Forget the Narnia Raps. Reverend Alecia here is the one true Internet insanity. Judging by the effects, the fact that rotating computer chairs were available, and that the Tootie hairstyle was still au courant, I’m pegging this at about 1983, and off the crazy scale.
Give Thanks! that you’re not as whack as Reverend Alecia
From Perez Hilton, who knows a crazy, chairdancin’ bitch when he sees one.
From Gawker.
Because You Demanded It — deranged man attacks subway rider with industrial tools, then absconds with teddy bear on continued crimewave. The Today Show has the goods above. Shocking, as even with the trials and tribulations of a normal New York subway commute, one rarely expects an assault from a pair of cordless reciprocating saws. And there’s some question about whether or not MTA workers at the scene fled and/or observed the carnage with bored disinterest. See zone-flooding repetitive linkfest after the jump for full details, but the upshot is that the alleged saw-wielding maniac has been apprehended, and the victim is recovering from his wounds in the hospital. Plus, as Newsday notes, subway officials don’t think this will make customers feel unsafe, and they’re right — an interviewed straphanger says of the saw attack, “It doesn’t happen that often.” [emph. added]
Link roundup and more here.
Okay people, what was I just saying about do-it-yourselfers? These people should be stopped before they attempt to teddy rustle again.
Surely Canadian Tire sells some kind of DIY-er-proof fencing. Like, for when they have doorcrasher sales on Motomaster batteries and shit. Round ’em up and let God sort ’em out. As long as the corral “needs work” they’ll be content. They may not even notice; perhaps we could send them to Gitmo to put in a pool and squash court.
Does anyone have before/after pix of Alderson?
In case you haven’t heard, I’m guest blogging over at Metroblog. If the posts are not funny enough, or political enough, they lock me under the stairs and beat me with bicycle chains. Well okay, they make me drink Chardonnay instead of Sauvignon Blanc, and they don’t introduce me to any nice single men. Cruel either way.
Now that’s what I call long-playing. Going since the zero-th century 
(BC and AD, although not AC or DC) and still popular. Here is the Catholic Rite of Exorcism, available for all your home exorcision needs.
From WFMU’s Beware of the Blog:
The Rite of Exorcism
Now that the dreaded date of 6/6/06 has passed seemingly without incident, will the apocalyptic religious hysteria (and the mockery thereof) cease? Heavens, no! Not if Beware of The Blog has anything to say about it. And where would the God franchise be anyway without its archenemy and eternal whipping boy—Lucifer, the Bringer of Light? Are we all so confident that “nothing happened” on June 6? How could we possibly be? Babies were born, to be sure—so we’ll see, I guess.
If, in the coming weeks, you find yourself speaking in unfamiliar, ancient tongues, exhibiting Tourette’s-like symptoms, or contorting your body in new, unusual ways (without the benefit of a Yoga class), you may in fact be in need of a ritual demonectomy—an exorcism—one of the oldest and most hushed ceremonies of the Christian church…
“Knowing when to exorcise and when to refer for psychiatric treatment is a nagging problem for priests.” Wow. And you thought the priesthood was a cakewalk.
The Rite of Exorcism Part the First
The Rite of Exorcism Part the Second
We assume no liability. We do, however, want to hear all about it after you try this at home. Kinda reminds me of that book “Sex for Dummies” in that Dummies, of all the people in the world, are the last ones who deserve or, for the sake of the species should be having, sex. Do-it-yourselfers, trundling happily around Rona or Home Depot or Canadian Tire, looking for calico cow stencils and whatever Debbie Travis told them to buy that day, are perhaps the last people on the planet who should be entrusted with the task of expelling demons.
They have power tools. And cow stencils. That’s all I’m saying.
So, as you might already know by my blog irregularity, I am experiencing a power crisis. I am without electricity. In Canada, we call this “anhydrous” but you might call it any number of things, including inconvenient.
But among other things, it means that I only have electricity between midnight and five in the morning, when I can safely run a power cord to the outlet down the hall without anyone ratting me out to the building manager.
However.
There are those who could bust me. In my hallway, there is a youthful Chinese girl who is carrying on an affair with a man on one of the upper floors, but who doesn’t dare let her father, with whom she lives, know. So, every night about twelve-thirty, I hear her door open and the elevator going up. About three, it comes back down and she goes back to her room.
She’s not about to rat me out for using the power. It’s mutually assured destruction.
When I go out to unplug the apparatus, sometimes I see some unusual things.
It’s four-thirty in the morning. It’s the Downtown Eastside. Of COURSE I see some unusual things.
But among them I do not expect to see an actual scimitar. Apparently, instead of the tai chi ladies who practiced there last year, each dawn is welcomed by an actual, fucking, practicing fucking, samurai.
He’s out on the patio, practicing his moves. I am well aware it should be a katana instead of a scimitar, but what can I say, the man is versatile.
And armed.
Oh, who are the people in my neighborhood. In my neighborhood. In my neigh-bor-hood? Oh, who are the people in my neighborhood. The people that you meet each day?
The samurai has a big sword
Don’t mess with him or you’ll get gored.
He practices each day at dawn
Could skewer you just like a prawn.
‘Cause the Samurai’s a person in my neighborhood.
In my neighborhood.
He’s in my neigh-bor-hood!
A Samurai’s a person in my neighborhood.
A person that I meet each day.
Oh, trysting kids are scaredycats.
Their dad might find out, don’cha kno?
They sneak around, it takes real gumption
They can’t expose me: M. A. Destruction.
Oh, a Samurai’s a person in my neighborhood.
In my neighborhood.
In my neighbrhood.
And the trysting kid’s a person in my neighborhood.
They’re the people that I meet
When I’m walking down the street
They’re the people that I meet each day and, by silent mutual agreement, do not appear to recognize.
raincoaster 
