fell to her death in San Roque. The cow´s owner insisted that the donkey was pursuing the cow with malicious carnal intent and this was the reason the cow plunged to her non-existance.
However, the response from the goverment was that the cow seduced the donkey, who is a healthy strong male, by displaying in an immoral manner her nakedness and her bra-less, jiggly, bare tits.
This could only happen in Spain.

Of the pages fastened along one side and encased between protective covers

I can understand that not everybody enjoys reading. I appreciate it rationally, I can comprehend that as the same way I can grasp that some individuals like peas, others BBQ sauce, and some just plainly detest texts. Sitting down with a book, opening it, going through the pages, I can see why it would be old fashioned and dreary. Nowadays books have some writing on the back part which summarizes what is inside, that is because most people are not even aware that one must open it for it to function.

I could get the frustration of these people when confronted with a house filled with books: books on the bed, books on the floor, books in the bathroom, books by the door. I can understand one possible option is to throw the books away, since if they are correctly disposed of, they can easily be rescued by people that consider that private property on the floor is public property… that is what my old university did with antique books and that is how I got a 1830 Divine Comedy. On the other extreme we stumble on book burning, and that is quite exaggerated and produces global warming, it also tends to monogram the soul in such way that upon death one is taken directly to hell.

But please, do tell me if it is not justified to cut your partner´s balls off if after arriving home from work, tired, stressed, hungry, and you are met upon the door with a smiling, radiant, joyous significant other that shows you this:

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Cyborg Generation

stupid zombies

Zombies are reanimated corpses. A corpse is a dead human being, if it comes back to life, it is a zombie. Quite simple. Of course, what makes it exciting is that zombies have a terrible desire to eat living human beings, specially brains. The possible interpretation is that of want, they want what they lack, since they are dead living corpses, their brains aren’t working and they want some. However, it might simply be a craving for life and live flesh is what gives them their reanimation.

You see, if they wanted brains because of the lack, then we would not have stupid zombies. And we do have them.

For example, about 2,000 years ago this dim-witted jewish zombie got it wrong. Though he went around scaring people (you know, by doing the zombie stuff: displaying his open wounds, moving with a sluggish, blundering pace, etc.) instead of doing the proper munching up of the populace, he asked for the opposite and started telling everyone to eat him!

It was so scary people are still talking about it.
For more info about this, click here.

Poopart

Several times, students have asked me how can one recognize “art”. I would tell them that art moves you from inside.

It is this something that pierces into you through your senses, imbues you up completely, twists and twirls your insides you until you are seized with convulsions and then… zaz! Art.

For example, every time I walk into a bookstore (or library) I need only to march up to the literature stand, read the titles and immediately I will be saturated with uncontrollable urges to take a shit. My dear friend MG experiences the same when she goes into a museum, she strolls into a room, sees a sculpture and instantly she feels a spasmodic sensation that is followed by farts and excretions as she darts to the restroom.

And so, artists undergo the same occurrence while creating art, so here, for your pleasure, a small collection:

Andrés Serrano, Piss Christ, 1989. Material: crucifix in piss.

Santiago Sierra, Sierra-Shit,2007, Material: Shit from the lowest caste of India and plastic.
Piero Manzoni, "Artist's (Poo)," 1961, Material: cans and shit.
So if this blog makes you want to puke or shit... now you know.

Myths

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I am truly fond of bugs, especially spiders. I just love spiders and their spidery eyes and long furry legs. You see, almost all of them have eight legs, except when they have been pulled off, then they have less.


There are so many myths about spiders. They say that she-spiders bite the male’s head off after copulation. It is also said that the spiderlings devour their devout mothers, and this is done in a routinely fashion, it is also alleged that they slowly munch their defenseless little brothers and sisters and it is because of such reason that the surviving spider is indeed a very savage one, a spider filled with hate and violence, that would match any beastly human. However this pure fiction, a legend, a something that is not, such stories are impossible since spiders do not have a chewing mechanism and therefore do not chew, devour, bite heads off or munch. They must inject an acidic substance and suck the liquefied victim. And everyone knows that no being that lives on a liquid diet can be that evil.
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Poor misunderstood lovely spiders, attacked mercilessly by ignorant beings who lynch and probe them. Who take hundreds of innocuous tarantulas and light them on fire, that take chaste black widows and squish them, harmless daddy long legs driven off cliffs. So so much cruelty to the poor innocent misconstrued spiders.


And in Cambodia, they fry them up and eat them. Psshhh.





