Come Play With Us, Danny

One more reason you can never trust twins (although I'm sure this would've been a lot creepier if Kubrick had cast Billy and Benny McCrary).

Know Your Political Porn

Think Bill O'Reilly is the only one with a dirty mind? Wrong. The world of politics is full of pornographers and smut peddlers. So, see if you can match the politician with their published filth.

Warning: the writing is usually more cringe-inducing than explicit.


The Politicians:
A. Barbara Boxer, senator, D–Calif.
B. William F. Buckley, former candidate for mayor of New York City
C. Jimmy Carter, former president
D. Lynne Cheney, wife of Vice President Dick Cheney
E. Winston Churchill, former prime minister of the United Kingdom
F. William Cohen, former secretary of defense, and Gary Hart, former senator, D–Colo.
G. Susan Combs, Republican candidate for Texas comptroller
H. Newt Gingrich, former speaker of the House, R–Ga.
I. I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby Jr., former chief of staff to Vice President Dick Cheney
J. Joseph Nye, former assistant secretary of defense for international security
K. Kenneth Starr, former independent counsel
L. William Weld, former governor of Massachusetts
M. Jim Webb, Democratic candidate for Virginia Senate seat

The Dirty Bits:
1. "Suddenly the pouting sex kitten gave way to Diana the Huntress. She rolled onto him and somehow was sitting athwart his chest, her knees pinning his shoulders. 'Tell me, or I will make you do terrible things,' she hissed."

2. "She was overwhelmed with a desire to nurture her husband. She soon bared her breast and held him close against it, and he responded eagerly to this unprecedented intimacy."

3. "She romped on top of Simolzak's huge frame, straddling him with her hands on his chest, her back arched and her breasts flailing wildly in the air. Her back was to him and her long hair swung from side to side as if accentuating the abandonment of her screams."

4. "I set the edge of my teeth halfway up her breast, just at the point of tension but not, so far as I could tell, of pain. This was the sweetest flesh I had ever tasted, including fish and fowl."

5. "After dinner, they went dancing at Charlie's Jazz. Elaine felt detached from herself, floating in Tom's arms. The hell with [CIA director] Trevor, she thought. And when Tom pulled her close to him, she knew that for tonight at least, it would be just plain Tom and Elaine. Later, back at her house, they made love. It was fierce, two rivers of energy rushing together, gloriously, powerfully. No words were needed."

6. "The women who embraced in the wagon were Adam and Eve crossing a dark cathedral stage—no, Eve and Eve, loving one another as they would not be able to once they ate of the fruit and knew themselves as they truly were."

7. "He held her breasts in his hands. Oddly, he thought, the lower one might be larger. ... One of her breasts now hung loosely in his hand near his face and he knew not how best to touch her."

8. "The woman came down the stairs and they met midway. He took both her hands in his and smiled affectionately; she, standing one step above him, bent forward and kissed him. It was an amiable, though formal, salutation."

9. "The President fondled and kissed her bare breasts. He touched her genitals, both through her underwear and directly, bringing her to orgasm on two occasions. On one occasion, the President inserted a cigar into her vagina."

10. "I kissed her breasts and ran my hand between her thighs. She gripped my shoulders tightly. Unlike the first time I made love to Alexa, when the ecstasy had been eroded by a sense of anxiety and uncertainty, I was sucked into this moment as quickly and completely as if I had placed my feet in quicksand. Memories from years ago blended with intense physical excitement in a driving, pounding torrent of passion."

11. "He didn't notice Jane taking her clothes off but suddenly she was naked: long legged, lithe, and bronzed. The sheets were cool, her body warm, her limbs strong and supple, and they meshed with his just as he remembered. 'Oh Greg, dearheart,' she whispered in his ear, 'I've missed you so. Welcome home.' "

12. "But this time she led him upstairs into a room he had never laid eyes on, a bedroom with a king-size bed and not less than six oil pictures of Ayn on the walls, one of them showing her bare-breasted, the Ayn of twenty years ago. The shades had been drawn and Nathaniel could savor the scent. Today her lover was being welcomed with synesthetical concern for all the senses, only the music missing. But as he lay and later groaned with writhing and release, he brought the full force of his mind to transmuted, voluptuarian elation in this physical union with the very woman who had created John Galt and Dagny Taggart and Henry Rearden, and had touched down her scepter on him, Nathaniel, igniting his mind, and his own scepter, which paid, now, devoted service."

