#central states wrestling

[spdk1]

An Interview with Professional Wrestler Wrex Amadeus

Watching professional wrestlers rise from their humble beginnings to eventually winning championships is incredibly rewarding, especially when you’ve been following their journey for months or even years. One such wrestler I’ve seen take that upward trajectory is none other than… well, I guess he’ll make me say it… “Sexy” Wrex Amadeus. I remember when he was on the receiving end of a brutal…

[ringthedamnbell]

The Other Bash: Remembering The International Bash 1989

The Other Bash: Remembering The International Bash 1989

Brian Damage Many times in the past on this blog we have talked ad nauseam about how Vince McMahon and the World Wrestling Federation expanded nationally killing territorial wrestling in its path. The territories that were fortunate enough to survive, would usually join forces in some capacity to stave off being swallowed up by the WWF. In doing so, these territories would put on ‘Super Cards’…

[hairyjocktf]

A Full Dose of Country

Cody was exhausted. He was a star on the wrestling team at his university, but over winter break he’d been conscripted to be a helping hand on his uncle’s farm out in central Texas. After arguing for weeks with his very angry mother over the phone he’d submitted to spending his month off on the ranch. His mom had said that his uncle really needed the help for the season, and to put that athletic body of his to use. Cody rolled his eyes at that; he needed to be training for the next season. Instead he’d spent the past two weeks in the middle of nowhere helping out his uncle Shane, far from his friends and anything fun. Every day was long and exhausting. Cody thought he was in excellent shape but the long hours and excessive manual labor had started to wear on him quickly.

After putting some equipment away in the shed Cody trudged his way back into the small house, finding Shane slouched on the couch in front of the TV. He craned his neck around and gave Cody a quick up and down. 

“Damn son, you look rough today! You better get in bed early, we’ve got a hell of a task tomorrow,” he said. Cody’s shoulders slumped at the news.

“What could possibly be worse than what you’ve had me doing already?” He snapped. Shane was unfazed at the attitude.

“There’s some new bovine flu or something goin’ round. Heard it on the news the other day. I ordered some shots for the cattle to keep ‘em healthy, and I need you to help me get them all handled. Shouldn’t be a challenge for a hot shot like you right?” He snorted. Cody gave him a solemn look.

“Uh huh, sure.”

“I’m just messing with ya, y’know that,” Shane said with more sincerity. “Go on and get some sleep now boy,” he said as he shooed Cody off to his room.

Cody made his way down the dimly lit hallway to the small room he’d been staying in. He wasn’t the neatest guy on the planet but the state of his room was awful, but he’d been run too ragged to care. He pulled off his jeans and shirt and fell onto the bed, and within minutes he was out cold. 

The morning came abruptly with a banging on his door.

“Cody! Get dressed and out here we gotta start this operation early if we wanna finish today!” 

His uncle’s slightly muffled voice was still too loud for whatever hour it was. He threw on his hoodie and jeans from yesterday before making his way outside. The darkness was just starting to give way to dawn as he followed his uncle’s silhouette out towards the barn. The morning breeze was frigid, blowing through his hoodie like it was nothing. Cody shivered as he caught up to his uncle, who was setting up the chute for restraining the cattle. He stood there staring, in disbelief at what he was doing. His friends were partying in Cancun and he was up at 5 am herding cows?

“Well don’t just stand there, help me secure the pens!” His uncle’s bellowing voice snapped him out of his daze. Cody had unfortunately spent enough time on the ranch already to know what to do, and he got to work moving fences and prepping the area. By the time the sun had finally risen above the horizon they were ready. 

“Alright, now you’re gonna herd the cows in here one at a time, I’ll catch them in the chute, hit them with the needle gun, and let ‘em out into that second pen. Simple enough right?” Shane said, again with too much energy.

“Yea, sounds good.” Cody huffed, already feeling fatigued. He jogged back outside to start herding some of the cattle into the pens. He was surprised at how smoothly the entire operation was, within an hour they’d processed a dozen cattle. The problem now was getting the bigger ones in. Cody wasn’t normally afraid of a longhorn but in this situation he was tense, to put it lightly. Keeping his distance as much as possible, he slowly ushered the bull towards his uncle. As they neared their setup he had to get closer and more forceful, before finally spooking the animal into running into the chute. Shane slammed down the gates, holding the frantic bull inside the shaking apparatus.

