Decided to pair up this image I came across recently, with the following video. If you don’t get goosebumps from either or both, you should probably go off your prescription meds for a little while.

Kudos to Berto, on the video catch.

Don’t think the moral lines are being blurred by those asked to go to war for the ideals of torturing people born in a different place?

Think again.

The girl is 4 (four) years old. Four. And you thought spanking was bad.

Not noted in the article is whether or not the man was well versed in the ways of fabled Mep target the Ramtha School of Enlightenment, whose headquarters are across town in Yelm, Washington. Perhaps he’d moved the family to Yelm after being otherwise unable to live with the things he’d spent his life doing.

I wonder if everyone supports this troop?

Everyone’s favorite Emilio Estevez sibling was in the news today for allegedly “breaking several pairs of eyeglasses” in front of his wife during a Christmas tirade. The horror!

The BBC lead story also cataloged a series of “arm slaps” between Charlie Sheen and his estranged wife.

Oh, did I mention that Sheen also pinned his wife on the bed and threatened to have her killed? Perhaps I should have led with that tidbit.

Now, I realize that I’m not a Jesus disciple, and, as such, not privy to certain Christmas traditions, but in my limited experience, Christmas seems to be a totally appropriate time for eyeglass murder, arm slapping, and empty death threats.

Why, it was just last year’s festive season when I was in the company of a lovely and devout Christmas family going through their yearly tradition of accusations, hysteria, tantrums, ultimatums and eyeglass murder. Again, as an outsider I can’t point to the page in the New Testament where it mandates winter equinox crying fits and delusion, but I’m sure it’s at least symbolically presented in the text.

As a cat being chased around by a vacuum cleaner, I am both baffled and genuinely afraid of the havoc the holiday season is capable of wreaking. Every year, it seems to bring with it unnecessary emotional stakes and dire consequences for the people caught up in them.

And so, my choices seem to be to either bunker myself and wait out the dreaded period, or, reluctantly participate in someone else’s calendar induced-insanities. As such, this time of year trends anywhere from the mundane to the apocalyptic.

I find that the building up of expectations is one of the best ways to ruin whatever one is looking forward to. Rarely can any single event live up to the vivid imagination of the hopeful. Christmas, more so than any other happening I can think of (with the possible exception of a visit to DisneyLand), comes bundled with insane levels of expectations. A season of wonderment, visitations by mythical historical figures, spontaneous musical happenings, and unbridled avarice have been ingrained into the minds of Christmas goers from their earliest memories.

I question how anyone can have even a mildly pleasant time under these conditions. It would seem to parallel playing a game of catch in which the first person to drop the ball spontaneously combusts. What is initially a fun distraction immediately becomes a recipe for trauma.

And so, as I do in my more lucid years, I sit and try to wait this damned season out. I wait for the commercial mob rule and ramming-speed shoppers to pass, I wait for the families to reunite and unleash their pent up ingratitudes, I wait for the looped musical propaganda to quiet, and for the singing nitwits to cease. I wait for the psychedelic red and green landscape to pass over the horizon (and simultaneously wonder whether draping everything with red contributes to the aggravated and belligerent nature of the season), and I wait for the dead temporary pet trees to be returned to their waiting dumpsters outside.

And soon, soon there will be quiet. There will be no more unreasonable expectations (or at least no more than usual), no more pure fiction (back to the scaled-down lie of the everyday persona), and quiet — blissful quiet. In due time, the sun will stop hiding from the human collective insanity and begin to make the days tolerably long again. For, my Christmas is the return to normalcy. My anticipation is for the insanity to end and the singing to cease. My Christmas present is to return to a world that isn’t completely polarized (and paralyzed) by religious beliefs or familial traditions, and the best part is that my Christmas season lasts for 50 weeks a year.

This is a tough one to bear. Above, is a picture of nutbar Mel Gibson wielding a beaver puppet. Allegedly, this is all for an upcoming Jodie Foster directed film entitled, “The Beaver.”

One would think that Gibson, a religious nutcase in his own right, would have the wherewithal to treat The Giant Flying Beaver that Rules the Universe with some measure of reverence and respect. How would he like it if I made a Jesus Crucifix Dummy for my new short film entitled “Puppet Messiah?” Wouldn’t that make for a fun-filled family outing?

Anyway, if you’re going to create a beaver-centric comedy, clearly your star should be a cybernetic, taxidermied, beaver case mod. A la Compubeaver:

According to the team,

“He was only buried for 4 and a half minutes which is incredibly short. I cannot stress these next sentences enough; that in and of itself to be unburied in ONLY 4:28 is miraculous if you have any understanding of being caught in an avalanche and what it takes to be found. It could literally be some kind of “world record” just on how good the guide and supporting cast of other skiers was in getting to him… Oh…the luck? They located him so fast because his right glove came off just before he came completely to rest and there was an excellent visual of course.”

Russ Gets his Graduate Degree (Mep Report 116 Highlight) from Laserfalcon on Vimeo.

“All I did was change my name, and your evil witch queen said it’s not allowed to be!”

Today we revisit one of the most impactful moments in the history of TMR. Episode 86 marked the departure of Mepper Storey. While he was partially resurrected in Episode 95, he merely was able to roam the Mep landscape as a tortilla-eating zombie.

Here is the official sendoff for Storey as recorded by the Mep deity known as the Giant Flying Beaver that Rules the Universe:

Download Flying Beaver Eulogy

Someone might argue that Jesus wouldn’t particularly warm up to this three-headed Cerberus-looking chimera that the All-Pro Quarterback has sketched here. But, then again, this man is the alternative:

Eagles’ defensive back Brian Dawkins makes several mistakes in this piece. First of all, praying to a football is probably something that would piss off Jesus. Not to mention the fact that there are 24 footballs in play in the average NFL playoff game. So, while your personal football deity is being toweled off on the sidelines, some Unclean Heretical Football is making friends with Larry Fitzgerald.

Also, I’m pretty sure that Wolverine does not appear anywhere in the New Testament.

Not to mention his dabbling in voodoo rituals to ward off opponent field goals. Talk about mixing metaphors. These Eagles have gone well beyond the divine in a desperate effort to conjure a Superbowl ring.

Maybe next year Mr. Dawkins should try playing football the way that Jesus would. And that is to say, not at all.

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