13. "With devastating slowness, his hand cupped her completely before he slowly slid a finger into her warmth. She was burning up. Heat sliced through her. Emily gave herself up to the sweet torment of his hand as her hips rocked against his touch. Clutching his shoulders, her mouth blindly sought his. Desperate for release, she tightened her grip. 'Ross,' she managed, feeling as though she were spinning out of control."

The Answers:
1. H. Newt Gingrich and William Forstchen, 1945. (Baen, 1995)
2. C. Jimmy Carter, The Hornet's Nest: A Novel of the Revolutionary War. (Simon & Schuster, 2003)
3. M. James Webb, Lost Soldiers. (Bantam, 2001)
4. L. William Weld, Stillwater: A Novel. (Simon & Schuster, 2002)
5. F. William Cohen and Gary Hart, The Double Man. (Avon, 1985)
6. D. Lynne Cheney, Sisters. (New American Library, 1981)
7. I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby Jr., The Apprentice. (Graywolf, 1996)
8. E. Winston Churchill, Savrola (Longmans Green, 1899)
9. K. Kenneth Starr, Starr Report, 1998.
10. J. Joseph Nye, The Power Game: A Washington Novel. (Public Affairs, 2004).
11. A. Barbara Boxer, A Time To Run. (Chronicle, 2005)
12. B. William F. Buckley, Getting It Right. (Regnery Publishing, 2003)
13. G. Susan Combs, A Perfect Match. (Meteor Publishing Company, 1990)

Stolen from Slate Magazine.

Guinness Memories Pt. II

In googling photos for my previous post I came across another set of Guinness icons from my childhood:

Billy and Benny McCrary, the World's Largest Twins...

and Hank Williams, Jr. look-a-likes.

At 743 and 723 lbs. respectively, Billy and Benny still hold the title even though they have both passed on. They now lie under what is claimed to be the world's largest granite gravestone at 13 ft. wide and over 3 tons (I'm not sure if this record has been confirmed by THE BOOK).

I now leave you with a picture sure to haunt your dreams for years to come. My apologies.

Robert Wadlow-- Tallest Man Ever

Growing up, my favorite book was The Guinness Book of World Records. I used to spend hours pouring over those pages, memorizing the names and dates of mankind's best. But, really, it wasn't the whole book I enjoyed, it was just one section in particular. The Human Body. Who cared how tall the highest bridge was or how many eggs some idiot could consume in a minute? I wanted to know who had the largest cranium that year, or the most fingers.

I read it so much, in fact, that not only do I still remember the particulars of some of my favorites, their pictures are also seared eternally into my brain:

Robert Earl Hughes (1069 lbs.)

Don Koehler (8 ft. 2 in.)

The only problem is that I stopped reading it probably 25 years ago and these guys are long since gone from the sacred tome. That's because Mr. Hughes' all-time record has been eclipsed by John Brower Minnoch (1400 lbs.) and Mr. Koehler, who died in 1981, was simply the tallest "living" man. (Ah, the fickle hand of fame). But there is one of my early heroes still residing in those hallowed pages: Robert Wadlow, who stood an incredible 8 ft. 11 in. tall.

Now you may remember me posting the clip about Sun Ming Ming, the Chinese Basketball Player/Freak who stands a hair over 7 ft. 8 in. Well, just for reference, keep in mind as you watch the following short documentary that Mr. Wadlow stood 15 inches taller than this guy!! That's 1 ft. 3 in. if you're keeping score at home.

The God Of Hellfire

I thought I'd post this video for a few of reasons:

1) I've always had enjoyed this song.

2) It's getting close to Halloween, so I thought it's satanic theme was appropriate.

3) Arthur Brown is a Reverend in the Universal Life Church, just like my brother Russ! In fact, I now regret talking Russ out of wearing the flaming head gear during my wedding ceremony.