“Cody!” Shane yelled over the racket, “Come hold this down so I can get a good shot!”

Cody hopped the fence and darted over to his uncle, holding the lever down against a raging bull. Shane was right next to him fiddling with the needle gun to refill it.

“Damn thing always jams at the worst times I swear…” he muttered before finally loading it properly. He squeezed up next to Cody to get close to the animal’s neck and leaned in to administer the shot. In that instant, the bull thrashed. Cody saw the massive horns swinging his direction and panicked, jerking to the side away from the head, directly into his uncle. They both toppled to the ground, and Cody felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. The bull knocked open the gates with no one to hold them down and dashed out into the pasture.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane said as he climbed to his feet, “You alright Cody?”

“Yea… I think so,” Cody mumbled as he stood up, feeling a pulsing pain in his gut. He lifted his shirt to find a small pinprick on his stomach surrounded by a reddened area.

“Aw shit, I must’ve hit you with the gun when we fell.” He walked over to Cody and kneeled down to look closely. “It’s a big needle for the cattle is all, you should be fine I think,” he said. Cody felt less than convinced. He scratched at the slightly itchy spot before letting his shirt down.

“C’mon, we’ve got plenty more cows to handle today. None of ‘em should be that aggressive again,” Shane said while inspecting the chute. Cody was a little shocked at how nonchalant his uncle was about what just happened. Cody headed back out to the pens to continue his job, but the slight itching on his stomach kept his mind divided. Surely nothing in a cow vaccine would be dangerous to a human right? They ate the cows in the end anyway, he thought with a slight chuckle.

Eventually the cows' persistent mooing brought them back to the present, and Cody’s thoughts slipped away from the earlier events. The work got his blood pumping, sending the vaccine’s contents all around his body. While the itch on his stomach finally subsided, a growing uncomfortable feeling was arising in his groin. The viral load had reached his balls, and while it was dormant for cows, the same couldn’t be said for Cody. It entered his cells and began making some changes down there. His balls began to swell, first to the size of walnuts before stretching his sack even more, plumping up to the size of large eggs. His newly enlarged testicles began to flood his body with more testosterone than ever before, laced with some bovine hormones.

His cock was the first to respond, twitching as it slowly grew hard, pressing against Cody’s compression underwear. His cock pulsed, head flaring as it stretched out, engorging to his full size of seven inches. Cody reached down to try and relieve some of the pressure, unaware of what was happening. He adjusted the band of his underwear, allowing more space for his cock to grow. And grow it did, pushing well past seven inches. The sensation of his throbbing member against his tight underwear was driving his body wild, even if he was distracted. His cock reached 11 inches, fully visible with a rock hard imprint in his underwear. Cody tried to adjust his growing package through his pants, oblivious to the situation below. As it capped out a glob of precum shot out of the tip, before the entire shaft thickened to a girth he could’ve only imagined before. A steady stream of precum began to flow afterward, creating an ever growing wet spot through his jeans. 

As Cody continued wrangling cattle, the steady stream of hormones from his massive balls continued to spread. An itch reappeared, but this time in his groin. He’d always kept himself clean shaven down there, but a slight shadow had appeared around the base of his cock. Clear cut hairs were starting to crop up again, a wave of short but dark stubble expanding outward. The hairs didn’t remain short for long, as his bush began to regrow with a vengeance. They pushed out of his skin, curling together as new hairs began to fill in between the old. The hairs pushed out longer and longer, weaving into a dense mat. The forest continued to spread, with thick hairs coating his low hanging balls and expanding out onto his thighs. The hairs began crawling up his lengthy shaft, covering the lower half in a furry sheath. Cody again scratched at his crotch, not noticing the dense growth from outside his jeans. As he finished up working for the day, hairs were slowly popping up further and further up, building a trail from his forested bush to his navel. The thick rug was pushing out against his compression underwear, slowly growing thicker as more hairs filled in.

