You Are Dumb - Bestiality

Candid Webcam

Wed, 12 Dec 2007 22:56:33 -0600

Bestiality, 13 December 2007

Memo to "scordova": COME OUT FROM BEHIND THE FERN.

This has to be a gag. A joke. An elaborate trollerization attempt aimed squarely at yours truly. There's no other possible explanation for the existence of the Grand Unified Theory of Dumb, a concept that unites the two most popular concepts ever to appear on this site in its four-year history: creationism and horse-fucking.

Yet there it is, a moronic convergence, sitting there on the Young Cosmos creationist blog: a post blaming Darwinism for Kenneth "fucked to death by a horse" Pinyan. ACTUAL QUOTE TIME!

You see, once upon a time, an ill-advised Darwinist did not practice safe sex, but rather unsafe sex — with a horse!!!! Unfortunately for him, he died a few hours after copulating with a horse, not too far from the Discovery Institute’s headquarters. One of the top Darwinists in the world, Dr. Peter Singer, advocates human-animal sex. But there are consequences to such physiologically ill-advised behaviors as empirically demonstrated by this poor chap’s demise….."

Oh, no, fucker. You don't get to pin this one on us. Pinyan's death did not arise out of a superior understanding of biology, but rather an insufficient understanding of physics. Specifically, the principle that two objects cannot occupy the same physical space. It's merely coincidence that the two objects in this particular instance were a gigantic horse cock and Pinyan's dumper.

Also, other than how he died, we know nothing about Kenneth Pinyan. For most purposes, we know enough, but I must assume that "scordova" came to his or her conclusion that Pinyan was a Darwinist by taking his recreational life choices and working backwards. Because no God-fearing creationist would ever die during a, shall we say, non-traditional sexual act. Nope. Never happened. It's like all the fuckers blaming the Colorado church shootings on various anti-Christian elements, only to have it end up being perpetrated by the most anti-Christian element of all, a kid who spent his whole life growing up in the "ideal" repressive God-fearing household.

Also, you will not be surprised to learn that Peter Singer does not actually advocate human-animal sex. Nor, based on the fact that I'd never heard of him before and had to look his Australian ass up, is he one of the top Darwinists in the world. What he -is- is a philosopher. A professional, academic philosopher. Which means it's his job to think and write about topics in a lengthy and nuanced manner, and also write about the lengthy, nuanced things OTHER professional philosophers have thought and written about.

Since that last sentence contains at least half a dozen words that creationists eschew as a matter of principle, it's no wonder they've boiled down Singer's evaluation of what other philosophers have said on the topic of fucking animals to, basically, "he thinks we should all get fucked in the ass by horses". To the extent that I'm willing to look into it*, the fundies are aghast that Singer objects to bestiality on practical grounds - that it's frequently abusive and nonconsensual - rather on some larger, God-delivered moral principle that humans are separate from the rest of the animal kingdom and thus should not stick their dicks into anything but their married partner's vagina on those occasions they wish to produce offspring.

I know. Creationists getting things wrong. Quelle surprise. But what I love about it is just how matter-of-fact they are about it, Of course Darwinists support bestiality! It's as if I said that supporters of the flat tax are also in favor of eating poor babies. Only without the comedic hyperbole for which I'm world-renowned. I mean, it's clear that there are flat-tax supporters who don't eat poor babies, and in any event, any correlation would still not imply causation.

Even the commenter who warns against tarring all non-creationists with the zoophilia brush makes sure to mention that "Although, I fully recognize that Singer and other Darwinists find human-animal sexual relations morally acceptable (and I’ve had a conversation with a Darwin supporter who actually ended up posting about her acceptance of this type of behavior)..." Gee, thanks, nitwit. I feel so much better now that you've scaled back the link between evolution and animal-fucking to "anecdotal and tenuous".

Maybe they're just confused. I mean, obviously, they're confused, but I mean in a specific way related to the joke I'm about to tell. Maybe they think the Darwin Awards are actual awards given out for excellence in Darwinism, and thus, when people talked about Pinyan as deserving of such an award, they figured that the evolutionary science community was actually bestowing their highest honor on him for his brave, albeit fatal, exploration of interspecies romance. Which is a hilariously stupid mistake, but would actually be a startling display of deductive reasoning from someone who thinks the universe is 6,000 years old.

*Which is, for the record, the bits of his Wikipedia entry that have citations - I'm not going primary-source-hunting on bestiality when I have a cold.

My New Favorite Dognotfucker

Sun, 13 May 2007 21:36:26 -0500

Bestiality, 24 October 2006

NOTE: THis column has been modified due to McPhail's acquittal on charges of animal cruelty. Changed sections will be marked with brackets.

Memo to Michael Patrick McPhail: THANK YOU FOR [NOT] FUCKING THAT DOG.

As we approach the last stretch of You Are Dumb Year Three, there is one thing I've learned from analyzing my web traffic. I can talk about politics for the rest of my life, but more people will still find this site searching for Kenneth Pinyan than any other search term. Every single month since he got fucked to death by that horse, a small part of him lives on in Google searches and this place.

But I'm not the only one who continues to be bad-touched by the Pinyan legacy. Michael Patrick McPhail owns his own little piece of history. Because when McPhail screwed the pooch, he really [DID NOT IN FACT BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT] screw the pooch.

In the Pre-Pinyan Era, in Washington State, sex with a pit bull wouldn't have been illegal. Oh, it would have been a very bad idea indeed. I mean, a pit bull? Even a girl pit bull? I know beggin' strips can't be choosin' strips, but that still strikes me as up there on the list of most dangerous breeds to bust a nut on.

