Silent night,
Holy night,
All is…CREEPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Once again, my lovely readers, the yuletide season is upon us, and while most intact families celebrate the wholesomeness of the holidays, we must understand that some people just don’t fully comprehend what it’s supposed to mean.
Herein lies a batch of odd Christmas photos where the subjects just couldn’t get into the spirit or hope their placement on a sex offender’s registry would go unnoticed.
Filed under Curiosities
Independent journalist and human rights defender Pham Doan Trang was sentenced to nine years by The People’s Court of Hanoi on December, 14 2021. She was arrested in Ho Chi Minh City on October 7, 2020, and charged under Article 88 of the 1999 Criminal Code which criminalizes “making, storing, distributing or disseminating information, documents and items against the Socialist Republic of Viet Nam.”
Trang is the author of several books that address women’s rights, LGBT issues, environmental concerns and land rights. In 2019, Reporters Without Borders awarded her a Press Freedom Prize in recognition of her impact. Her work on the Liberal Publishing House helped it receive the prestigious Prix Voltaire award in 2020 for its continued coverage in spite of risks and dangers of reprisals.
Trang was held in isolation from the time of her arrest until October 19, 2021, when she was finally allowed to meet with one of her lawyers after having been denied access to her family and legal representation for over a year.
Foreseeing her own arrest, she gave instructions ahead of time for fellow activists to take advantage of her imprisonment to negotiate for more freedom in Viet Nam, and to “advocate for the others first, then me.”
In The Vietnamese, a journalists’ magazine Trang founded, her “final statement” from her trial has appeared today reads, in part:
“In a democratic society, if a citizen writes something or responds to interview questions from foreign journalists regarding matters the government doesn’t want to hear, what would be the civilized response? The most civilized response would be for the government to do nothing because a civilized person knows how to respect the opinions and interests of others.
“In a less fortunate situation, if a government has authoritarian tendencies and finds what the citizen says unacceptable, then it could simply write books or articles to rebut that citizen, or even boldly reach out to the foreign press to arrange an interview in which a government representative expresses his/her viewpoint or responds to the citizen in-kind.
“But the Socialist Republic of Vietnam does none of this. Instead, it chooses to respond in a more vile, foolish, and heinous manner, imprisoning its citizens simply because they write works or respond to interviews with foreign journalists.”
Filed under News
“We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.”
Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem, 1968
Filed under News
“I think the truth is that finding ourselves brings more excitement and well-being than anything romance has to offer, and somewhere we know that.”
Filed under News
“I loved words. I love to sing them and speak them and even now, I must admit, I have fallen into the joy of writing them.”
Filed under News
“In the face of impossible odds, people who love this country can change it.”
Barack Obama
Image: Janet Brown, The Cake Studio
Filed under News
Aficionados of the campy 1968 sci-fi movie “Barbarella” – including The Chief – remember the scene where the title character is ambushed by a gallery of biting dolls. The “Chucky” movie series only solidified that dolls can be creepier than clowns. Coulrophobes might disagree, but people with serious mental anomalies can’t always be trusted. Including The Chief. And I’m one of the most disturbed people I’ve ever met!
The good folks in Olmsted County, Minnesota can surely identify. Since 2019, History Center of Olmsted County has staged a ‘Creepy Doll Contest’ that helps troubled souls encapsulate their worst nightmares. Looking at the critters from this year’s collection makes us wonder what sick fool thought dolls would be great as children’s toys.
But then again…maybe they weren’t so foolish.
Filed under Curiosities
Who would have thought a mirthful challenge would last two centuries and spark a horrific enterprise?
Last month a first-edition copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein sold for USD 1.17 million at auction at Christie’s Auction House; much more than its estimated value of USD 300,000. Only one of 500 known existing first-print copies, the book is the most expensive tome by a woman ever sold. Published in 1818, Frankenstein: or, the Modern Prometheus is now considered to be the first science fiction novel. At the time, however, it was met with lackluster reviews – many of which bore an obviously sexist bent. “The writer of it is, we understand, a female; this is an aggravation of that which is the prevailing fault of the novel,” noted one reviewer in the “British Critic”.