Cody wiped the sweat from his forehead as his uncle was finally putting away the equipment from the day. He was more exhausted than he’d ever felt, and he didn’t believe he’d ever say that after enduring countless grueling wrestling training sessions with his coach. Thinking on them, he found it harder to recall those experiences despite his muscles aching, but he chalked it up to the brutal day he’d had. The sun was already below the horizon by the time they got back to the house. Cody figured he’d take a shower while Shane was throwing some kind of dinner together, and headed back to his room. He pulled off his hoodie and sweat-soaked shirt, revealing the crawling vine of dark hair making its way up his abs.

“What the fuck?” Cody blurted out in shock. He ran his fingers through the wiry curls exposed above his waistline. He quickly undid his belt and jeans and stuck his hand down in his underwear, deep into the lush sweaty forest that’d been absent when he pulled on his pants that morning. His jaw dropped. What the hell was happening here? He pushed his hand farther in only to find his now massive cock, and his eyes went wide. He darted into the bathroom and yanked down his underwear. In the mirror fully exposed was his flaccid nine inch cock, drooped in front of his comically large balls, all buried within the thickest bush he’d ever seen. Cody delicately handled his dangling member, and the slightest touch had it growing hard, leaking precum from the tip. He was stunned, standing there with precum spilling over one hand and the other buried in the thicket of hair.

As he stood there staring, the virus reached his brain. His panicked face slowly morphed into a grin. This was kinda hot, he thought. Who doesn’t love a massive dick, right? Cody began to rub his hands through the thick tangle of hair, feeling the curls catch around his fingers. His cock throbbed as it grew hard, reaching its full size. He grabbed it with his other hand, feeling the softer hairs that were poking out of his shaft. Cody, overcome with pleasure, let himself go. He stroked with one hand and explored his furry groin with the other. Within a minute he was ready to climax, grunting as he shot thick ropes onto the mirror. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, senses returning. He collapsed back onto the toilet behind, taking a moment to catch his breath before cleaning up his mess.

“Cody! Dinner’s on the table!” His uncle shouted from the kitchen. Cleaning would have to wait. Cody stuffed his still partially hard cock back into his tight underwear and threw on the rest of his clothes before heading out. He still had a grin plastered on his face, and Shane noticed.

“What’s got you in good spirits now, boy?”

“Aw nothin’ just proud of a good day’s work” Cody replied, suddenly caught off guard with his manner of speaking. That voice was his but didn’t sound like him, it was almost… country. No, he’d always spoken like that, he was from Texas after all. The smell of the sizzling food on the table grabbed his attention and he swiftly forgot about his concern. He scarfed the meal down, his body subconsciously needing the fuel. He suppressed a large belch before standing up, thanking Shane for the food, and heading back to his bed. Cody stripped off his shirt and jeans before flopping down onto the mattress, exhausted and stuffed. 

As he laid there, twirling his new pubes between his fingers, he let his thoughts drift back to his friends from school off on their vacations. He wasn’t as jealous anymore. In fact, maybe he was on the better end of that deal. All this manual labor was keeping him in shape for the season; getting drunk daily on the beach wouldn’t do that! His cock began to chub up at the thought of him finally putting on the mass to be at the top of his weight class. Precum leaked down his shaft and into his musky forest as Cody drifted off.

Cody woke in a sweat to a familiar banging on his door. He peeled himself off the sheets, looking at the vaguely body shaped sweat pool he’d left. He himself was also soaked. Then the  smell hit him, a musky sweaty stench had filled the room throughout the night. Cody was confused, he’d never sweat like this, not even after his gym sessions, it wasn’t even hot inside the house. He looked down at himself to see drops slowly streaming down his chest and stomach, which had grown slightly more covered with hair. He thoughtlessly scratched at his chin, fingers raking through small bristles that hadn’t been there before. With no time to ponder more he threw on some jeans and a tank top and ran out towards the barn.

Cody and Shane quickly got to work on the day’s tasks, eager to get as much done as possible before the sun got too harsh. Cody found it easier to get into what he was doing, it felt more natural somehow. As he worked up even more of a sweat than he’d woken up with, the combination of virus and testosterone got pumped around his body at an accelerated rate. The bristles on his chin began to poke out a little more; a shadow of stubble spread across his jaw and up onto his cheeks. Cody scratched at the growing stubble, not noticing the difference from his baby smooth physique before.

