Keep an Eye on Summer

Two articles I noticed that seem relevant this summer. The first about the Zica virus’ potential to be transmitted sexually in addition to via mosquito, and the second about the most recent problems Rio is facing as the 2016 olympics draw near:

1.

Zika sex research begins despite U.S. Congress funding impasse

“….In the meantime, health officials have warned couples to refrain from unprotected sex for six months after a male partner is infected. The extraordinary recommendation, based on a single report of Zika surviving 62 days in semen, could affect millions.”
http://mobile.reuters.com/article/idUSKCN0ZG0CW?utm_source=applenews

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2.

Rio’s horror week: Body parts wash up near Olympics beach volleyball site

“…There are other issues of concern of course, like the untreated sewage in the waters which athletes complained have made them break out in disease. The U.S. Olympic rowing team is taking extra precautions and will be wearing seamless antimicrobial unisuits to compete, while the German sailing team has been practicing trying to sail in trash-coated waters.”

http://www.cnn.com/2016/06/30/americas/rio-olympics-body-parts-found/index.html?campaign_id=A100&campaign_type=Email

Super Buddies

Japanese Trump

Example 20 Century 1997 Furry web surfing art in the internet

Greg’s UFOs

Family friend Greg Kozak sent me this essay he wrote about his trip to Area 51.
Dutifully following our Mapquest printout and Matt’s GPS (I have a dumb phone that I use solely, well, as a phone), we turned left off of State 93, and then proceeded down the astoundingly empty road ahead of us. “There’s actually a sign,” I said in amazement as we entered the route. “Nevada 375, Extraterrestrial Highway,” I read slowly. “Wow- we’re really here. I can knock this one off of my bucket list.“   The gloom was absolute, overpowering, even menacing, malevolent, a palpable nothingness that almost seemed alive with sinister intent. I felt something akin to awe, a fluttering in my stomach, those proverbial butterflies you get when you can’t figure out if you’re more excited than frightened, or more frightened than excited. I knew for sure which one I felt more. So did Matt. “Yeah,” he said, his voice animated, tinged with exhilaration, almost like mine, but not quite.   I sensed some trepidation, too, however, and decided to exploit it. “Think we’ll be abducted,” I asked, purposely feigning nagging apprehension.   “Don’t say that!” He screamed, glaring over at me, jaw clenched, angry that I dared broach the possibility. Still scowling, he turned back to the steering wheel. His knuckles were white; he gripped it with an intensity borne of fear, even terror, he admitted to himself. The realization escalated his dread even more. “This is serious business! Don’t say that anymore!” Trepidation indeed.

Performance & True Desire

I have not seen any footage/pictures, any general media “proof” to corroborate this headline. I simply pass along a deserving/undeserving reflexive-responsive catalytic force of Acconcian proportions.

I’m sure what follows is trash, and should by all ethical standings be justifiably terminated, but for the sake of life and love, and laughter I beneath this pile of human shit, to you. xoxo

”

he achieved an orgasm and ejaculated on the stuffed horse’s chest area. The defendant then placed the soiled stuffed horse on top of a bed in a bag (comforter set) contaminating that property also. The defendant then exited the store and left the property. Contact was made with the defendant directly across the street.

“

#powerplaymondayftwyoucandoit

Licki

Via reader Chelsea:

Numberjacks

Well,

Google Poetry

Contributor Chris sent me this to post:

A bunch of Machines have returned. Did you realize even they were gone? What’s the value of my opinion in reflection of yours? What’s theirs?

How does the future feel to you? Clammy? Let me know if the temperature’s too high.

Sure you can get whatever you want now, but at what cost? All I need is some soylent and an ice cold Pabst, bro.

Welcome to 2016. The year of death. This conceivably is the year we learn emotional atonement is not even an option for our salvation. Beyond all of this lies google’s true intentions, hopes and aspirations in their new AI Poet Program. Forcing its neural networks to digest more than 11,000 unpublished books (3,000 of which were romance), Google Brain’s engineers have been essentially teaching its AI to relate two unique phrases to each other. Here is what it produced:

No.

he said.

“no,” he said.

“no,” i said.

“i know,” she said.

“thank you,” she said.

“come with me,” she said.

“talk to me,” she said.

“don’t worry about it,” she said.

it made me want to cry.

no one had seen him since.

it made me feel uneasy.

no one had seen him.

the thought made me smile.

the pain was unbearable.

the crowd was silent.

the man called out.

the old man said.

the man asked.

he was silent for a long moment.

he was silent for a moment.

it was quiet for a moment.

it was dark and cold.

there was a pause.

it was my turn.

there is no one else in the world.

there is no one else in sight.

they were the only ones who mattered.

they were the only ones left.

he had to be with me.

she had to be with him.

i had to do this.

i wanted to kill him.

i started to cry.

i turned to him.