Other famous Universal Life ordained ministers?
1) Johnny Carson
2) Hunter S. Thompson
3) Tony Danza

Today's CSpan Issue: The Robot Wars

I, too, am undecided on this issue. There are many benevolent robots among us (the Roomba, R2D2) and that's why it's such a tough call. But, let me make myself perfectly clear: The Cylons are evil! Death to the Cylons!

Northwest Serial Killer All-Stars

Here's another recently published article of mine (Oregonizm #2). I apologize if you've already read it. (Also, I've linked Kip Kinkel because I know he's not as well known outside Oregon-- and the morbid community).
Warning: It's not for the faint of heart.

Maybe it’s the rain, or the surplus of titty bars, or all the coffee we drink. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because there’s so many goddamn white people* up here. Whatever it is, one thing’s for sure: we certainly seem to have more than our fair share of serial killers in the beautiful Northwest. In fact, not only do we have what seems an excess of ‘em, but quite a few did such a bang up job they’re right up there with the best the nation has to offer. And so, without further ado, here are our All-Stars:

* serial killing is almost exclusively a white male past time.

1) Ted Bundy- 30 victims
If there was such a thing as a national Serial Killer All-Star Team we’d never have to bitch about our guys always getting left off it. Not with ol’ Ted lacing ‘em up for us. Ted Bundy, you see, was the Kobe Bryant of psychopathic corpse-fuckers. And he’s all ours. Sure he eventually took his talents on the road, but he was raised right here in the NW. And it was here he honed his skills and began fleshing out his all-star resume.

As the Casanova of serial killers ol' Ted was a ground breaker. He was handsome and intelligent and, therefore, didn’t have to sneak up on his victims. Instead he sweet-talked them to their doom. He showed the world that, rather than always being some hunchbacked misanthrope lurking in the shadows, your neighborhood serial killer just might be the home-coming king. And that scared the shit out of everyone.

In the beginning, Ted worked exclusively in and around the campus of his alma-mater, the University of Washington. Sometimes he liked to lure these sweet, young coeds into his car and sometimes he just sneaked into their dorm rooms. It didn't really matter because either way they ended up battered, brutalized and screwed six ways 'til Sunday. It was fun-- but after 11 victims Ted decided it was time to hit the road.

Maybe he’d started to feel the heat, or maybe he’d just realized that no matter how fast he worked he’d never be able to kill all of those fucking Huskies. Who knows? Whatever the reason, he enrolled in the University of Utah law school and high-tailed it to Salt Lake City. Once there, though, his studies were definitely not first and foremost in his mind.

In 1976, just two years after he began his bloody spree, Ted was convicted of attempted kidnapping and sentenced to 15 years in the Utah State prison. Even though it wasn’t the murder conviction the authorities had worked for, at least they were hopeful he'd be off the streets for a while. Instead, he wouldn’t even stay there long enough to start enjoying the sodomy.

Just over a year later Ted found himself in Aspen, awaiting trial for a 1975 murder he’d committed there. It was a small town, though, and the police were dumb as chimps. In short time Ted escaped and spent a week on the run. And then, not six months later, he slipped out of the same jail and headed for Florida.

Later, in Death Row interviews, he would say he felt this time behind bars had changed him, perhaps doused his killing rage. He’d hoped to settle into a new identity and leave all the ugliness behind. He was, he would soon find out, dead wrong.

Just a week after arriving in Tallahassee, Ted broke into a Florida State University sorority house. He was not just in the mood for a good ol’ fashioned panty raid, though. Instead he savaged four women there, killing two and severely injuring the others. And then, just an hour later, did the same to another female coed in her apartment a few blocks away.

Where once he prided himself on seducing his victims, he was now a mindless machine. Hannibal Lecter on tweak. He tore at the flesh of his victims with his teeth, beat one woman’s head flat into her pillow with a tree limb. Ripped another girl open from crotch to asshole with a can of hair spray. He was a full-fledged maniac now and it would soon cost him his life.