But after the Great Pinyan Colon Outrage, bestiality became a felony in Washington State. And so McPhail is out on $20,000 bail after pleading not guilty to first-degree animal cruelty. Which is a brave plea, considering the circumstances under which he was [APPARENTLY NOT, AT LEAST ACCORDING TO A WASHINGTON JURY] caught.

You see, McPhail was [SEE ABOVE] caught by his wife. HIS WIFE. That's gotta be an awkward moment. Because first, she [WOULD] now [HAVE] know[N], to her detriment, where else that thing [WOULD HAVE] been. Icky to infinity. And second, if you have a wife, why [WOULD] you [BE] fucking a pit bull? The things that implies about the overall health of the relationship aren't flattering to any of the involved parties.

But the best part is yet to, if you'll pardon the expression, come. Because not only did his wife catch him in sixty-canine, she had the presence of mind to pull out her camera phone and GET PICTURES OF IT. [PICTURES THAT WERE NOT, APPARENTLY, CONVINCING TO A JURY OF WASHINGTON STATE CITIZENS. PERHAPS SHE NEEDED MORE MEGAPIXELS]. Suddenly, I'm thinking that putting cameras in phones isn't so bad an idea.

So that's the sad sad tale of Michael McPhail, who wagged the dog's tail and got himself nailed for [NOT] getting himself nailed. And I'm so happy he did [GET ARRESTED THAT IS], because every day some inbred Washington State son of a bitch [GETS ARRESTED FOR DIPPING] his Snausage is one day I get a brief, blessed respite from talking about politics.

Strange Pasturefellows

Mon, 20 Feb 2006 22:05:39 -0600

Bestiality, 21 February 2006

Memo to Jeffrey Haynes: I'M ON YOUR SIDE.

Well, not entirely. When I say "I'm on your side", I don't mean I condone fucking sheep. You Are Dumb Dot Net's position on dipping your wick in the woolly nethers is that we are foursquare against it, no ifs, ands, or baas. To all you impressionable children out there reading this, remember. Winners don't fuck sheep.

Jeffrey Haynes fucked a sheep. In Battle Creek, Michigan, the birthplace of corn flakes. And even given the weird ideas of many of our originators of dried cereal products, are there two things farther apart on the ontological scale than corn flakes and fucking a sheep? I don't think there are. He fucked a sheep, and he got caught, and he got sentenced to between two and a half and twenty years in prison.

And this is all fine and good and the way our system of justice is supposed to work. However, Battle Creek prosecutors and the judge are demanding that he register as a sex offender upon release. The reasoning, according to assistant county prosecutor Tamara Towns, is that he might prey on children or vulnerable adults. Haynes disagrees. ACTUAL QUOTE TIME!

"The prosecutor is being real hard on me for what I did. But I should not be treated as a child molester.

Unless there's something in Mark Twain's past that I don't know about, that right there is the single wisest thing ever uttered by a burglar, home invader, and sheepshtupper. And I gotta side with him on this one.

Unless, upon his release, he moves into a farm community, there's no point to putting him on a sex offender list. I'm not exactly a walking DSM IV, but just because you fucked an herbivore doesn't mean you qualify as a sexual predator. We've gotten ourselves worked into such a frenzy over child molestation these days. It's like the shark attacks. Is it something to worry about? Yes. Is there a pedophile around every corner? Not unless you're visiting the Vatican on a slow day.*

The limited information at my disposal tells me that Haynes fucked an adult sheep. Not a lamb. Not even a rack of lamb. Yes, he's a sick freak. But child molesters are a subset of sick freaks. Sheep are not a gateway mammal. But people panic.

It's like with that judge in Vermont, Edward Cashman. I didn't do a column on him at the time, for what reasons I'm not entirely sure. But anyway, Cashman faced huge rallies, massive outrage, political grandstanding, and death threats after he gave a child molester a 60-day prison sentence.

Which sounds awful, if you're too busy panicking and shouting to read past that point to the details. The details being that Cashman gave out the short sentence because in Vermont, child molesters don't get treatment until their sentence is up, and if the guy neglected his treatment, he'd immediately get the maximum sentence imposed. Which seems perfectly reasonable to me. Ten years in a Vermont prison isn't going to make the guy more stable and less of a danger to society.

But reason doesn't enter into it when it's about Protecting Children. Even if we're protecting them from a man who only has eyes for ewe.

*This joke has been duly registered with the Cheap Shot Association of America.

Revisiting Past Glory

Sun, 04 Dec 2005 22:06:32 -0600

Wingnuts, 5 December 2005

It's always good to reflect. To look back on the past, and see if it holds any lessons for the future. Plus, it's a great way to pull a column out of your ass without actually looking like you're pulling a column out of your ass.

There's something I thought you all might like to know. Kenneth Pinyan.

Oh, wait. Let me try that again. KENNETH PINYAN

The most famous ruptured colon in human history now has an identifiable owner. It's actually a fairly disappointing comedy name - it's a bit funny sounding, but it's not jokable, the way, say, Equus Q. Rectum would be. Anyway, the poor Pinyan family has James Michael Tait to thank for their dead relative's outing.