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The meaning of life, Part II

I work in order that my things have a good and decent life.

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Eight hours a day for the car´s good maintenance, so I can change the spark plugs and rotate the tires and verify the belts are ok every 25,000 miles and check the oil level, and change it, and using only higher octane fuel because is good for the engine, and also wax it, polish it, and cover it at night with a tent.

From 9 to 5, so I can get a vacuum cleaner for the carpet and that machine that also washes them with ultra super water pressure power and this gizmo thingy that absorbs bad smells from the fridge and energy conserving lightbulbs and a special cleaner for the wood furniture and another for the glass windows and another for the toilet and another for the sink and another for the plates and another for the cups and another for the floor, but not the carpet, because I only use water for the special carpet cleaner machine.

So I use my hours, instead of writing or reading, or painting, or eating, or going out for a walk in the park, or hanging out with friends or with my wonderful kitty, so my clothes can be washed with the special laundry detergent that is biofriendly organic biodegradable biologically bioethics not tested on animals plants or anything that has ever been alive or ever will be. On that and on a fabric softener that leaves the clothes smelling just like Spring with the essence of clouds. So I can iron it and put it in a box, in a drawer, in a closet, inside the room.

So I got some coat hangers for my pants, so I will not get creases, and some for my skirts so they hang loose and do not loose their fluff, and some for my sleeveless shirts so they don’t stretch and some for my coat, that goes easy on the shoulders, and a dehumidifier for the shoes. I also wanted some wine, a good wine, maybe this Spanish wine I have been thinking about a San Román 2002, but it was a little bit expensive and the beer was on sale, and it is just wine, really, so I got some of that.

Election time!

It is election time again, where we have the opportunity to submit our vote in Exchange for our obedience. Democracy. The wonderful system where a despotic majority decides over such issues like turning stinky jews into soaps, ban marriage, sterilize the uncouth Indians, allow the hunting down of humans who happen to not be born in the same hospital as them… so many things that are deemed morally acceptable, even good.

Unless of course, the aforementioned majority becomes the stinky minority and then you hear complains about planes dropped on them or druglords gunning them down in their favorite vacation spots. But I do wonder why? If it was all a result of a democratic choice.

It is obvious that in the precise moment that you submit your ballot, you are submitting your will.

In the moment that you choose the lesser of two evils (or three evils, or four...), you are implicitly accepting whatever happens. As the vote is casted all of the personal responsibility that deals with any of the next four to six years is also included. Whatever the majority rules will be the best choice. So this is worse than a tyranny, because in a dictatorship there is at least a mean evil oppressor, but here, in this fake democracies, the silence is autoregulated.

So some believe the best choice is just to annul the vote (as if there would be any difference between winning by two votes or by 40,000). It is just a small band aid used to cover the big gash of the lesser than two evils. Civic duty would be to run for office, or at least create a deadly flu virus that will exterminate all of the swine politicians… oh well…

What I am doing is that I´m just going to vote for Cepillín. At least he admits he is a clown.

Jesus in marmalade

Jesus has appeared to the humans many times. These images fill the expecting flock with faith and feelings of divine miracles, which are plentiful of mirth, and hope, and (insert favorite emotion here).

However, the interesting thing here is that according to forensic and anthropological studies, the christ´s face would have pretty much looked like this:

But the one showing up looks like this:

It is logical to think that by the time, a face like such would have issued responses such as "here comes the monster", "don´t be afraid of him, he is horrible but sweet" and "the lepers love him, because he is as ugly as them". Therefore, the christ looked like a regular person, since only differences are noted.

(That is why it is impossible that the 9-11 terrorists had been arabs. I know that the most trusted and honest Bush and the totally reliable Al-Qaeda said so. But there is no phone conversation from the victims in the plane hijackings that said "we are being hijacked by some fucking shit arab guy". All say "hijackers", "with red bandanas", "with a knife", etc... in other words, the hijackers looked like them: white and American)

But back to the christ. From the sightings several things are noted:

- The apparitions do not correspond to the original Christ, but to images that people want to be the Christ.
-The image is not really important, it is more so the desire for it to be true.
-The one appearing is not the Christ but some white, european, blue-eyed, bearded dude.
-The bearded dude is possibly a guy who in life kicked puppies and spat at old ladies...

Let´s pray.

