Wrecked Assholes

Wrecked Assholes

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SmugMug + Flickr .

Connecting people through photography.

FingerRings--> SFU - Mammon Rings (Box) @ Six Feet Under MainStore
Bracelets--> Badwolf - Sten Bracelets (ADD) @ Man Cave Event
You better hurry up before someone throws you a banana!
when i get bored i just give myself tattoos and take pictures with them
So.. hit me up if you need or want to be f&f.
I want to thank each and everyone who took the time to visit my little space here on Flickr. Have a super day!
The unfortunate sight that awaited me when I got back to my truck after the weekend. They just wanted to break something, took the relays out of the fuse box so the motor would not start.
How do I feel right now?? If I find him I would like to break one finger a week for 10 weeks, not decided if it will be a new one every time..............
my parents told me i could be anything so i became an asshole lmfao
the thrown rock was a bullseye on baldie's head.
James steps away from the keyboard and busts out the guitar for a performance of a new song, Anonymous Asshole, about those spineless cowards that post comments on internet forums - they know who they are. Scotty J on bass and Storm in stripes.
The color was pretty good on this but I liked the crisp energy of B+W, and thought I'd shift it sepia-ward just for a contrast to the red red red of Dante's lighting.
This was from the 21 April 2010 Storm and WTF? show featuring Eric McFadden and the Crazy Enough band, with guests including an amazing classical guitar player and Stephanie Smith of Kleveland.
In the right-turn lane, next to a curb painted red, and a sign that says "NO STOPPING ANY TIME." But he had his hazard lights on, so I guess it's okay.
We have always called wasps that. They can be nasty when they want. Canon with a Sigma 105mm f2.8 macro lens at f5 ISO 320.
I want to thank each and everyone who took the time to visit my little space here on Flickr. Have a super day!
I'll give everyone three guesses as to who's drone is intruding in my shot. Definitely worth the 400 mile drive from Maine to get this. Fortunately, I got another shot without fuckface's drone in it, but seriously...
→ Hurry Hurry at The Men Jail until the 28th~!
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[Kres] Iconic headbands - Asshole -
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I drew this just now.. it's how Trump makes me feel!
I'm protecting myself with a Susan Richards (The Invisible Woman) type force field...and Trump is trying with all his might to smash thru it! 😦
Bad, bad Christmas. Wife and I both caught nasty colds in the week before Christmas. Christmas Eve, we went to the wife's brother's house for dinner. Took dyspeptic father in-law with us, and one granddaughter as well as daughter-in law in process of divorcing our son. Good food. Father-in-law had nothing to say and couldn't wait to go home. They had to force him to stay. As soon as we started eating, I felt a pain in my jaw, running from the ear down to the chin. Thought it was just a muscle cramp, but it didn't go away.
The father-in-law drove his car to our house from Fresno, as we live about midway between Fresno and Visalia, where the dinner was. Then wife and I drove f-i-l to dinner in his car. Wife's brother decides (rightfully so I guess) that 96 year old dad shouldn't be driving at night and it had begun to rain as well. (Truth is, f-i-l should not be driving at all. Ever). So, we hatch a scheme whereby I drive pops home and wife will go with daughter-in-law and granddaughter. F-i-l is not happy. So we take off with brother in law in followup vehicle so he can pick me up in Fresno and drive me the 25 miles back to Kingsburg. We get to Veteran's home where f-i-l resides, and I park his car and he goes inside. As we're leaving, I see f-i-l's parked car with the lights on. SHIT! I run back in and catch f-i-l before he has entered his room. Get the key and try to return through the building which we had entered. Doors locked. Rain starts. I'm pounding on door. Security guard shows up. I get in and run out to car in rain. Turn off lights and return key. Now I'm not only pissed off, but wet too. We get to my house, and brother-in-law let's me off. I had given my keys to the wife when we left, and she had not returned them. She hadn't come home yet (yeah, I guess she was having fun :-(). So in the rain I'm digging through a flower bed in the dark, looking for the damn stone thing that has a key in it. Would any burglar with half a brain not be able to find these things and use the key? Well, I can't find it because it's dark. Finally get in the house. Mood not good. Jaw aching.