That smooth skin was quickly becoming a memory, as his upper lip was covered by the same shadow, dark spots turning into short hairs that pushed out longer and longer. The wiry hairs sprouting from his face grew thicker by the minute, new wisps shooting out between the maturing hairs. He’d grown into a scruffier version of himself, the shadow of stubble creeping down his neck as the hairs on his chin, upper lip, and cheeks fluffed out more.

As he worked, Cody’s arms pumped up more than usual and his legs following suit. His already well defined pecs began to feel sore as they pushed out, stretching his tank even more than usual. What had been rolling hills turned into mountains as muscle packed on. The soreness was quickly replaced with a subtle itch; the tendril of thick curls reaching up from his groin began to climb higher. Hairs shot up north of his navel, growing in a line up towards his beefier chest. His collarbone was the first to react to the cocktail of hormones surging inside him. A lone dark hair shot up over the collar of his tank. Another curled out, and then another. Wispy hairs began to crop up along the top of his chest, cresting over the neck of his tank. The beads of sweat covering his chest only seemed to fertilize more growth, matting the hairs to his skin in swirls and spirals of masculinity. Before long a rug had begun to form on his chest, hairs pushing out and puffing up his tank as it struggled against his growing body.

By mid afternoon, they’d finished everything for the day. Cody’s sudden burst of work ethic surprised Shane, who didn’t seem to notice his nephew’s burgeoning beard. Cody could feel the pump in his body, it was sore but he felt electric after working all morning.

“Whew, that went smoother than I ever figured,” Shane laughed and slapped Cody on the back. “Why don’t we enjoy a beer and take the rest of the day off.”

“Can’t say no to that I s’pose,” Cody responded with a smile. The two walked back to the house and settled out on the back porch. Shane grabbed some beers from inside and tossed one to Cody.

“Seems like you’re getting the hang of all this work around here, son. I could use a hand like yours more often!” Shane howled and cracked open his can. 

“Well, y’know, I guess I’m startin’ to enjoy it all a bit. Somethin’ about it out here makes me wanna stay,” Cody said with a heavier accent than even his uncle. Shane smiled back at him. The two chatted with a better rapport than ever as Cody downed his beer, and then another, and then two more.

His stomach gurgled as more hair spread across his stomach, fully burying his abs under a dark coat of hair. The line reached up to his chest widened, small fuzzy hairs spreading out before thickening up. Cody’s sweat covered chest followed suit. In the cleft between his pecs, hairs pressed their way out, spreading outwards as they grew in denser and darker and caught more sweat. What had been light fuzz across the wide expanse of his muscular form was corrupted by testosterone, follicles going into overdrive pushing out thicker darker hairs. The rug spread out around his nipples and upwards, merging with the hairs covering his collarbone as more continued to pop up towards his shoulders and up his neck. 

Cody was in the middle of downing another beer when a rank stench filled his nose. It was familiar, almost like the one from when he’d woken up. He lifted his arm and was greeted with a faceful of powerful body odor; his pits had become ripe and full of hours worth of sweat. He watched as the carefully shaven skin tinted dark as hairs sprouted en masse. It seemed like a waterfall in slow motion, watching the dark hairs pour out of his pit, growing longer and longer as they trapped more sweat in his damp pit. The growth spread, hairs pushing beyond the edges of his pits and growing the forest larger until it blended with the rug on his chest. His other pit itched as the same growth began to take place, a thick tuft of hair erupting. He could feel the wiry hairs pushing out between his arm and torso, growing bushier and escaping the bounds of his underarm. 

He should’ve been shocked, alarmed, panicked, anything of the sort, but instead he just stuck his hand into the damp jungle to scratch it. His fingers dug into the thick forest, digging deep to get at the sweaty skin below. Upon pulling his hand out he automatically sniffed it, as if he’d done so for a lifetime. The aroma filled his nose, the ripe stench causing his cock to shoot out a spurt of precum. The virus had gotten its foothold, altered his thinking enough to not only be nearly unaware of the changes, but to be aroused by them, to desire them. He leaned back in the chair, lifting his arms behind his head and exposing his hairy matted pits to the world.