Within the month Ted Bundy would be caught for the final time and convicted when his teeth were shown to match the bite marks on one of the dead sorority girls. He spent a few weepy years on Death Row, lamenting that so many people hated him, and finally fried in the electric chair on January 24, 1989.

Fun Fact: Jane’s Addiction’s song “Ted, Just Admit it,” with its “Sex is Violent” refrain is about Bundy.

2) Gary Ridgway (The Green River Killer)- 46 victims
Like Bundy, Gary Ridgway is another home-grown, corpse-fucking All-Star. During interviews, in fact, he told police he often returned to the dumpsite to screw the decomposing body-- at least until there were just too many maggots. He also said that on at least one occasion he busted a nut with one while his young son slept only feet away in his truck. As you can see, his credentials are impeccable.

The only thing strange about Ridgway's case is that he is officially tied to only 46 murders. Now these may already seem like Michael Jordan-type numbers but, if you look at the dates, you’ll realize that there’s something odd about this final tally. That’s because although he was arrested in 2001, all but two of his victims died between '82-'84.

“Well,” you may be asking yourself, “what the fuck was he doing those other 17 years, playing Scrabble?” If so, you’re not alone. And it was because of the sheer incompetence of the Seattle Police force that his Hall of Fame career lasted so long.

Gary Ridgway, you see, was well known to the Seattle Police, even before the dead hookers started piling up. Here, in fact, are a few of their run-ins:

1980: Ridgway is arrested and accused of choking a prostitute near the Sea-Tac airport.

1982: He is questioned with a prostitute who was later added to the Green River list.

1983: The police interview Ridgway when a man tells them he last saw his missing hooker-girlfriend with Ridgeway in his dark pickup truck. Ridgway denies it and so the matter is dropped. This even though a month earlier another prostitute is last seen in a dark truck with a man matching Ridgway's description. Both women end up on the Green River list.

Now, fast forward to 1987: after 4 ½ years and a body count pushing 40 the police set its sight on a “new” suspect. They learn from Ridgway’s ex-wife’s that he often visited the dump sites of the victims, in fact most of the sites are along his daily drive to work. They also find that Ridgway was off-work during each disappearance. Then they get “bodily samples” from him.

Now wait a minute, you may be saying. They had him in 1987? Fifteen years before he was officially charged with the crimes? How the hell did that happen? Well, the answers to that question are really just goddamn disturbing.

In 1987 all the aforementioned evidence the police had gathered was deemed insufficient. It wasn’t until 2001, nearly 20 years after the first murders, that the case was reopened and forensic samples of the victims and a few suspects were sent for DNA testing.

So what’s strange about all this? First of all, DNA testing has been used since 1988 to narrow suspect lists and strengthen cases. So what happened? Well, it appears the Seattle Police was simply sitting on Ridgway and his victims’ forensic samples. Why? Who knows. Perhaps it was because there were no new bodies to add to the list and stir public outcry. Hell, they were only hookers anyway. But what any criminal psychologist will tell you is that serial killers cannot just stop. They can slow down for a while, perhaps. But quit cold turkey? Nope. Once they begin, they kill until they are either caught or die.

So what does that mean? Did Ridgway rape and kill forty-some women from 1982-84, then one in 1990 and one in 1998 (the only murders attributed to him) and no more? No way. Not a chance. There are almost certainly many more bodies strewn around Seattle and across the Northwest. And only Gary Ridgway knows where they are. Happy hiking.

Fun Fact: In a scene copied in Silence of the Lambs, Seattle Police repeatedly interviewed Ted Bundy on Death Row in Florida, hoping he could help crack the case.

3) Randall Woodfield (the I-5 Killer) - at least 18 victims
If Ted Bundy was the “Casanova” of serial killers, then ol’ Randy Woodfield was the "Tom Brady”of psycho sum-bitches. Not only was he tall, dark and handsome, but he was a star athlete to boot. At 20 he seemed to have it all; too bad it wouldn’t last. Woodfield, you see, was one of those guys who hit their strides at 19 and then find their twenties to be a succession of disappointments.

