The Biter, Bitten

Finally a little bit of FAFO justice for one of these little assholes in their detestable doxxing glory:

The second paragraph is the one that gives me the full monty:

“Oh no, please leave my family out of it!”

Fuck you, you little shit.  I hope you and your whole family get completely fucked up because of your poxy reindeer games.

And the same goes for all the “doxxers”out there.

Read the whole story to enjoy the full flavor of justice.


By the way:  should anyone try this shit with me, and “someone comes to my home, pounding on my door and demanding to confront me”

I leave it to your imagination to guess my response.

Hot Stuff

No, not some totty flashing her whatsits. Apparently, Dave’s has come to London:

Famously, Dave’s offers a notoriously spicy ‘Reaper’ burger, covered in red-hot batter, said to reduce even the most hardened of chilli lovers to tears.  Although the batter recipe is a closely-guarded secret, the key ingredient is powdered Carolina Reaper, the second-hottest chilli pepper in the world. Carolina Reaper registers a whopping 1.6 million on the Scoville scale, the internationally-accepted system used to measure the heat of chillis. 

So it’s little surprise that customers can only order the Reaper if they are 18 or over and sign a legal waiver. According to the waiver, Reaper can cause ‘sweating, indigestion, shortness of breath, allergic reactions, vomiting and diarrhoea’, but in extreme cases, it can even lead to ‘chest pain, heart palpitations, heart attack and stroke’.

…with dolorous outcomes, because that’s what intrepid reporters do — stupid stuff:

For the first seven seconds after taking a big bite, it feels like the hype around the Reaper has been exaggerated – but the intense burn suddenly takes off like a bullet.  As Johnny Cash’s ‘Ring of Fire’ starts playing on the loudspeakers, the heat-sensitive pain receptors in my mouth are triggered – and I soon turn into a total, sticky mess. Sweat flows from every pore of my face and snot dribbles from my nose, and I can’t wipe the tears from my eyes because I don’t want to touch them with my messy gloved hands.  Struggling somewhat with my coordination, I slosh milkshake over my trousers and the floor. Reaper is ludicrously, idiotically hot.

The only idiot is you, dummy.

Let it be known that I’m not afraid of stuff like Madras curry, for example.  I remember going to a restaurant in Bangalore, and ordering a Madras chicken dish.

The waiter looked at me a little dubiously.  “You know the Madras is very spicy”, he murmured to me.  (“Spicy” being how Indians describe something that’s going to set fire to your mouth.)

“Nah, I’m from South Africa,” I said to him.  “I grew up eating hot curry ” (Which is true.)

And yes it was quite hot, but also very savory.  I could have eaten two dishes of it.  (Madras is actually classed as a “medium” hot curry.)  I have no problem with Vindaloo — the next level up, and you have to hold me back when it comes to Lamb Vindaloo — but I draw the line very firmly at that point, because after Vindaloo, bad things start happening to you.

And for the record:  Vindaloo curry measures about 15,000 to 20,000 Scoville units.

So 1.6 million Scovilles?  You must be kidding.

And I’m calling bullshit on this whole “hot pepper” nonsense.  It’s not manly or macho or any of that crap when it comes to handling peppery heat.  25,000 Scovilles is like rubbing Deep Heating cream on your skin;  1.6 million is pouring gasoline on yourself and setting it on fire.  And I’m not really exaggerating, either.

Guys who brag about how much heat they can handle are vainglorious idiots, and quite frankly, they deserve every perforation they get in their stomachs or intestines.

As our  flipping idiot  brave reporter Jonathan Chadwick describes it:

Reaper is a 24-hour experiment on your body. As it travels, it inflicts different types of pain – burning numbness in the mouth, aching stomach, and, perhaps worst of all, the morning-after sensation of a red hot poker in the worst place imaginable.

A doctor buddy of mine back in Johannesburg told me once of a patient who actually had small lesions and blisters on their anus following a drunken night out feasting on super-hot food.  The patient was female.

