Profile for DeSade:
Who is that masked man?
I was born in a small shanty town outside of Tupelo, Mississippi. My father was a patent clerk and my mother was a sheep herder. Children were not welcome where I came from, and I was forced to stand outside the city limits with all of the other children.
Every third day or so, Mr. Albertson would come by in his rusting out Chevy pick-up and drop off a box of victuals for us kids to eat.
Because I was the only one of us who could actually spell "victuals" correctly, it was decided that I would be the leader.
I studied every waking moment. Physics, chemistry, literature - none of it was immune from my voracious mind.
I trained with Japanese samurai and honed my physical skills.
Later, I found it necessary to leave my group and go beyond the city limits into the world. I bade my friends farewell and did the only reasonable thing that I could as a young man without money: I boxed myself up and shipped myself postage due to New York City.
It was a long arduous journey, but I survived.
In New York, I was hired as a bit-character actor in radio serials. While it was fun at the time, I still felt that my life demanded more from me.
I saved every penny I earned and decided it was time for me to go abroad. It was time for me to meet the Maharishi.
At the temple, I practiced levitation and the mystical ways of the East.
The longer I trained, the more unrecognizable I became to my peers. I had begun to look like my mentor, and I had finally surpassed my teacher with my inner light.
I cleaned up and went to Mumbai to seek a new teacher. There, I walked the streets day in and day out, asking for the Holiest of holy men.
In 1958, my search bore fruit.
Gandhi-jee taught me patience and wisdom. I taught him how to make a mean Reuben. Gandhi-jee was somewhat gullible in that he actually believed me when I told him corned beef came from corn byproducts.
I left India somewhat enlightened.
I had no money, but what did that matter? I could levitate. And I had a renewed faith in public transportation.
Fate brought me to a small, hole-in-the-wall tavern in Manchester called the Salty Teat.
I went in expecting to find trouble, but instead found a Christian Bible Study group which referred to itself as "The Golgatha Seven."
Little did I know that four wheat beers later and I would have $250, six bibles, a grimy set of Rosary beads and the deed to the Salty Teat.
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Who is that masked man?
I was born in a small shanty town outside of Tupelo, Mississippi. My father was a patent clerk and my mother was a sheep herder. Children were not welcome where I came from, and I was forced to stand outside the city limits with all of the other children.
Every third day or so, Mr. Albertson would come by in his rusting out Chevy pick-up and drop off a box of victuals for us kids to eat.
Because I was the only one of us who could actually spell "victuals" correctly, it was decided that I would be the leader.
I studied every waking moment. Physics, chemistry, literature - none of it was immune from my voracious mind.
I trained with Japanese samurai and honed my physical skills.
Later, I found it necessary to leave my group and go beyond the city limits into the world. I bade my friends farewell and did the only reasonable thing that I could as a young man without money: I boxed myself up and shipped myself postage due to New York City.
It was a long arduous journey, but I survived.
In New York, I was hired as a bit-character actor in radio serials. While it was fun at the time, I still felt that my life demanded more from me.
I saved every penny I earned and decided it was time for me to go abroad. It was time for me to meet the Maharishi.
At the temple, I practiced levitation and the mystical ways of the East.
The longer I trained, the more unrecognizable I became to my peers. I had begun to look like my mentor, and I had finally surpassed my teacher with my inner light.
I cleaned up and went to Mumbai to seek a new teacher. There, I walked the streets day in and day out, asking for the Holiest of holy men.
In 1958, my search bore fruit.
Gandhi-jee taught me patience and wisdom. I taught him how to make a mean Reuben. Gandhi-jee was somewhat gullible in that he actually believed me when I told him corned beef came from corn byproducts.
I left India somewhat enlightened.
I had no money, but what did that matter? I could levitate. And I had a renewed faith in public transportation.
Fate brought me to a small, hole-in-the-wall tavern in Manchester called the Salty Teat.
I went in expecting to find trouble, but instead found a Christian Bible Study group which referred to itself as "The Golgatha Seven."
Little did I know that four wheat beers later and I would have $250, six bibles, a grimy set of Rosary beads and the deed to the Salty Teat.
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Best answers to questions:
» Family codes and rituals
Oh, the holidays
It was always the first Saturday in December - Uncle Lou would put on the leopard print peep toe heels and throw a roast in the oven. As the house filled with the smells of dinner to come, Lou would get on the CB radio and put out a call to any truckers in the signal radius.