In the spring of 1974, after two standout years at Portland State, Woodfield was drafted by the Green Bay Packers. Sounds impressive, sure. But, truth is, he never even made it out of training camp. Ol' Randy was only 23 years old but already his lifelong dream of playing in the NFL was fucked.

Once home, though, Randy didn't spend a lot of time lying around feeling sorry for himself. Instead he found another outlet for his competitive spirit: accosting women at knife-point in Portland area parks. There was a lot of running, grunting and patting of butts, just like playing football. And it really got his adrenaline rushing. If only there could’ve been the roar of the crowd... oh, and if only that last bitch hadn’t been an undercover cop. As it was he found himself heading to the State Pen barely a year after being drafted.

Four years later Woodfield came out prison with a world-class case of blue balls. At first he took a job as a bartender and tried the "get the underage chick drunk" rape thing. But it was slow going, and not anonymous enough. And that's when things got ugly.

Over the next six months Woodfield spent most of his free time cruising I-5 from Seattle to northern California in his VW Bug. He found if he hit fast-food restaurants and convenience stores late at night he had a good chance of catching young females working alone. Then he could rob the store, rape and/or kill the woman and be on the highway before the cops even knew anything was up. In fact, he especially liked sodomizing his victims and then shooting 'em in the head at the exact moment he blew his wad. It was fun while it lasted.

Twenty-five years later Randy Woodfield still sits in the Oregon State Pen, serving two life sentences for a vicious double rape and murder he committed in Keizer, Oregon. He has no chance of parole. He spends his free time working out, wooing women through the mail and proclaiming his innocence to anyone who is crazy enough to listen.

Fun Fact: Woodfield bartended at Beaverton's Faucet Tavern (now known as The Dublin Pub) and it is there he met at least one of victims. He also bartended at the Cheerful Tortoise in Portland for a short time.

4) Keith Jesperson (the Happy Face Killer) - at least 8 victims
At 6 foot 6" 240 lbs. Keith Jesperson was a behemoth without a conscience. Before strangling his victims he often enjoyed beating them bloody with his fists. He is, therefore, what this All-Star team needs if we’re ever gonna make it to the finals: someone not afraid to hack the shit out of Shaq.

Keith Jesperson spent his childhood working his way up the animal torture/kill ladder. He started at age six, bashing in the skulls of gophers; by his early twenties he was up to strangling cats, then dogs. Then, at age 35, when he felt he really had the hang of it, he picked up a half-retarded drunk chick at the B&I Tavern in SE Portland, took her home and strangled her. She would not be the last.

Soon after Jesperson took a job as a long-haul trucker. In this line of work he found he could pick up a hooker, kill her and then head off down the highway. It also allowed him another favorite pastime: dragging some of their bodies under his semi's wheels until they looked like nothing more than big bags of meat pudding. What bothered him was that he wasn’t getting any credit for his accomplishments. Where were the accolades? The shoe endorsements? To remedy this Jesperson began writing letters to the Oregonian, bragging about his killings. He signed them with a simple drawing of (you guessed it) a happy face.

Finally, after a few years of this one-sided correspondence, Jesperson did something stupid: he killed someone he was dating. Oh yeah, and then he sent off a letter he would soon regret, one to his brother in which he confessed to his crimes. Intelligence, it seemed, was not one of his strong points-- not that such things ever bothered Bob Whitsitt.

After "confessing" to more than 160 murders, Keith Jesperson was finally convicted of 2 murders in Oregon and one each in Washington and Wyoming. He is now serving consecutive life sentences in the Oregon State Penitentiary. He spends his days working out, shooting free throws and praying for the return of Trader Bob.

Fun Fact: Early in the investigation a Troutdale woman, hoping to end an abusive relationship, “confessed” to helping her boyfriend dispose of one of the Happy-Face bodies. They were convicted and spent 4 years in prison.

5) Jerry Brudos (the Lust Killer)- 4 victims
Before Ted Bundy, before Gary Ridgfield, before most Police Departments had even heard of serial killers, there was Portland's own Jerry Brudos-- the George Mikan of NW serial killers. When he was caught in 1968 P-Town's Police Force was aghast. They'd never seen anything like him. And, although he only has 4 victims to his credit, don't think this cross-dressing freak with a shoe fetish was lazy. No, he was just thorough. Very thorough. He took his time with each of his special lady friends, painstakingly extracting multiple sick pleasures from each and every one.