Christmas morning it's breakfast at 7:30. Good food, but can't much enjoy as dyspeptic f-i-l is being his miserable self, and I'm in pain. Presents opened we go home and I hit the sack. That afternoon we were due to have lunch at a nice restaurant in Fresno with son, his now love, grandkids, and--you guessed it-- dyspeptic f-i-l. Once again the pain kept me from enjoying the good food. Son gives me socks for present. I note that when you stretch them out, it starts to look like an asshole. Then the obvious made itself known. It IS an asshole.
Finally home by 6 p.m. and Christmas is over. But the pain gets worse and worse and by now the right side of my face is swollen up like a rotten watermelon. Visions of root canals were pleasant compared to the other potentials. Like would I be the next Elephant Man with a football growing from my head? Oh, I was thinking the worst. Believe it. The pain got so bad that I couldn't stop shaking and became nauseous. The wife calls Kaiser advice nurse. Run through the history, and then she wants to know if I have a fever. Wife cannot find a thermometer. (It just gets better and better, doesn't it). So, seven or eight at night on Christmas Day the wife heads out the door and hits a couple of neighbor's houses. Nobody answers. I guess they were all out having fun, while I was experiencing the wrath meted out to non-believers on Christmas. Wife gets in car and drives to daughter-in-laws for thermometer. Get's back and now we get a call from the doctor in the ER at Kaiser. Fever is just 100.5. Doctor makes an appointment for me the next morning with my regular physician, and advises that if I have a fever--any fever--I'm to come in to the ER, which is 35 or so miles away. By now, I'm thinking the only way I'm moving is if someone comes in and carries my carcass out of the house. So we took a chance. The night was long, but made bearable by the powerful painkillers the wife has. Without them, I would have had no choice but the ER.
Doctor says she doesn't think it's and abscessed tooth and not a tumor. It's good to know that a tumor will generally not provide the experience of excruciating pain. And that's the good news.
Today the swelling is way down. They injected me with antibiotics, and set me on a ten day course of oral antibiotics. Still painful to touch right side of face, but I'm a very happy camper.
And this post is about the first thing I've accomplished since the whole episode began unfolding.
Hope you all had a Merry Christmas or Fabulous Festivus or whatever.
Sorry to write bummer stories at the time of year when you all are celebrating the birth of Jesus and are full of hope for 2019. But on the bright side, it all seems to be getting better. All, except a certain POTUS, which I'm trying to ignore at least until we get into the new year.
koala avatars are from Gacha Garden!
Bar inside ARIA that I can't describe as anything other than a bunch of assholes, but at least it was pretty inside
Around the globe, in every city there are parts of the neighborhood that's looking a little worse for wear. Abandoned, for one reason or another, and usually occupied by house-squatting hippies, the cool kids on the block or homeless people... And now, also, the mob. Exploiting the privacy and the opportunity to stay under radar they've got eyes on these little hidden treasures, serving as a sanctuary to be found only by those who knows it exists. -Usually right under the nose of the city residents and the police.
These properties are owned by a shell company, within another shell company that is owned by people no one's ever heard of, one of them is 'Alexander Smith', the 'accountant' of a small company which name is of little importance.
What all these houses have in common is that despite the decaying building, the doors are sealed. And can only be opened by a very specific keycard.
If you've been given this keycard, and have found one of it's matching doors. It will let you in, the inside of the building will not match the exterior, and there will be armed guards. Perhaps one, two or four. And you can be sure the working staff are armed too. They'll also want to see your keycard. - But once you're in, you're in.
-It is a neutral zone. You do not have to like all the guests but you will respect them within the premises, each and everyone of them is here because someone trusts them.
-We will not take your weapons, but be well aware that using them in here will result in a lifetime ban from the establishment and punishment will follow.
-Every patron is invited, and the one inviting you will be held responsible if you break any of the (very few) rules, and tasked with dealing out the proper punishment.
Location: Il Gheto | Speakeasy | Il Toro Mafia Club