The chair groaned under Cody as his body slowly swelled, muscles growing larger and thicker. His back popped as it grew wider, shoulders broadening as his traps and delts exploded with size. His tank top, already at its limit, began to tear at the sides where his lats were widening. Cody scratched at a slight itch on his shoulder, not thinking much of it, but the dusting of hairs on his shoulders had begun to spread, new curls cropping up all over. The wave of fur stretched from his forested chest up over his collarbone to his traps and shoulders before starting its descent. The itch crept down towards his shoulder blades as thin hairs pushed out, quickly growing from fuzz into fur. It almost looked like Cody was developing wings made of hair, as the patches knit together, creeping towards his spine to join into one hairy coat. The bristles continued working down, sprouting into thick stands that tangled together as they pushed out, growing denser as testosterone drenched each and every follicle. The burgeoning trail of hair reached his waistband, where it exploded into a sweaty tuft just above his ass. The hairs continued to fill in until his entire back was coated, a sweat-matted rug that was even curling around his sides to connect with the field of hair on his stomach. 

Cody shifted in his seat, trying to shake an uncomfortable feeling growing down in his underwear. His ass had been filling out all day, stretching his underwear to its limit, but this was different. Deep between his cheeks, thick hairs were slowly pushing out around his hole. They grew dark and wiry, tickling him as they squeezed between his massive cheeks. More hairs began to press out, surrounding his hole before spreading outwards. The shadow of loaded follicles crept over both his cheeks, and shortly after the hairs burst forth in a wave, pushing against his tight underwear as his ass disappeared beneath the growing fur. The hair continued to spread, connecting to his furry back and to his jungle of pubes which similarly thickened even more.

Cody reached down to scratch at his crotch, and paused for a moment after seeing his hand. It was much thicker than it’d been, with rough, calloused palms and thick sausages for fingers. He flipped it over and watched as a thick dark hair wormed out of his knuckle, followed by another, and in seconds there were dark tufts of hair popping up across his hand. The hairs crawled up towards his forearm, where his once soft dusting of wispy brown hairs was overrun by new dense growth. The hairs pushed out long and wove together into a puffy forest that climbed up his arm, the growth not petering out in the slightest. His beefy triceps vanished beneath the growing fur as it reached towards the thick hairs on his shoulders.

He watched the hairs overtake his once smooth and tanned skin but, rather than alarm. all Cody felt was arousal, with his cock chubbing up in his pants. He was half tempted to use that newly hairy hand to grab it, but he restrained himself. Not in front of Shane, it could wait. The sun had started to set, and as if on cue his uncle spoke up.

“Welp, better get workin’ on some supper,” he said, hoisting himself out of his chair. He left Cody out on the patio, finally giving his nephew a quiet moment to himself. Cody gazed out over the pastures, glowing in shades of orange and gold from the sunset. He could get used to it out here, he thought to himself. The desire to get back to wrestling with his team had slipped even further, he’d barely mentioned them during his and Shane’s multi-hour banter. The virus had been multiplying in his head, suppressing those neural connections in favor of those made recently on the ranch. He wanted to stay here on the ranch with the cattle, giving the virus more chance to spread to others. It would do anything to make that a reality.

Cody watched the sun slip below the horizon and headed back to his room. He tried to pull off his tank but instead it shredded, unable to cope with his massive body. He laid down on the bed, feeling the thick hairs on his back rub against the sheets. It was an electric feeling, and very quickly the bulge down there had doubled in size from the sensation. He brought one hand up to the dense rug of hair on his chest, not questioning how it’d grown since the morning, raking his fingers through the wiry swirls of hair. It felt amazing. A wet spot appeared on his jeans and grew as he stroked the thick chest hairs, before he stripped off his pants and underwear to free his fully erect cock from confinement, dribbling precum down its side.