First there was 19 year-old encyclopedia sales-girl who knocked on Brudos' door while his wife and kids were away. After assaulting and killing her (and repeatedly screwing her corpse) Brudos sawed off her left foot. This he put it in his freezer before dumping the rest of her body in the Willamette River. He had an extensive collection of stolen women's pumps, you see, and he needed something to model them on (can you say shoe endorsement?). This kept him occupied for awhile, at least until the foot began to rot. Then it was hunting time again.

Next there was the girl whose car had broken down on the side of the road. It was easy getting her into his garage after promising to fix it. Almost as easy as trapping her in there and strangling her, right under the nose of his oblivious wife. Then, after screwing her corpse for a while, all there was left to do was lift it into the air via a hook-and-pulley system and he was ready for hours of fun. It hung up there for several days, like a pale, pink piñata. Just perfect for dressing up and taking photos of. And masturbating to.

Then there were the attempts at abductions while dressed in drag, and the attempts at fashioning paperweights out of breasts carved from his victims. He was, as you can see, bat-shit crazy. And this made him careless. Careless enough to start hanging out on the OSU campus, hoping to lure a co-ed into a date. Careless enough to want to talk to them of the newly discovered corpses found floating in the nearby Long Tom River. And, finally, careless enough to return for a "date" with a co-ed who had just gotten off the phone with the police.

Jerry Brudos died in prison on March 28, 2006. His final days were spent doing what he enjoyed most: sitting alone in his cell, thumbing through his shoe catalogue collection and fiddling with himself.

Fun Fact: Before his death in 2006, Brudos was Oregon's longest-serving inmate at 36 years.

6) Kip Kinkel- 4 killed, 25 wounded
Alright, so Kip "Revenge of the Nerds" Kinkel is technically a spree killer. So what? He's got All-Star written all over him, no matter where you file his papers.

It all started one fine spring morning in the spring of 1998. Kip had big plans that day so he made himself a nice, big bowl of cereal--it's the most important meal of the day! Then he gathered up his school things (his book bag, his jacket, his Glock and his .22s) and headed for the door. He turned to yell goodbye to his parents, then remembered he'd blown both their brains out the day before. Oh well, no big deal. It was off to school to see if he could talk some sense into those popular kids. Tell them the Purple Nurples and Atomic Wedgies they gave him were growing a bit tiresome. Perhaps they'd see things his way today! He smiled, pulling his backpack close as he skipped off to the bus stop… I'm pretty sure you know the rest of the story.

Kinkel is now in the Oregon State Pen, serving 4 life sentences. He has many new friends. Sure they also like playing tricks on him, but at least that's not his underwear being wedged up between his butt-cheeks.

7) Dayton Leroy Rogers- 8 victims (at least)
For a short time in the late 1980's Dayton Leroy Rogers ran amok in the P-town metro area, slaughtering hookers. Known as "Steve the gambler" to Portland's whore-corp, Rogers also had a reputation for liking his sex rough. No one really knew how rough until one August 1987 night in a Denny's parking lot near West Linn, Oregon…

Just a quiet, late night "Moons Over My Hammy." That's all they wanted, these hungry night-owls. But no, it wasn't to be. Instead there were the screams of "Help, I'm being raped!" from that naked chick sprawled out on the asphalt at the back of the parking lot. And the hack-hack-hacking of that crazy knife-wielding motherfucker hunched over her. And the foot race to his truck, the license plate number, the blood.

Police were able to trace the truck's plates to Rogers' auto-shop in Woodburn. There they found blood in the truck and a partially burned shoe in the shop's furnace. After his arrest the authorities also tied Rogers to seven bodies dumped on a private farm south-east of Molalla, all of them mutilated-- some even missing their feet. On June 7, 1989, Dayton Leroy Rogers was sentenced to die by lethal injection. He's still there, on Death Row, dreaming of amputee hookers.