Tait, you see, is the 53-year-old truck driver who went to the farm WITH Pinyan, video camera in hand, ready to capture on film what was intended to be a simple, if you'll pardon the expression, roll in the hay. And the rest is comedy history. Although I will say this about Tait, the man is a pioneer in the deflating of stereotypes. I mean, if you were to go through a police lineup and pick out the man most likely to be videotaping his friend getting fucked to death by a horse, I guarantee none of you would pick out the 53-year-old truck driver.

Thank you, James Michael Tait. You are the Rosa Parks of filmed bestiality.

The problem with this column spanning multiple years is that there are certain annual events which, having tackled once, I'm loath to tackle again because I used up all the good jokes the first time around. A little less than a year ago, for example, I took aim at holiday fundamentalists. I'm proud to say that, in a stunning affirmation of my belief that this column is to entertain, and not to make the world a better place, nothing has changed.

Assholes are still threatening boycotts and bitching every time someone says "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas", and everything I said last December 17 still applies, with an extra helping of FUCK YOU sprinkled over the top.

There is one bit of semantic logic I'd like to follow, though. It is demonstrably true that "Merry Christmas" is a subset of "Happy Holidays". "Merry" is a synonym for, or possibly a specific way of, being happy. And Christmas is indubitably a holiday. I don't think even James Dobson would dispute that.

Ergo, when a cashier tells you "Happy Holidays", you are perfectly within your rights to interpret that as "Merry Christmas". It is in fact the definitive logical extension of the situation. You can have a merry Christmas, and fulfill completely the conditions of the cashier's wish. It's a win-win situation. There is absolutely nothing you could possibly get upset about. UNLESS.

Unless for some reason, you resent being part of whatever superset Happy Holidays entails. Unless you feel the need to be separated from any other person for whom the Happy Holidays wish might apply. And who are they?

Well, Hanukkah is a holiday, celebrated by Jews. Happens between Thanksgiving and New Years. Following this logic, anyone complaining about "Happy Holidays" must not want to be connected in any way with Judaism. Which means you're all a bunch of anti-Semites. Sorry, that's where the logic goes. Everyone who writes a letter to the editor complaining about not hearing the word Christmas HATES THE JEWS.

Oh, wait! Kwanzaa is also a holiday, and also occurs between Thanksgiving and New Years, and is celebrated by those with some form of African heritage. So if they don't want to be lumped in with the Jews, and they don't want to be lumped in with African-Americans, then every time you hear a lament from someone annoyed with "Holidays", just remember that they're also a huge racist. They want separate but equal greetings! I guess the Ghost of Thurmond Past visited them in the night or something.

There's also the solstice, but since fundies don't even bother to pretend they don't hate Wiccans, we'll take it as read.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Burden Of Proof

Wed, 16 Nov 2005 21:43:27 -0600

Main Column, 17 November 2005

Memo to WingNutDaily: YOU ARE DUMB.

Well, WorldNetDaily and a handful of other conservative web news "outlets". Really dumb. I don't know if you've been paying much attention lately to a number of scandals, revelations, and criminal proceedings brought against members of the current gang of idiots, but one thing you'll consistently see in discussions of it is an incredibly high standard for what constitutes "wrongdoing".

He only lied under oath, after all, and he did it about someone everyone knew was a wife. And she wasn't really much of an undercover agent. And there's no proof anyone lied, they were just wrong! And they were only wrong about the details. They did the right thing anyway.

This is not a strictly right-wing thing, of course. Clinton shouldn't have lied about the sex, and probably shouldn't have had the sex. But there is a certain scale to the double standard that is truly appalling when you realize it comes from people who are claiming vindication for Rick Santorum's view that gay marriage really does lead to man-on-dog acceptance.

Once again, it's important for me to stress that I'm not shitting you. In Massachussetts, according to WorldNetDaily, something called the Weekly Dig, and a really ugly* anti-gay site, "The Article 8 Allicance", bestiality is rapidly approaching legal status in Massachussets, and it's all the fault of the homos and their liberal, Democratic supporters. ACTUAL QUOTE TIME!

"How badly has Massachusetts’ moral compass suffered since dudes started honeymooning with dudes? Not one legislator, nor a single member of the God-fearing public, appeared before the judiciary committee to denounce the proposed changes." - The Weekly Dig. Holy shit. Massachussetts legalized bestiality, and nobody noticed? They must have all been busy FUCKING THEIR GAY DOGS.

"Now, I'm certainly not setting myself up as Jesus' official spokesman, or as anyone's judge--that's where a lot of evangelicals get into trouble. But I am honor-bound to be--quite often, it seems--one of the lone voices in the wilderness. Am I exaggerating? Perhaps...but then again...if others are talking about Boston's bestiality bill, where exactly is the outrage?" - Christian blog "Crosswalk.com". Get it? CROSSwalk.

And where is the outrage? Massachussetts is about to join the 20 other bastions of liberal perversion where bestiality is legal, such as Washington State, Tennessee, Alabama, Kentucky, and Missouri. Why is there no outcry?

Because it's not happening, of course.

What IS happening is, some Massachussetts legislators are going through and repealing a bunch of ancient sex laws, most unenforced. Fornication laws, adultery laws, laws against advertising abortion, that kind of thing. One of the laws is an old bestiality statute, which isn't being repealed, it's being changed. Instead of mandating a sentence of up to 20 years in jail, it now reads:

"Whoever commits a sexual act on an animal shall be punished by imprisonment in the state prison for not more than 20 years or in a house of correction for not more than 2 ½ years, or by a fine of not more than $5,000, or by both such fine and imprisonment."