Relics, saints and chapels

It is well documented that christ´s circumcision was performed on the eighth day he was born by a priestess friend of Mary. His Holy Prepuce was stored in nard oil and some of the so called “unauthentic” gospels state that precisely this was the oil used by Mary Magdalene when she anointed him.

Other sources situate the Holy Prepuce in a small chapel in Colombia. Apparently during the failed expedition by Diego de Nicuesa, there was a sailor named Diego de Vergara who was supposed to be the great great great etc great grandson of this rabbi, and who had always kept the Holy Prepuce as a heirloom. There is little known about this expedition and even less about the relic´s authenticity, so this proposal is even more dubious than the first one.

However, they might even seem excesive when compared to what is known about Jesus´s holy diapers and his holy shit. The only reference found is in an arab gospel, which was probably written around the 6th Century, and in it is stated that the son of God´s first diaper was given as a gift to the three wise men. Who in turn tried to burn it, since it stench was driving the camel, the horse and the elephant into a paranoid sexual psychosis that appeared to be harmful to them. However, after the fire burned out the diaper remained intact. After this proof, the wise men had to recognize the child´s divinity, for anything that the baby´s bodily fluids touched turned to immaculate perfection (Actually, there are records that His bath water was greedily sought by the lepers of the sorrounding area).

This aforementioned superpowerful diaper was sent to a small arab town (whose name has been lost to the historical records) to a family that had three extremely beautiful sons whose eyes shone as the moon and two exquisitely superb daughters, and it was said that whomever saw the whole family together could not stand the magnificence and would immediately start bawling. Therefore, close to the family´s dwelling there were green grasses irrigated by the profusely watered fountains created by the tears of the people in the village. So this made the town unbelievably fertile and the family immensely rich. However, during the first crusade this town was in the middle of the way of the recovery of the holy relics and was burnt to the ground and the soil salted.

It is interesting how it finally played out, since the crusaders obtained a diaper which (according to the obscure records of the time) smelt like roses, which in turn made it enough proof for them for the holyness of the shit. But truly, this diaper which is up to this day stored in a small vault in the Vatican, is nothing more than the diaper of one of the youngest daughters of the family.

A Jesuit friend of mine could procure a picture after bribing a guard with a 5 euro note and a small bottle of tequila:

It is well known that the christ´s shit stank like no man´s shit has stunk before, since he was the Son of Man. It is so obvious that even in the aforementioned gospels there are at least 4 cases of demonic possessions whose victims, after putting the diaper close to their nose, would writhe and squirm in anguish while the demons fled their carnal bodies.

There is also a small chapel, remodeled by the cathars during the 11th Century, that claims to be the holy sanctuary of the holy shit of Christ. Apparently the place where Jesus would defecate during his childhood in Judea was found. However, the veracity of the relic has never been proven, though pilgrims from all over the world flock the chapel twice a year (in Good Friday and Christmas) because the relic regains roundness and humidity and stinks. It is said that after one visit during these days, the holy stench will remain in the clothes eternally, forever blessing the wearer with the miracle.

What has indeed been proven that this region is the epicenter for the coined phrase “Holy shit!"

The niece

After terrible menstrual cramps, that would not end neither with the hot tortilla on the belly, nor with brandy, nor with all of the medical pills that friends recommended, finally they told the princess that she had an inverted womb.

Her goal in life was that of perfect marriage, and according to the prescriptions of the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church, in order to do so she had to be fervently guarding her pearl. So she was not aware of the terrible efforts she would have to face in order to get pregnant, her dreams had only been of marrying dressed in white, perfect Baby Showers, mortgage the house, send her children to the best schools, the whole deal.

But after blowing her boyfriend and swallowing, she was with child. Nine months later she vomited, amidst saliva and a half eaten salbute, a brown, hairy, big eyed girl.
This is the niece of the edigator.

Tomorrow, the edigator will meet her.
yeii

To relieve stress

Exams to check, no job for the summer, papers due, swine (er... mexican... er... A) flu...
we do have to relax

The REAL reason why dinosaurs got extinct

In view with recent global happenings, this could not be more appropriate.

Don Quixote, condensed

The thoughtful edigator understand that not everyone has the time and patience to read the complete version of Don Quixote, but they should. Therefore, the magnanimus has condensed the novel written by Miguel de Cervantes, who found the manuscript composed by Cid Hamete Berengeli and took it to be translated to a semi anonimus arab, all of that... to be read in less than a minute.

El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha

In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire tocall to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen thatkeep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and agreyhound for coursing.