8) Ward Weaver- 2 victims
Ward Weaver, Oregon City's own CSI-celebrity, was not the sharpest knife in the ribcage. Why else would he kill his daughter's two best friends, bury one under his "hot tub patio," the other in a bag in his tool shed, and then, when the heat is on, try to rape his son's girlfriend? (It's called anonymity, dipshit-- look it up).

And, just like Keith Jespersen, if not for the media circus surrounding his psycho-shenanigans this retard might have faded quickly into the mists of time. But it was 2002: the networks were pimping the "child abduction" fear factor and Weaver, professing innocence to every news-bimbo with a camera crew, was the lead story for the better part of the year. Hell, he even gave interviews standing on the concrete slab covering one of his victims.

He's now residing quietly in prison, serving two life terms without the possibility of parole-- and dreaming of KATU's Anna Song.

9) Christian Longo- 4 victims
In a year (Dec. 2001- Dec. 2002) that saw 3 Oregon fathers slaughter their families, Christian Longo stood out. That's because where Robert Bryant put the shotgun in his own mouth and Edward Morris was caught soon after in Baker City, Christian Longo used his new found freedom to take off to Cancun, Mexico for a well-deserved vacation.

Married at 19, a father at 22, it just seemed ol' Chris Longo had never gotten the chance to sow his wild oats. Here he was, only 27 years-old-- saddled with a wife, 4 kids and an ass-load of debt. He just needed a break and who could blame him. So, after dumping his family's corpses in the cold waters around Newport, Oregon, Longo scrubbed the blood from his hands and headed of to Cancun, Mexico.

He spent a couple of carefree weeks there: drinking, dancing, smoking weed and getting laid. You know, the high life; not a care in the world. Well, at least not until they showcased him on "America's Most Wanted" and some Canadian bitch he'd met recognized him.

After a trial that lasted less than a month, Christian Longo's jury found him guilty of murdering two of his children and sentenced him to death by lethal injection. He still sits on Death Row to this day, basking in his lack of responsibility.

10) Cesar Barone- 5 victims
Cesare Barone liked his women mature. No, I mean MATURE. In fact, if you'd have come across his personal ad in 1991, just before he started his rape/kill spree, it might have read something like this: "YHM seeks GMILF (GM=Grandma) to torture, sodomize & kill. Turn-ons: knobby hands, loose flesh and Depends."

After raping and strangling his 71-year old neighbor in Florida in 1979, Barone seemed to take the next decade off. Maybe he spent his time peeking under the tables at his neighborhood bingo parlor or masturbating himself raw as he watched The Golden Girls. Who knows? Whatever he was up to it kept his demons in check until 1991 when he moved to Oregon and set his sights on his 61 year-old Hillsboro neighbor. She was only the beginning, though.

After raping and strangling this temptress, Barone shot and wounded his next victim as she drove home from work. Then, after assaulting her in her car, he dragged her into the street and shot her in the head. Barone managed two more before his luck with the ladies ran out, including a 51 year-old who died of a heart attack during her ordeal. He now sits on Death Row in Salem, with only his memories of all that wrinkly sex to pass the time.

Who Says Pro Wrasslers Are Stupid?

In this clip a young Rowdy Roddy Piper does his best John Belushi/Animal House impression during a ringside rant. Only instead of an empty beer can, he smashes a full beer bottle against his forehead. I wonder how many stitches this stunt cost him.

Kimmel: King Of The Freaks!

A couple of months ago I blogged about the newest pituitary case attempting to break into the NBA. Well, just last week Jimmy Kimmel fired up the circus music and produced him in all his freakish glory:

Dick Does Hepburn

I know, I know, this doesn't really fit with the theme of my blog (other than my theory that Andy Dick is insane), but it made me laugh when I saw it the other day. So, screw you.

Happy Birthday Mr. Crowley

Just thought I'd wish the self-proclaimed "Wickedest Man in the World" a happy one on this the 131 anniversary of his birth. (Oct. 12 1875- Dec. 1 1947)

Jim Jones And The People's Temple

So you've got no friends, your girlfriend has left you and you're as vacuous as a light bulb. Well, then, what do you have to lose? Join a cult! But not one of those "we meet every other Thursday, it's your turn to buy the pizza" cults. I'm talking a "shave your head, swear allegiance, I'll fucking kill you if you leave" cult.