So, at a judge's discretion, animal-fuckers might just get a fine. Or they might get the jail time. Obviously, the only possible goal of the legislature was to degrade the moral fabric of the nation and make animal-fucking more acceptable, right? While I don't have a trustworthy source for the original statute, I do have the Weekly dig, which managed to accidentally quote the original wording of what was a sodomy statute:

The original statute prohibited "abominable and detestable crime against nature, either with mankind or with beast."

Oh. Wait. That's different. They're trying to change a law that equates unnatural acts between two consenting adults and animal-fucking. They're trying to undo the work of some ancient Santorum, and the wingnut right is using it as evidence that Santorum was right all along. Fucking brilliant. They'll make that logical leap, but catch the oil companies lying about meeting with Cheney and it's hey, hey, hey, none of them liberal conspiracy theories!

It's almost as if they were, oh, I don't know. Mentally deficient hate-crazed fuckoids or something.

*In every possible sense of the word. Its anti-gay rhetoric is matched only by its abuse of HTML table code. There's gotta be at least one bigot who can code in CSS, but for some reason, he's not getting any work.

I Have A Theory

Tue, 06 Sep 2005 07:56:27 -0500

Bestiality, 6 September 2005

Right. We suspend our regularly scheduled coverage of the horse show judge and the hurricane to bring you vitally important news from Kenya - a guy fucked a goat.

Now, under normal circumstances, a guy fucking a goat in Kenya would only be moderately funny. Unlike the US, or even Australia, it's very difficult for me to use goatfucking as some kind of metaphor or analogy for Kenyan culture, about which, as an American, I know neither jack nor shit.

So all I'm left with is a guy fucking a goat. Again, pretty funny, but fairly tame stuff. The devil, as they say, is in the details. And some of the details are pretty funny. The guy was 23, and got caught making chevre, as it were, by the goat's owner and neighbor. The villagers, not having access to Internet columns, instead cornered the apparent Jim Breuer fan.

Having been outed as a Jim Breuer fan, and incidentally also a zoophile, the man hurled rocks at the villagers, then jumped into a pond in what is described as a suicide attempt, but strikes me as an extraordinarily lame one, if that's the case. Maybe he was just trying to get the goatstank off him.

Oh, there is one more minor detail. The one I've left out as an obvious ploy, as it will certainly become the linchpin for the impending comedy. He wasn't just fucking the goat. He was fucking the goat while STRANGLING IT TO DEATH. Now that's just unneccessary. It's gilding the lily. How bad off do you have to be when just fucking a goat isn't enough kink for you? And if that IS your kink, maybe you should just leave the goats alone and stay at home choking your chickens.

But this leads me to my theory. It does require one basic assumption that I normally would not go for, but let's say, for the sake of argument, that the Hindus have gotten it right, and when we die, we are reincarnated as other beings, higher or lower life forms as dictated by our actions in life. Assuming that's the case, here's my theory.

That poor Kenyan goat was once Michael Hutchence.

Think about it. What if, in some kind of great cosmic irony, every time Michael Hutchence gets reincarnated, he ends up dying in some form of erotic asphyxiation? He comes back as some kind of animal, then some poor perverted person somewhere in the world ends up fucking and strangling that animal.

Now, I'm not up on the fine distinctions on the Wheel of Life, but I'm thinking that a goat is pretty far up on the scale of things, and what you get knocked down to after dying from autoerotic asphyxiation is pretty far down. So Hutchence has, for the past eight years, been working his way back up to human in what may be the least pleasant way possible. Why go through all that? I can think of only one reason.

To get back in time for the season finale of "Rock Star: INXS". Let's face it, if I were Hutchence, and after eight years of poking around the backwaters of the music industry, my band whored themselves out to a reality show where a bunch of wannabe singers straight out of Reality Central Casting were competing to replace me, I'd want to do everything in my power to crash the party. Even if that means getting goat-fucked to death in Kenya.

Yes, it may seem far-fetched. Like intelligent design, it's JUST A THEORY. But if it's true, I think we can all agree on one thing. We're all rooting for him to succeed. Because that would be the single greatest moment in the history of television. just four more days, Michael! You can do it! Or, at least, have it done to you repeatedly!

Tell Me About The Rabbits, Mate

Wed, 17 Aug 2005 19:37:47 -0500

Sex, 17 August 2005

Memo to Australia: ICK.

Bestiality is a bit of a tradition here at You Are Dumb Dot Net. Or, more accurately, TALKING about it is. But as funny as a guy getting fucked in the ass by a horse is, bestiality is often a challenging subject to cover. This is mainly due to the fact that in the media I rely upon, bestiality is often a challenging subject to cover.

This is because the news media is fundamentally delicate and prudish in a way I decidedly am not, and thus, do not ask the questions I want them to ask. Or, if they ask them, they sure as hell don't print the answers. Take the astonishingly icky case of one Brendan Francis McMahon of Sydney, Australia, who fucked a rabbit.

Now, when it comes to comedy, an Australian fucking a rabbit is the kind of concept that's difficult to pass up. First, there's the fact that rabbits are known for two things. Liking cereal to the point of delusional schizophrenia, and fucking a lot. So a guy fucking a rabbit, as Alton Brown would surely not say because he's probably classier than I am, brings a lot of comedic flavor to the party.

Second, Australia is funny. Plus you can make jokes about how if he'd fucked cane toads, they'd have given him a medal, not arrested him.

But the devil is in the details, and the details are ugly. Fucking a rabbit is one thing. Mutilating seventeen rabbits and one guinea pig, then tossing them out an office window, is something else entirely. And unfortunately for me, something less funny.