Looks like Mary Shelley has had the last laugh.
Filed under Classics
“I really do love you, Janie.”
Heath looked so sad.
Janie managed to lift her yes; the migraine having magically disappeared. The light from the floor lamp beside her normally would have reignited the pain. But, she thought, the wine must have already started working its own magic – along with whatever Heath had put into it.
He stood a few feet in front of her; bare-chested and holding…something in his left hand. She couldn’t make out exactly what it was. And she didn’t care. She couldn’t help but salivate over his rocky torso and recall how much she cared about him. How things had seemed so perfect all this time. If college was supposed to be a coming-of-age/adventure/find-your-true-identity, Janie had achieved a perfect score.
And now, it had come to this. These things weren’t supposed to happen. In a perfect universe. If such a place existed. In this universe.
His lips trembled – the way they did when he first asked her out. The way they did when he asked her to marry him. So…what was he going to ask her now? “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
She saw his eyes glance to the wine glass she held in her left hand. And unexpectedly let go.
It tumbled to the floor.
“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry about…what?”
“I love you. But…”
She tried to lean forward, yet her body seemed paralyzed. The lines in Heath’s torso began to crisscross. “What?” she spit out.
“I can’t go on like this.”
“Like what?”
“I’m sorry it came to…this.”
The last thing she heard. Her head knocked to the right, and her body slumped.
A few spots of wine dotted the chair where she sat.
Heath took a deep breath. “Oh, God. Forgive me.”
She was heavier than he thought. He pulled her limp body off the chair and into the kitchen.
Getting her into the boat along the pier was even more difficult. He moved only by feel and by moonlight. The blue-black darkness hid enough, he felt. Lewisville Lake was a long 20-something miles away from the condo. A trash dumpster would have been closer…but too obvious.
So he chose the lake.
The flavor of the alga-laden water swaddled his throat. Heavy, heavy.
He grinned. They both liked the lake. They and all of their friends. How many good times did they have out here? Memorial Days, Fourth of July, Labor Days…many summer days. Just about any weekend they felt like coming out here. Just about any time they felt good about…something. Or didn’t feel good. The lake was always a refuge; always a place to escape from whatever.
That odor of the water…heavy, heavy…like Janie’s body.
Even getting the inflatable boat out of the garage had been a chore. Everything had become so difficult.
He had shrouded her in an old burlap bag and hoisted her into the boat. Actually a giant…raft? Seemed like it. An oversized pool toy colored blue and green. Thick material. It wobbled…but made little noise as he slipped it into the water.
No moon. Clouds covered it.
The water undulated quietly. The mossy scent had become strong, almost too strong.
What great times they had out here.
How had it come to this?
Despite the coolness of the night air, sweat coated his bare torso. His cargo shorts were also damp with moisture. He paddled out as far from shore as he could, using the little rubber oar that came with this glorified pool accoutrement.
He finally stopped.
And breathed.
Strong water smell.
Without looking he grabbed the end of the thick rope laying beside him. The rest was already wrapped around…the bag. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
Rolling her over the rounded edge of the boat almost tipped the entire thing over. The sound of her form hitting the water made the loudest noise in that serene night.
The rest of that rope quickly uncoiled itself from its spot beside Heath’s foot…before the last few inches wrapped around his ankle…and knocked him off balance.
He fell into the water with an even louder splash.
The boat tipped upwards onto its side before smacking back down into place.
A whirlpool sprung up where Heath entered the water.
And, as Janie’s burlap-clad body sank into the lake, Heath didn’t see – he couldn’t see – her hand poking through the bag…grasping the rope.
Filed under Wolf Tales
You never know what you’ll get with email, text or any other sundry cyber forms of communications. Proof: the above email from a local weather service.
Filed under Curiosities
Chief Writing Wolf 