But hey:  be my guest, but please don’t come to me for help because I’m just going to laugh at you.

Simple Question, Answered

Whenever I’m asked stupid questions involving fights or struggles against Nature, it’s always on the scale of “What chance does a man have against a Great White shark?”

…to which my reply is generally along the lines of:  “Pretty good, provided that the man is sitting in a sturdy boat with a few hand grenades.”

So it is with today’s stupid question“How many men would it take to win a fight against a gorilla?”

Answer:  “One, holding a 12ga. shotgun loaded with 00 buckshot.”

Let’s just remember that when it comes to this kind of thing, Man is unquestionably at the top of the food chain.  And the reason this is so is that we don’t fight with our relatively-weak bare hands or with our pathetic little teeth;  we fight with our brains, and those brains are what enabled us to create, build and use things like hand grenades and shotguns.

Give that shotgun to a gorilla, and he’d only swing it like a club — if that.

Just as we are like candy to a lion with its teeth and claws, they are like candy to us with our A-10 Warthog.

Bite on that, Fluffy.

Hell, let’s take that one step further.  If there was to be combat between a lion and a woman

…and she didn’t even need an A-10.

Mommy Of The Year

Sent to me by Reader Mike L., this lovely example of responsible parenting:

Mom arrested for giving Jell-O shots to kids at elementary school Christmas party

Much as I would have laughed myself sick at watching a roomful of rug rats falling all over the place and getting into fistfights over who gets the last piece of cake, this is just plain irresponsible. I mean, what made her think that this would be a good idea?

Giving your own kids booze:  just idiotic.  Giving other people’s kids booze:  slapworthy (by the parents of each kid, consecutively).

My biggest problem, though, is what actual punishment should be meted out to Mommie Dearest.

Suggestions in Comments.

 

Sliding Off

I think what I love the most about today’s political climate — other than the tsunamis of Liberal tears each day — is the fact that our governing class seems to be immune to childish insults.  Here are a few such, of recent memory:

“Trump is an orange-skinned horror!”

His response:  wear more fake tan than ever.

“Trump is like the Evil Emperor!”  followed by a Photoshop:

Trump supporters:  “What’s the last thing a useless federal bureaucrat sees before being tossed out of his office?”

And then there was that time when Rep. Jizzmine “Daisy” Crockett insulted Jim Abbott by calling the paraplegic Texas governor “Hot Wheels”, which led to this appearing on Twatter:

…which in turn resulted in well over a thousand twats asking where they could buy the toy, and a huge climb in his popularity rating in the polls.

Give it up, Lefties.  Insults might have worked back in playground days, but we conservatives are largely immune to it now.

Feel free to share this with Pocahantas:

…and Smegel:

…and of course She Who Would Be President:

We’ll just laugh at you for your failed socialist ideas masquerading as a Nude Eel or something.

Simple Solution

Here’s an interesting development in Britishland.  Apparently, there’s a garbage workers’ strike in Birmingham, and as “Brum” is run by Labour and is a wretched hive of scum and villainy thereby, this is a case of ultra-Lefties arguing with “ordinary” Lefties — you pick which fits best for which — and has left the city streets (never that tidy to begin with) in a state of advanced rat infestation.

So then this came along:

Tories call for Cobra meeting over Birmingham bin strike
The Tories are urging the Deputy Prime Minister to send in private cleaning firms to break the unions’ grip over the rubbish-strewn second city.

The three-week pay dispute has seen detritus pile high in the streets, with residents saying neighbourhoods are plagued by giant rats “as big as cats”.

It centres on a row between the bankrupt Birmingham council, which is Labour run, and the Unite union.

I have no idea what a “Cobra” meeting is, but for one memorable moment, I thought it involved getting all the unionistas  and city councilors into one room, locking all the doors and windows and giving them ten minutes to come to an agreement.  If that failed, then throw a bunch of live cobras into the locked room.

I bet the hapless residents of Birmingham would be the first in line to watch the proceedings on PPV.

Too extreme?  Let’s ask the Brummies to vote on it.