It'll be great. All of a sudden everything will make sense. Your life will have structure and you won't have to think anymore. Can't you just feel the serenity? But the hardest part is finding the right one. So here's where I can help:

Click On The Mesmerizing Fellow Below And Listen Carefully.

And Now Watch The Clip I've Posted.

Okay? So now go out and look for someone just like Mr. Jones. You're gonna be fine.

Andy Dick-- King Of The Burn

Everything about motivational speakers is pretty damn creepy. The intensity, the enthusiam, the 10 steps to world domination. But at least I can see what's driving the actual speakers: $$$. My guess is most of 'em don't believe the shit they're spewing, they've just figured out a new way to separate the weak-willed from their hard-earned dough.

But what about the attendees? Are they fucking stupid? Are they sheep? I'm not sure. What I do find interesting is that the explosion of these seminars seems to have corresponded exactly with the mass suicide of the Heaven's Gate cult. See, it's my theory that the people who attend these seminars are the same ones who would've joined a David Koresh or Jim Jones-like cult only a few years ago. In fact, they may have actually been members right now if ol' Marshall Applewhite hadn't disgraced cults everywhere with his membership requirements of castration and Nike shoes.

Because, seriously folks, who really needs help with motivation. If you've got something really important to do simply drag yourself off the couch, put your pants on and go and fucking do it. And if not, don't. (See, I'm a motivational speaker, too). And, besides, I'm with George Carlin-- what the world actually needs a little less motivation:

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The people who are motivated are the ones who are causing all the trouble. Stock swindlers, serial killers, child molesters, Christian conservatives. These people are highly motivated. You show me some lazy prick who's lying around all day watching game shows and stroking his penis and I'll show you someone who's not causing any fucking trouble.
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And so I bring you in a round about way to today's clip. It's Andy Dick (who very well might be insane) riffing on the absurdity of motivational speakers.

The Gropinator Does California Proud

Okay, so I'd heard the stories, the allegations, the hints at law-suits. You know, the ones regarding Arnold and his neanderthal/frat boy ways. Everyone had. And it's not like I didn't believe them. It's just that I'm part of the MTV/CNN generation-- I need to see something with my own eyes for it to really sink in. And that hadn't happened yet. Well the time for innocence is now over, I'm sold.

The scene--
It's the late '70s and some brainiac has the wild idea to send perhaps the most over-sexed man of the last half century to Rio (with a camera crew) for Carnival. What they capture is Mr. Universe at his best: pushy, innapropriate and, in a wild dance floor scene, perhaps one cocktail short of a full-on rape. I'm still speechless.

Most Disturbing World Record

Who says 7mm ain't no big thing. It's huuuge in the world of competitive eye-popping (it's the distance this fellow's eyeballs are able to jut out of his skull).

Gene Simmons Does Mike Douglas

Talk about the proverbial "turd in a punchbowl." Here's Gene Simmons (circa 1974) chatting it up with an annoyed older woman and Mr. Douglas on his long-running talk show.

Ed Gein-The Chuck Berry of Psycho-Cinema

Just as Chuck Berry influenced most rock stars of the 60's and 70's, Ed Gein's legacy can be found in many of Hollywood's greatest serial killer films. From Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho to Tobe Hooper's Texas Chainsaw Massacre to Jonathan Demme's Silence of the Lambs, it was Gein who shambled through the writers' feverish dreams and inspired such creations as Norman Bates, Leatherface and Jame Gumb.

So here's a short bio (with actual footage of the seemingly meek Gein) to help you understand how a man with such a small body of work (he officially killed only two people) could have influenced so many.

In Memorium: Larry "Bud" Melman

Actually, Larry "Bud" Melman (aka Calvert DeForest) ain't dead. He's just retired. It's just too bad Dave can't seem to coax the demented little bastard out of the retirement home and back onto the airwaves. And so, until that happens, here is a two-part clip of vintage Larry "Bud" insanity to tide you over.