Don Quixote: I am a knight, I will go in search of adventures.
Everyone: No, you are not!
Don Quixote: Yes, I am.
Everyone: Ok, lets play along.
Don Quixote dies.


Source
If you want more books... aquí

So stupid

There is a series of internet pages that document human stupidity.
Sometimes I wonder if in a distant future (considering there will be one), when the archaeologists research daily practices of the xxi century sapiens sapiens animal, they will conclude (accurately) that all human life: that is meanings, objectives, dreams and desires (such as now is said about the mayas were sky watchers or the ancient egyptians were Nile farmers who wore eyeliner and short skirts) was centered in the regulation and description of ways to maim and annihilate the others,

in a obsessive collection of human orifices and things that might be inserted into them,

and a chronology of stupidity.

Interestingly enough, stupidity is closely associated to the viewing of a different outcome as the one predicted or quite simple situations were humans are hurt.

Anyway, I found a wonderful internet page that has become a favorite of mine, a way to lighten up my gray days: Failblog.org.

I leave you with and image and a couple of videos from that site that I have found lovely.

Fail sign!

Fail Ironing!

Fail parking, fail awareness of surroundings, fail good samaritan, fail everything!!

Centaurs, oh my

Modern humans live surrounded by myths. Though the documented reality provided by TIME magazine does not accept the concept of monsters or anything that is not normal, people keep seeing, listening, photographing, filming and running away from aliens, chupacabras, yetis, hipno toads, and a nice assortment of evil slimy monsters in search of brains and other juicy parts of the body.

But the magnificent edigator is aware that according to psychology and anthropology and sociology and all of those quite exact human sciences, humans are quite simple creatures. They are, to put it simply, symbolic animals that codify fears and desires into complex and absurd situations. Therefore, all monsters have their roots in a particular fear or desire. The abominable snowman finds its origin in the fear to the long cold winter, the windigo to your brother eating your parents (and then you), the chupacabras to the latinamerican patriotism, etc… But centaurs..

Centaurs are these mythological beings, half horse (the bottom half) and half human (upper half). Traditionally (mythically?) these beings are astrological diviners, star gazers, etc… Why would anyone keep believing in them?

Source of both

And then.. epiphany… I understood why… (viewer discretion advised... naked picture coming up... HERE)

Baby Shower Games

My dear friend Seraqui is having a baby shower for the fruit of her unprotected passion and the edigator was asked for help.
-Oh, great edigator of the sewers, you will be in charge of games. They said.
-Games?!, edigator flabergastedly asked, what kind of games?!
-Oh, you know, games that involve babies, the edigator was told with a smile and a sigh.
So the edigator thunk and thunk and thunk and created the following Three Baby Games:

I. Pin the penis on the baby
Instructions: Grab a penis, wear a blindfold, pin it on the baby.

Then, thunk some more and came with the white trash version (much more fun!)…

I. (version plus) Put out the cigarette on the baby
Instructions: Grab a lighted cigarette and put it out on the baby.
II. Spin the baby
Instructions: Grab a baby by its hind feet. Spin.
10 points for each completed turn.
III. Kick the baby.
Instructions: Place baby in garden. Punt baby. 2 points per 5 yards of flight.

Any more suggestions?

Got Wood?

With Spring here, everyone is feeling feisty and flirty.

Squirrels chant their love songs as they frolic, while cardinals and ravens chirp and squack as they seduce each other.

There are echoes everywhere ... pant pant wheeze wheeze puf puf aaahhhh!

It is in the air...

cousin vera

In the last hours of the 20th, snow started falling and it was slowly transformed to watery rain. The past two days it has been warmer and people started undressing in public. A friend said you could hear the birds chirping, but the true sound of spring is when the homeless have fled the shelters and invade the streets, calling, asking, pleading for a coin. Please, don’t look away, a coin because I am hungry, have a nice day.

The sun came out. Oh sí. The edigator is catching some rays.

Migraines

Migraines are caused by minuscule zombies who rip and devour pieces of the brain they inhabit. Feverish minds, troubled by headaches and hallucinations are able to draw them into horror stories which flock our eyes in the cinema.

Some activities which the host performs wakes the voracious zombies and as the host tries to survive the unsuspected attack on the head, and believes the vomiting, the repulsion to noise and smells, the semi paralysis and shaking, the fear of light, are all caused by something as trivial and normal as blood rushing to the brain or a huge hangover. So then the host growls grr argh, takes enormous quantities of pills, and tries to sleep.

And the zombies munch away...