Still, setting aside the Ed Gein aspects of the case, I find it fascinating that the guy was the director of a finance company in Sydney. This wasn't some mountain shack, or backwoods farm. This has more of an Australian Psycho kind of feel. I don't know if it means that Australia fields a wealthier, more socially graceful breed of animal-humper than the US does, or that many years under John Howard have eroded things to the point where their guys in suits are the evolutionary equivalent to our guys in overalls. It's a bit of a mystery.

Also a bit of a mystery, and here's where we get back to the premise I somewhat foolishly started the column with, is how, exactly, they were able to charge him with the following. ACTUAL COURT TIME!

"...committing an act of bestiality with an animal between 3am and 4am on August 1." - Now, if I'm Les Kennedy of the Sydney Morning Herald, and I've just typed that into my word processor, I'm not caring about deadlines, or the sensibilities of the readership. I'd be consumed with a rare burning curiosity.

Given that McMahon was arrested nearly two weeks later, how, exactly, did the Sydney police department narrow the, er, act in question down to a particular time and date? It's not like I can wait for them to turn this into an episode of Law and Order or CSI.

We get plenty of details on how they tracked him down through the pet stores where he bought the rabbits, but nothing at all on how they knew the precise hour in which McMahon, if you'll pardon the expression, got lucky. Just another example of how violence is less acceptable than sex in Western culture, I guess.

I do feel sorry for his lawyer. Or, as they call them down there, his "Paul Hogan"* When it comes to a prominent Australian businessman who's spent the past week buying rabbits and then nipping off to the abandoned office building next door to his workplace to fuck and kill them, you're going to end up at a loss for words. Which is why I was not surprised to read the following in a news account:

"His barrister Douglas Marr did not comment outside court, except to say his client was a NZ citizen." - Ah, the classic "that rabbit-fucker isn't actually from around here, honest" defense. I remember when Perry Mason used that.

*Actually, that's not true. They call them "barristers", like in Monty Python. I'd hate for my column about rabbit-fucking to seem less than entirely educational.

The Best Column Ever

Fri, 29 Jul 2005 13:24:01 -0500

Washington (State), 18 July 2005

Memo to Unnamed Washington Dude: YOU WIN.

I thought I knew why I did this column, but I was wrong. It wasn't until today when I realized that this space, this calling, has been treading water for a year and a half - waiting for this moment. Austin Gullette was the fucking warm-up act. It's all downhill from here, folks. When historians look back at You Are Dumb Dot Net, they're going to mark July 18, 2005 as the day the column peaked. And it's all thanks to one anonymous man from Seattle, Washington.

Who died.

Having anal sex.

With a horse.

As regular readers of this space know, the particular brand of stupidity that involves sticking your dick into an animal is not unfamiliar territory. We've even been tracking which states fuck which animals. Texas is pigs, Wisconsin is cows, Georgia is mules, and South Carolina is dogs. Washington is now officially horses.

But here's where it turns interesting. See, the guy died. So I'm thinking he tries to fuck a horse in the ass, gets kicked in the head for his troubles, crushed skull ha ha very funny Darwin Award wackiness ensues. But the guy didn't die from a crushed skull. He died from a PERFORATED COLON.

Which means he somehow convinced a horse to fuck HIM up the ass. Thereby making him the stupidest person in the entire universe. Dan Quayle can sleep soundly knowing that at long last, he is number two.* I don't care how much of a superfreak you are - we're talking about a sexual act where [UNPLEASANT IMAGE ALERT] even if it goes according to plan, you're going to be shitting horse-spunk for a week afterwards.[UNPLEASANT IMAGE ALERT ENDS]

I'm not entirely sure how that would even work. Everything I know about horses, I know from two sources. The Michael Martin Murphy song "Wildfire", and the movie "Seabiscuit". And I've never seen Seabiscuit. All I know is that Tobey Maguire hurt his back filming it, and did not hurt his back because the horse was fucking him in the ass. Us Weekly would have said something if he had. So I have no idea how you convince a horse to do that, and I ain't gonna Google it, that's for damn sure.

But I do know this. Once you get a horse to start fucking you in the ass, it's neigh impossible to get him to stop. Stallions do not attend sensitivity training. They do not understand that whoa means whoa. So in the end, it's an awful, awful, painful, hilarious, awful, stupid, and very very funny way to die.

I feel bad for his family, but they may never release his name, so perhaps they can just grieve for the loss of their stupid, stupid son and escape the public ridicule. But I feel worse for the community of Enumclaw, in King's County, where the farm and the horse were located. Oh, and the state of Washington.

I feel bad for the state of Washington because now we all know from news reports that bestiality isn't illegal there. Which is funny, because I don't remember them approving gay marriage, and I thought legalized bestiality could only follow the sanctioning of homosexual marriage. Apparently, Rick Santorum was wrong.

But Enumclaw... the farm... OK, first, apparently if you look in the wrong places on the Internet, Enumclaw is to real animal-fucking enthusiasts what Amazon.com is to people who can read. Police have hundreds of hours of surveillance footage with guys coming to the farm, getting it on with whatever species suits their fancy, and going home. Enumclaw is bestiality's EuroDisney.