His other hand he brought up to his face, feeling the fluffy growth. It was lighter than the rest of his new growth, but as he scratched at his cheeks he could feel new hairs poking out. The hairs grew in thicker and denser, his beard filling in as skin vanished underneath. The follicles continued to pump out hair after hair, thicker and darker than before as hormones completed his change. The beard hairs pushed out longer and longer, tangling into a solid block of hair that hid his face and neck as it grew down. The bristles poked out higher up on his cheeks, claiming as much of his face as they could. Cody was in ecstasy, feeling his beard come in around his fingers. His cock pulsed without him even needing to touch it, the testosterone coursing through his body thickening all the hairs into a seamless pelt. 

He loved his new body, his new fur, and he had to make it permanent. The virus guiding him, he reached down to his cock, his grip not even enough to surround the girth, and pumped it once up and down. With just that, Cody moaned in a newly gruff voice as he climaxed, his cock erupting with a geyser of cum. Rope after rope of thick cum landed all over his body, getting stuck in the forest of hair engulfing him. As the last load dribbled out of the tip his body relaxed, so did his old life of college and wrestling. Cody laid there, plastered with his own load as waves of pleasure echoed through his body. This was the life, he thought, still rubbing his hands through his cum soaked fur. 

Cody managed to clean himself up a bit by the time Shane called from the kitchen. He sat across from his uncle at the table while they ate, resuming the banter from earlier. At the end of the meal Cody finally decided it was time.

“Y’know Shane, I think I’d like to stick around for good.”

This story is my submission to @occamstfs 2000 follower writing challenge. Definitely my longest one yet, thanks everyone for reading to the end! I hope y'all enjoyed it, and thanks to Occam himself for the motivation, inspiration, and editing he did!

[racefortheironthrone]

What differs a Bronze Age Monarchy from a Feudal or Modern State Monarchy? For whatever reson I have always been given the impression that Bronze Age Monarchy is the ancient version of either the former or the later, but that does not sound right.

Yeah, that would be a major misconception.

Bronze Age monarchies:

were far more centralized than medieval monarchies, with large, year-round palace complexes that functioned not just as fortresses but also as judicial centers, religious centers, storehouses, state planning apparati, and so on. To operate all these various functions, they employed a large bureaucracy that had, if not a monopoly, something of an oligopoly, on literacy, numeracy, and higher learning.

were highly involved in planning the economy, from organizing irrigation and other labor-intensive farming practices to keeping detailed records on production and taxation to coordinating the complex network of international trade that regulated the flow of both key commodities like tin but also luxury goods.

had more of a monopoly on military force, especially when it came to elite units like chariots. Training an archer and a driver to work in unison with a team of horses specifically bred to the task and custom chariots was a long and expensive process that only a monarch could provide the necessary surplus food and other resources for.

were not Christian. I can't stress enough how important this was as a structural force - Bronze Age monarchs did not have to deal with a large, European-wide, literate bureaucracy, with immense cultural power, that owned more land than they did. This isn't to say that there was no interaction between the temples and the state - I've talked recently about the tendency of Bronze Age monarchs to either be god-kings or priest-kings - but that the terms of interaction between the two much more heavily favored the state.

By contrast, medieval monarchies - and I'm aware that the term is something of a moving target, because what it meant to be a king in CE 600 is very different from what it means in CE 1100 or CE 1600 - were:

decentralized. They had small, peripatetic courts, and initially almost no bureaucracy. Governing power was much more broadly distributed down to the regional and local level through feudal contracts, and it was a long and very fraught process for the monarchs to gradually wrestle that power back.

much less engaged in the economy. Aside from tariffs and monetary policy, which is important, you don't really see medieval monarchs telling peasants when to plow and which fields (outside of the monarch's own personal fiefs), because that was an interference with the decentralized manorial system. You see fewer and smaller building projects, in no small part because the monarch usually couldn't afford to do them.

had less of a monopoly on violence. While the feudal exchange was supposed to give kings military service in exchange for land, in practice feudal levies could be slow to form, quick to disperse, and very fractious about their terms of service. This meant in practice that the nobility could exercise more hard power than their nominal overlords, which is why noble revolts were a common feature. Similarly, it took a long time for the monarchs to establish the necessary fiscal architecture for assembling professional armies and then eventually turning those professional armies into standing armies and then eventually turning those armies against the nobility - and by that point, we're not really talking about the Medieval period any more.

were Christian. And while there could certainly be exceptions of Emperors who picked Popes (instead of the other way around) or kings who could weirdly judo-flip their piety into Galician-style control of their national church, over time the pendulum definitely swung in favor of the Church having more power than any one monarch. They were wealthy, their wealth tended to grow over time because they were a corporate institution that invested their profits back into the company, they had huge amounts of cultural power, they had huge amounts of political power, and so on.