"Surf's up," was all he would say, and while the sound of distant static sounded empty and far away, it was never more than 20 minutes before ruddy-complected men with sweat-stained ball caps showed up at the door.
I'm not sure if it was the dog collar or the honey that made me feel humiliated more, but Lou would chain me to a clothes pole in the yard, spray paint "Slut" on my back, and connect my nipples with a chain of safety pins and paper clips.
The first year, I protested, but Lou's charm and cheerful, "But I insist," always made me cave in. Besides, unless there was an early snow, it wasn't really that uncomfortable.
Aunt Peg was a wet nurse for Local Boilermakers 776 with wonderful, thick, chaffing teats. It wasn't until I got a little older that I was able to appreciate the fact that she could shoot a mouthful of breast milk more than six feet - 12 feet if she had a running start.
Anyway, while it was bitter, that milk was great for soothing fresh tattoos. Lou would always ink me up with some funny phrase like, "Put it in my ass, that's where I put everything else," or "I'll fist for donuts." Peg would shoot her stuff over these tats, which not only soothed them, but kept my mind off the hornets that always came after the honey that Lou dripped all over my back and chest.
After several hours, the truckers went home, and we would have a family read-aloud of "120 Days of Sodom," with just the close family.
Other than that, things are pretty much like everyone else's posts...
(Sat 22nd Nov 2008, 0:16, More)
Oh, the holidays
It was always the first Saturday in December - Uncle Lou would put on the leopard print peep toe heels and throw a roast in the oven. As the house filled with the smells of dinner to come, Lou would get on the CB radio and put out a call to any truckers in the signal radius.
"Surf's up," was all he would say, and while the sound of distant static sounded empty and far away, it was never more than 20 minutes before ruddy-complected men with sweat-stained ball caps showed up at the door.
I'm not sure if it was the dog collar or the honey that made me feel humiliated more, but Lou would chain me to a clothes pole in the yard, spray paint "Slut" on my back, and connect my nipples with a chain of safety pins and paper clips.
The first year, I protested, but Lou's charm and cheerful, "But I insist," always made me cave in. Besides, unless there was an early snow, it wasn't really that uncomfortable.
Aunt Peg was a wet nurse for Local Boilermakers 776 with wonderful, thick, chaffing teats. It wasn't until I got a little older that I was able to appreciate the fact that she could shoot a mouthful of breast milk more than six feet - 12 feet if she had a running start.
Anyway, while it was bitter, that milk was great for soothing fresh tattoos. Lou would always ink me up with some funny phrase like, "Put it in my ass, that's where I put everything else," or "I'll fist for donuts." Peg would shoot her stuff over these tats, which not only soothed them, but kept my mind off the hornets that always came after the honey that Lou dripped all over my back and chest.
After several hours, the truckers went home, and we would have a family read-aloud of "120 Days of Sodom," with just the close family.
Other than that, things are pretty much like everyone else's posts...
(Sat 22nd Nov 2008, 0:16, More)
» Restaurants, Kitchens and Bars... Oh my!
A waterfall of roaches
I started out as a dishboy in an Italian restaurant and developed a tendency to use wooden spoons as makeshift drumsticks. Those who have been inside kitchens know that many have splash guard panels up and down the walls of food prepping areas. I tapped to Rush's Red Barchetta on the stainless steel panel behind our meat slicer and literally thousands of roaches poured down the bottom and onto the floor. What was even more disturbing was the chef telling me not to step on them lest I get their eggs on my shoes and track them home.
(Fri 21st Jul 2006, 17:01, More)
A waterfall of roaches
I started out as a dishboy in an Italian restaurant and developed a tendency to use wooden spoons as makeshift drumsticks. Those who have been inside kitchens know that many have splash guard panels up and down the walls of food prepping areas. I tapped to Rush's Red Barchetta on the stainless steel panel behind our meat slicer and literally thousands of roaches poured down the bottom and onto the floor. What was even more disturbing was the chef telling me not to step on them lest I get their eggs on my shoes and track them home.
(Fri 21st Jul 2006, 17:01, More)
» Have you ever seen a dead body?
Smell of Death
I used to be a general beat reporter for daily newspaper in Pittsburgh. We heard on the police scanner that there was a potential stand-off in one of the residential neighborhoods, so I sped off to the scene to cover it.