And here's the funniest part, the part that even I, in my expansive genius, couldn't think to make up. The EXACT SAME DAY it was revealed to the world that Enumclaw, King's County, WA was the capital of Unspeakableactania, the county put out a press release. For its county fair. And the title of that press release, as revealed upon using Google News to search on "Enumclaw", is printed below, unedited, in boldface and italics. ACTUAL ULTIMATE QUOTE TIME, PART ONE:

"Animal magnetism: Mascot Day highlights list of promotions, discounts for King County fairgoers"

Take a few seconds to get over that one. It took me the better part of ten minutes before I could even pick my jaw up off the floor. This is the kind of synchronicity entire RELIGIONS spawn from. And when you're done, you can enjoy this fine sentence plucked from the middle of the press release. ACTUAL ULTIMATE QUOTE TIME, PART TWO:

"Roll up your sleeves and prepare to experience the messiest GOOD, CLEAN FUN around."

Like I said, it's all downhill from here, folks.

*I will let you all make THIS joke yourselves - you don't need my interference for this one.

Conflating Karl Rove and Bestiality

Fri, 29 Jul 2005 13:55:37 -0500

Main Column, 24 June 2005

SPASTIC TOPIC MONKEY FRIDAY LIVES ON.

Oh, god, the Karl Rove thing. A day after the embarassing Dick Durbin apology, Karl Rove said mean things about liberals and their reaction to 9/11. Democrats immediately jumped on it, calling for Rove's resignation, but the White House and the right-wing punditocracy is standing behind old Karl. SHOCK AND HORROR.

Since it's amazingly obvious that this has to be bait to make the Democrats look bad, it's no wonder they bit at it. Rove nailed that "sweet spot" I mentioned when I talked about Dean. Short, succinct, mean but not TOO mean, and plays into people's preconceived notions enough that it comes out of the mouth pre-spun. It is precisely the kind of comment that will make the aggrieved party look like idiots for making a fuss over after about two days, and two days is all you need to get past it if everyone on your side stays on your side.

Come on. The DAY after the Durbin apology, Rove just HAPPENS to lay out what looks like a perfect payback opportunity? They may be arrogant, they may be borderline psychopaths, but they think tactically. Especially Rove. So, you know. Continue your uproar in the blogs and the leftie media, but you're not gonna get anywhere, and you're just going to give them an opportunity to talk more about Durbin and Dean.

Because if you really think Karl Rove's gonna give a tear-filled retraction on national television, you're more deluded than the Biden '08 campaign.

There are, to date, three concrete bestiality facts we have uncovered in our travels here at You Are Dumb. In Louisiana, they fuck pigs. In Wisconsin, they fuck cows. In Georgia, they fuck mules. Well, the veil has been lifted on another state and another animal. In South Carolina, they fuck dogs.

Specifically, seventeen year old Cory Williamson, if you want to look it up. It's an ugly, ugly story, with almost no comedy potential whatsoever, but for those of you following the state-animal correlation, there's another one for your notebooks. They also fuck dogs in Michigan, but only for purposes of making porn, and so I think, by the self-imposed rules of the game, that doesn't count. I do think it's telling that when the Michigan dogfuckers got found out, it's believed they fled to Oklahoma. I can only assume it's because they'd blend in.

There's a new flag-burning amendment winding its way to the Senate. You know what that means? SMOKE 'EM IF YOU GOT 'EM!

Nora Ephron's "Bewitched" opens today. In case you hadn't heard, it stars Will Ferrell as an actor making a remake of "Bewitched", and Nicole Kidman as his co-star, only she's really a witch. It's precisely the kind of metatextual, ironic, fourth-wall breaking, genre-aware movie we were all sick of ten years ago when they did it with the Bradys.

As a result, all YAD readers who may be working on time machines should be aware that Nora Ephron is now #2 on the Utopia List, behind Sherwood Schwartz, and bumping Rod Stewart to number three. REPEAT. Ephron at #2, Stewart at #3. We must remove this movie from the timestream at all costs. And getting rid of every When Harry Met Sally diner scene reference and parody is a lovely little side benefit, or what we in the temporal elimination community like to call a WIN-WIN.

There's also the new Herbie movie, but since anyone reading this column is an Internet user, I'll just assume you know many more constructive ways to look at Lindsay Lohan's tits without shelling out eight-fifty.

The Importance Of Pacing

Tue, 09 Aug 2005 14:06:18 -0500

Main Column, 17 May 2005

Memo to the Right-Wing Irony Machine: SLOW DOWN.

Seriously, it's getting very difficult for me to keep track of, much less keep up with, the number of ultraconservative psychos who are getting caught fucking orifices, genders, or species they're not supposed to. If you all would perhaps spread out your admissions and allegations a bit, it would make my life a hell of a lot easier, you know.

We've already talked about Jim West, the rabidly anti-gay mayor of Spokane, who taught us that if you troll gay chat rooms because you like fucking young men (and just HOW young is a debate that has yet to be settled), you're not gay, you're actually ASEXUAL. Maybe it's the beginnings of an attempt to redefine "asexual" the way they want to redefine "torture", that way every moralistic godmonkey caught with his dick in the cookie jar can claim it's not his fault. He's too asexual for his car, too asexual for his car, too asexual by far.

Here's one thing "asexual" doesn't mean. It doesn't mean ANY PORT IN A STORM. Presented for your disapproval, Dr. W. David Hager. The last time you heard Hager's name, Bush had stuck him on the FDA's advisory panel for contraceptive issues. He was instrumental in keeping emergency contraception prescription-only (thereby also allowing the Asshat Pharmacist Problem to arise), and generally interfering with RU-486 as well. He's a gynecologist! The author of "As Jesus Cared For Women"! And if his ex-wife is to be believed, occasional dabbler in the anal rape. OOPS.