Sex. Celebrity. Politics. With Teeth
Sex. Celebrity. Politics. With Teeth
Here's the Dangerous and Grotesque Anal Sex Trend You’ve Always Wanted
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“It smells like blood. And it tastes like raw flesh. It’s not something you’ve ever been exposed to. But it strikes a chord somewhere deep inside.” That’s how Michelle Lhooq opens her article on Rosebudding, a new trend in the world of hardcore anal pornography. And if you’re faint of heart or weak of stomach, you may want to stop reading now, because the act is literally ripping out actresses’ rectums through their anus.
Rosebuds are often seen as nice, delicate things. In popular culture, Rosebud often brings back memories of Citizen Kane . It’s a nice, even cozy, euphemism for the kind of movies Sheena Shaw, the actress quoted in the Vice article on the trend makes. In reality, the act is much worse than anything I’ve seen in legal pornography before. Worse than eating shit; worse than people engaging in sex with traffic cones and putting double fists into every orifice. When I shared the video included with the Vice story with a friend — a video of two women dressed as bumblebees doing everything one could to a collapsed asshole — her response was that if porn had a Faces of Death (that didn’t include any actual snuff), this might be it. Because this isn’t really, sexy — it’s just strange.
The medical term for Rosebudding — anal prolapse — is actually much more dangerous and bizarre than the titles on the DVD boxes may lead you to believe. In short, a prolapse occurs when one’s rectum collapses and slip-slides its way out of the anus. In general, an individual is immediately rushed to the emergency room when such an event happens. In Shaw’s world, the cameras keep turning as the prolapse is looked at, touched, licked, and prodded until the director believes that the viewer will have enough to satiate them. Sometimes honey is poured all over it. It’s a visual that appears to dare the viewer to get off despite what they’re seeing, not because of it.
The act of rosebudding is, of course, something that has been around for a long time. I first became aware of it when I was 21 years old, alone at home and excited to try out my insanely fast new internet connection. I downloaded everything I could get my hands on from the torrents databases I visited (regardless of whether I was interested, I just wanted porn) and was perplexed to find one video entitled something like Bud.avi. In it, gentlemen from some eastern European country did things to each other that made me sweat in fear and want to call emergency services immediately. Three minutes into the video, I shut it off and silently wondered whether the actors were okay, swearing off porn forever (two hours, it turned out) as I hyperventilated. For four years, I managed a video store and while I was the one who curated the small adult film section —which I called The Super Tiki Adult Room to make it more friendly — I never once saw this type of act mentioned on the hundreds of boxes we carried. Now, it is becoming more and more mainstream.
There are two reasons that rosebudding is taking the world by slow and bloody force. First, the internet has made pornography a much tougher business. With the advent of sites like PornHub, RedTube and Xvideos, viewers are less likely to shell out money for site memberships or digital downloads. Companies try to get their videos taken down, but they reappear as fast as they’re removed, new bunches of clips (really taking this flower metaphor to its limit) popping up daily, never letting the companies catch up. Due to this, pornographic actors, directors, and producers have to find novel ways to get the viewer to part with their hard-earned cash, which means that they have to come up with edgy and sometimes risky new settings, positions, and acts.
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The ennui that comes with watching the same kind of scenes over and over might eventually force the viewer to pay to see something they’ve never seen before, even if it is potentially gruesome or disgusting. Then, as Vice points out, there is the reality that watching amateur porn might be fine, but if you want high quality production or actresses that can perform rosebuds well, producing sights and sounds — rainbows you can taste — on command you’re going to have to shell out for your solo bone sesh. And the industry has no choice but to deliver.
Second, the actresses who star in the films — and this currently appears to be more aimed at heterosexual audiences — need to find a way to distinguish themselves. Sheena Shaw is one of the queens of rosebudding. This is her calling card. Like it or not — and it sounds from her quote that Shaw has at least some conflicted feelings — this is what keeps the money coming.
Mike South, a blogger who is referred to by Vice as the king of porn gossip, believes that turning towards extremism is not the way the industry needs to go, that by doing so it loses touch with the core values of pornography:
“At first it was relatively benign—gang bangs, anal, that kind of thing,” he recalls. “Then it was dressing girls up like preteens and picking them up on swing sets in schoolyards, forced oral until they threw up, forced anal… The more uncomfortable the girl looked, the more the industry would give it awards.
“Companies in porn are like blackbirds on a phone wire,” he continues. “When one takes off they all follow. I think, in this case, they all followed into the side of a glass building.”
But the trend is only getting more popular.
Porn’s appeal has long been the holding up of a light, or a magnifying glass, to the inner workings of human pleasure. Rosebudding continues to play on that theme, literally turning a medical oddity — something second year medical students might discuss with a hand gently stroking their chins — into something amorphously sexual.
Ali Davis, in her excellent book True Porn Clerk Stories , discusses something she calls porn drift. In her book Davis recounts how customers at the store she worked at would go from one section of the store to another, dipping into pornography that they might have not chosen before when they’d seen too much of their preferred combination of acts and actors. When I worked at a video store, I was always delighted when someone who had only rented straight gang bangs would bring up a bi video or delve into the world of porn that featured actors who were transgender. It was great to see people exploring their sexuality but this new trend raises the question of how far the rabbit hole goes and whether pornography can continue satisfying the needs of viewers while keeping the actors and actresses who are doing the work safe.
Repeated prolapses — I’m sorry, rosebuds — are risky. The actual prolapse doesn’t just happen and actresses have to train to get the bud to occur when they want. To be able to rosebud effectively, actresses need to have prolonged sessions with multiple massive objects so that their rectal walls become loose and easy to push right out. Training might also include sleeping with toys in the anus the night before a shoot. The feeling, Shaw says, is similar to that of pushing out a baby. And there are side effects.
Repeated prolapses can cause severe bowel problems and anal leakage. While some can take time off, the only way to really heal everything is with rectal surgery which carries risks (such as infections ) of its own. And the risks are not often discussed with the actresses who star in these types of movies. In fact, the safety of the performer is not really of concern to the directors and the producers, who play the health risks off with a nonchalant “they can take breaks.” But taking breaks means losing money, or becoming less in demand.
There’s no safety net in porn. Shaw, a veteran of the business and someone who commands a higher price for her anal scenes — something that’s not true of all the women who perform this act — says that she’s heard of women tearing their anuses or developing fissures. And there’s no worker’s comp on the set. The industry demands more and more of its performers without medical help. When asked about what she could do in the event of an injury, Shaw said this to Vice: “No one ever talks about that. They make you sign waivers before you do these scenes. You’re absolutely not going to get workers’ comp.”
Rosebudding in itself isn’t the core problem. Sure, it’s disturbing, but it also speaks to how bored we become with sexual images and how quickly we become desensitized to them, always looking for another peak when we plateau at a favorite scene. The fact that this trend exists could suggest that rosebudding is a symptom of a much broader concern: The fact that as more and more pornographic images become readily available, it takes much more to scratch one’s sexual itch. And sometimes, that leads to the necessity for extremism. Even when it comes at the expense of the performers. Based on the risks and dangers involved, then, perhaps it would be best for all cinematic genres if Rosebud remained a sled.

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