When I arrived, police had the perimeter of the building secured for about a 20 yards, but we were still close enough to see all access points and windows, etc.
As it turns out, the guy was preparing to kill as many people as he could - had bullets and weapons all over his apartment. Instead, he barricaded himself inside and blew his head off...several months prior.
Since he was divorced and a bad employee, no one missed him.
The funny part of the story is that this was in August and Pittsburgh summers can get pretty balmy. He naturally began to stink as he rotted. The landlords of the building couldn't figure out where the smell was coming from and started plugging air fresheners into every open outlet.
I interviewed them afterwards and the smell got so bad that they went through the trouble of emptying the refrigerator of one little old lady that they suspected of being senile, assuming she had a frige full of stale food. (Apparently, they had to do this task once before for her...)
From our vantage point, once his apartment was opened, we could smell him clear out in the parking lot. In fact, I took a walk around the block to the other side of the apartment complex and you could smell him everywhere...
Anyways, the deceased was completely liquified and more fit for a pitcher than a body bag. The coroner's assistant said that when they get this bad, you need to pry them off the floor with a spatula.
And that's me tale.
(Thu 28th Feb 2008, 17:42, More)
Smell of Death
I used to be a general beat reporter for daily newspaper in Pittsburgh. We heard on the police scanner that there was a potential stand-off in one of the residential neighborhoods, so I sped off to the scene to cover it.
When I arrived, police had the perimeter of the building secured for about a 20 yards, but we were still close enough to see all access points and windows, etc.
As it turns out, the guy was preparing to kill as many people as he could - had bullets and weapons all over his apartment. Instead, he barricaded himself inside and blew his head off...several months prior.
Since he was divorced and a bad employee, no one missed him.
The funny part of the story is that this was in August and Pittsburgh summers can get pretty balmy. He naturally began to stink as he rotted. The landlords of the building couldn't figure out where the smell was coming from and started plugging air fresheners into every open outlet.
I interviewed them afterwards and the smell got so bad that they went through the trouble of emptying the refrigerator of one little old lady that they suspected of being senile, assuming she had a frige full of stale food. (Apparently, they had to do this task once before for her...)
From our vantage point, once his apartment was opened, we could smell him clear out in the parking lot. In fact, I took a walk around the block to the other side of the apartment complex and you could smell him everywhere...
Anyways, the deceased was completely liquified and more fit for a pitcher than a body bag. The coroner's assistant said that when they get this bad, you need to pry them off the floor with a spatula.
And that's me tale.
(Thu 28th Feb 2008, 17:42, More)
» Devastating Put-Downs
In high school...
I went to the men's room after cafeteria where a friend of mine had just told me a really funny joke. At the urinal, I started chuckling at the punchline out loud. An upper classman came in, saw me giggling and said, "Deal with it, don't laugh at it."
(Wed 30th Nov 2011, 19:59, More)
In high school...
I went to the men's room after cafeteria where a friend of mine had just told me a really funny joke. At the urinal, I started chuckling at the punchline out loud. An upper classman came in, saw me giggling and said, "Deal with it, don't laugh at it."
(Wed 30th Nov 2011, 19:59, More)
» Conspiracy Theories
Google = Government Owned & Operated Generated Lead Engine
You've all heard of Echelon - the DARPA project that collects every electronic transmission - however, data collection on this scale is highly inefficient. Why not use the internet to monitor what people are looking for, integrate that with their phones/devices and allow a more streamlined approach to individualized data collection? Such a clearinghouse would allow constant, real-time monitoring on a global scale, and instant magnification of persons of interest by focusing on an individual account. Such data mining could weed out terrorists, find skeletons in the closets of potential political leaders and sway public opinion.
(Fri 2nd Dec 2011, 19:24, More)
Google = Government Owned & Operated Generated Lead Engine
You've all heard of Echelon - the DARPA project that collects every electronic transmission - however, data collection on this scale is highly inefficient. Why not use the internet to monitor what people are looking for, integrate that with their phones/devices and allow a more streamlined approach to individualized data collection? Such a clearinghouse would allow constant, real-time monitoring on a global scale, and instant magnification of persons of interest by focusing on an individual account. Such data mining could weed out terrorists, find skeletons in the closets of potential political leaders and sway public opinion.
(Fri 2nd Dec 2011, 19:24, More)