To be fair, in Hager's case, this is not a strict case of right-wing hypocrisy. His entire career has been based on women not having control of their own bodies, after all, so why should his narcoleptic wife have control of her body? Women simply have to be prepared to live with certain biological consequences of their bad choices, after all. And apparently the bad choice of marrying Dr. Hager means accepting the consequence of seven years of unwanted back-door shenanigans that start while you're unconscious.

The former Mrs. Hager finally told her story, she said, after hearing a speech by Buttburglar at Asbury College where he waxed all pious and bullshitty about the collapse of his marriage, and pushing the "liberals are waging a war against Christianity, and I'm one of the victims" line. So she went to the Nation, and now we all know how Hager allegedly likes it - all anal, all non-consensual, all the time.

But there is some good news for Hager - his wife IS human, which gives him the silver in the Pro-Life Sexual Olympics. The judges scored it pretty narrowly, but did end up ranking "anal rape of your sleeping wife" slightly below "publicly admitting to fucking livestock on national radio" in the grand scheme of things. I think it was a degree of difficulty thing. Or possibly a slight misstep on the dismount.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me set the stage. The place? Alan Colmes radio show. (Alan Colmes is the partner of Sean Hannity - their relationship differs from Hager and his ex in that Colmes/Hannity's is metaphorical). The players? Colmes and Neal Horsley, native Georgian, anti-abortion extremist. You know that big deal a while back about a website listing abortion doctors names and addresses, in "wanted poster" format, and one of 'em got killed? That site was Horsley's.

So anyway, Horsley's on the radio, and Colmes asks him about accusations he's fucked men and animals. He doesn't cop to the gay stuff, but seemed to have no problem insisting that "When you grow up on a farm in Georgia, your first girlfriend is a mule." And he wasn't joking, or playing around, he was dead serious. Look it up - the full transcript's out there. Streaming audio, even.

In addition to being completely insane, completely hilarious, and yet another of America's self-imposed morality police turning out to be both freaky and deaky, it raises a new question for those of us here at You Are Dumb Dot Net. As we've seen in the past, in Louisiana they fuck pigs, in Wisconsin they fuck cows, and now, apparently in Georgia, they fuck mules. Probably 'cause they learned mules can't get pregnant. Three different states, three different animals.

I'm beginning to suspect that, much like flowers, birds, and commemorative quarter backs, each state has it's own official-but-secret Bestiality Target. Perhaps caribou in Alaska - it's where they want to drill, after all. Me, I grew up in New York and Connecticut, and never fucked any animals, but you know. Late bloomer and all. Hell, I don't even know what we're supposed to fuck here in Minnesota - can't even get a clue from our sports teams. Twins and Vikings are both human, and Wild is awfully vague. Given the weather, it's probably tauntauns. And you thought they smelled bad on the OUTSIDE.

In The Interest Of Fairness

Fri, 12 Aug 2005 10:53:39 -0500

Bestiality, 15 March 2005

Memo to Harold G. Hart: YOU'RE NO AUSTIN GULLETTE.

It's funny how, even in the somewhat rarefied arena of fucking barnyard animals, certain important differences and contrasts can be drawn between, say, rural Wisconsin and rural Louisiana. Louisiana, as longtime readers of this column know, is the home of YAD mascot and infamous pigfucker Austin Gullette. And rural Wisconsin, Neillsville to be precise, is the home of Harold Hart, serial COWFUCKER.

Even if it were not the policy of this website to roundly mock any and all cases of farmication that come to its attention, karma, balance, and fairness would demand that Mr. Hart gain my undivided attention. After all, the South does take it in the cow-hole quite a bit from this website, and ignoring Mr. Hart's unique interpretation of "cow pie" would open me up to charges of being biased, of being willing to overlook the bovine bedhopping of the North while castigating the porcine peccadilloes of the South. Not I. I am an equal opportunity critic, and if you do the interspecies mambo*, I don't care where you're from. Not a lot of cowfuckers in our big cities, of course. Probably because of the relative availability of both hookers and broadband.

Still, the Hart and Gullette cases diverge even beyond the fundamental question of "Would you like pork or beef in your lo mein?" Gullette's pig had a name. "P-Pie". Gullette knew the pig. It was his sister's pet. There was something between them that, while it fell short of a relationship, still rose above the level of complete anonymity.

Hart, on the other hand, was a bit more cosmopolitan, a bit more "Sex In The City", except for the "In The City" part. He tended to stop at a family-owned farm after closing time, grab a cow, and go to town. And while Gullette and P-Pie only consummated their relationship the one time that we know of, Hart has admitted to "routinely" stopping at the Greenwood farm to fuck the cows there.

There is a certain Midwestern hardiness on display here, I'll admit. I can't imagine it would be easy to drive home, drunk, at two o'clock in the morning, in the dark, in rural Wisconsin, in the winter, and find and fuck a cow on your favorite farm. That's a LOT of work. Especially for a sixty-three year old guy. Did I mention he was sixty-three? He was sixty-three all right. That's a lot of effort to put yourself through just to dip your AARP-qualifying wick.

Even more perplexing, to me, is the revelation that Hart would occasionally indulge on his way to strip clubs. ON HIS WAY. Not coming back from, enflamed by the sight of the hottest girlflesh rural Wisconsin had to offer, but EN ROUTE to the clubs. Wonder if he bothered getting lap dances? Imagine how THAT must have gone. "Hey baby... care for a dance? Did you just come here from the McDonald's? Oh, no reason..."

Hart also differs from Gullette in another vital, important way - how he got caught. Austin got walked in on by his sister en pigrante delecto. But Hart managed at least fifty "trips to the pasture", as it were, before the Greenwoods, who'd noticed footprints on their farm, installed ELECTRONIC MOTION DETECTORS. And, oh, what a motion they didst detect.

Hart didn't get caught in the act, and was able to pass off the excuse that he'd never been to the barn before, and just stopped by to use the barn's bathroom. This is one of those rare times I wish I knew more about rural life than I can glean from one Game Boy farming simulation. Do barns even HAVE bathrooms? Is this commonplace? Or are Wisconsin's journalists being discreet in their cow-fucking stories and are using a euphemism for "whizzing in the hay"? The world may never know.

Apparently, Hart got a taste of the moo juice in the 60's, before entering the military, which at the time had a strict "Don't Squeal, Don't Bleat" policy toward bestiality. He resumed the practice about a year ago for reasons that were not revealed. In his defense, Hart claimed he never once fucked a cow while he was married or otherwise in a relationship with a woman. So he may fuck cows, but by God he respects the sanctity of marriage!

But the worst part of the whole thing, really, is that he wasn't fucking full-grown cows. He was fucking calves. Now, I'm not sure what the age of consent is for cows, but even assuming the calves were "of age", that's just creepy. He's sixty-three, and they're, what? One, two at the most? It's like Richard Gere and Winona Rider in "Autumn In New York". That kind of May-December romance never works out.

Especially these days, with modern motion-sensing alarm systems.

*Or, for that matter, the simulated interspecies mambo. You're fair game too.

An Exploration Of Porcine Exploration

Fri, 19 Aug 2005 10:54:19 -0500

Main Column, 3 September 2004

Memo to Austin Gullette: YOU ARE FAMOUS.

Over time, this site has had many potential mascots. Shrimpy McShrimp. The Big-Eyed Taco Ninja. Halle Berry. But today, we open a very special place in our hearts and minds for Austin Gullette, age 45, resident of West Monroe, Louisiana, and an authentic, genuine, documentable, Southern pigfucker.

And not in a metaphorical manner, either. This isn't like when I call Dennis Hastert a complete asshole for trying to insinuate that George Soros gets his MoveOn money from drug cartels. On national TV. The Speaker of the House just casually throwing out libel. Hastert is a COMPLETE ASSHOLE, but I don't mean he is actually, literally, a rectal sphincter without any pieces missing.

Austin Gullette, on the other hand, was arrested for fucking a pig. Legally, they refer to it as a "crime against nature", but the crime was fucking, and the representative of Nature that received unto the fucking was a 125 pound, Vietnamese, pot-bellied pig. And I thought I felt bad when all the gamers went nuts over Jenna Jameson. Imagine living in Louisiana and knowing that one of your own not only fucked a pig, but got caught at it. Probably didn't even get to finish before he had to run off into the bayou, pants around his ankles, desperately trying to call upon his limited mental capacity for some kind of excuse that would get him out of this pigfucking rap, and failing.

I almost feel bad for the South, that's how embarassing this is. I mean, yeah, when I talk about the South, and the inbred pigfuckers that reside there, part of me did believe in a strictly abstract sense that yes, some of them had, when it comes to pork, probably verbed the noun, as it were. But that was abstract. It's different actually reading about it in print. Actually attaching a name to the dick attached to the pig. It starts to seem almost gloating. Almost morbid. Almost... wrong.

And it would stay that way, except that, like a perverted Paul Harvey, you don't know the rest... of the story. See, it wasn't his pig. Apparently, Austin Gullette felt that having intimate relations with a pink, snouted animal was not quite Southern enough. No, he had to have sex with... HIS SISTER'S PIG. Just that faintest implication of incest, like when you make a martini by rinsing the glass out with vermouth. Was it a crime of opportunity? Was his sister's pig the only one he had regular access to? Or was it some kind of sublimated stand-in for his own immediate relative? The world may never know.

It was the sister that caught him, by the way. That's gotta ruin your week. You hear some squealing, you head out into the yard to see what's wrong, and hello, Porky. And the worst part is, the penalty for pigfucking in Louisiana is either $2,000, or up to five years in prison. So either he's gonna be hitting her up for the money to pay the fine he incurred by molesting her pig, or in a few years, he'll be out, and there'll be some REALLY awkward family dinners from that point on. "Well, I'll carve the roast now, assuming Austin didn't have his WAY WITH IT while I was finishing up the coleslaw. Well, Austin? Did you drop your PANTS and have FILTHY SEX with our DINNER?" At least, that's how I'd imagine it would go. And Austin couldn't even get indignant. When you've humped livestock, you really can't ask that people just "let it go".

But lest you think I'm just rambling on, trying to say "sex with a pig" as many different ways as I can, there is one final detail to the story that I've been saving until the end. And that is the pig's name.

The pig's name.... was "P-Pie". P-PIE. It's like the pig was pre-destined to be a euphemism for its own fate! "Austin was gettin' himself a little bit of p-pie in the back yard, if you know what I mean." I hope someone's already snapped up the film rights to "American P-Pie.".

The South has risen again, and its name is Austin Gullette. American. Southern. Fucker of pigs. Welcome to the annals of history, Austin. You've earned it the old-fashioned way. With your sweat, your toil, and your insatiable desire to stick your dick in a pig. In the immortal words of Hee-Haw, SA-LUTE!