[kaibutsushidousha]

Thoughts on SHIKI Tohno?

The central arrangement of Far Side is that the Toono family is always at risk of losing their human heart and involuntarily committing uncontrolled acts of violence, and the only way to prevent that is by casting away their human heart and voluntarily committing controlled acts of violence. Its tragedy is derived from how no one benefits from this arrangement and no one has the key to escape it. The biggest acting hands are also the biggest victims. The graph for that is a perfect diagonal upward.

And SHIKI is the perfect victim. Loss of agency is the thing everyone fears the most in Far Side Tsukihime. His oni blood inverted, he was invaded by Roa, and he was drugged by Kohaku. Three layers of loss of agency that he needs to fight off. Narrator Protag Shiki also has his struggles with multiple layers but never at the same time like him. It's thematic overkill, with a risk of Red Garden adding a fourth or fifth thing also wrestling for control of his mind.

All we see of SHIKI as himself is him as an 8-year-old telling his childhood friend to immediately kill him if he ever falls into a third of the state we see him at in the present day. The real human SHIKI was quiet, somber, mature, and self-aware, just like the ghost we see in Drinking Dreaming Moon. In contrast, the main personality trait he demonstrates in Tsukihime's main story is his inability to shut up. All he has is mad ramblings about Shiki's identity theft, Akiha's affections, and the morality of murder. It all feels like he's trying too hard to rationalize his irrational actions because he can't live with himself otherwise, and to say everything he feels he has to say because he doesn't know when or if he'll ever get a next opportunity to talk.

His plot part is essential and he executes it masterfully. Nasu could easily have made him cool, but he went for the wiser route of making SHIKI exactly as sad and pathetic as he needed to be. A delightfully pitiful monster almost veering on comic relief. Incoherent in a way that hurts because you need to empathize with him. Everything that can go wrong in Tsukihime went wrong for him.

[toweroftickles]

Batman Beyond Tickle Headcanons

Gotham Case File #489B-KRL

Maxine “Max” Gibson

Ticklishness Rating: 7.5/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Soles, Hips

Despite her lack of superpowers, a skilled fighter who won't hold still. She kicks and punches.

Will agree to anything he wants if Terry playfully tickles her. This doesn't happen often but she enjoys it when it does. Far more tolerant of this from Terry than from others.

Sometimes pokes Terry in the ribs when he's being too serious.

Hates her tickle laugh…she thinks her throaty cackles make her sound like an old lady. This bothers her more than tickling itself.

Always fights back skillfully during tickle wars. Her intelligence, strategic mind, and competitive streak serve her well and bring out her playful edge.

Her go-to move in a tickle fight is to pinch the sides.

Displays plenty of snark and sass regardless of her position.

Inque

Ticklishness Rating: 9/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Feet, Ribs, Thighs

Liquid morph makes tickling of any kind impossible. Matter phase distortion field is necessary to keep her in a human state.

Unused to most physical sensations, owing to near-constant viscous form. Very low tolerance for pain…and, as it turns out, for tickling.

Begs and pleads for mercy almost immediately. She’s completely crippled by tickle torture. Will surrender any information without much resistance...easy target for interrogation.

A seductress with very physical inclinations and a penchant for younger men, she occasionally enjoys playfully tickling them in her efforts. Sharp fingers would make effective tools.

Shows expert skills in teasing, taunting, and toying with her foes. A skillful tickler, if given the opportunity.

Melanie Walker/10

Ticklishness Rating: 7/10 (unfortunate lack of numerical synergy)

Most Ticklish Spots: Sides, Toes

Timid reactions: pouty, moaning giggles and submissive squirms.

Covers her face a lot.

Obviously uncomfortable with being tickled - the activity distresses her somewhat.

Lack of childhood friends & normal familial bonds may have created emotional distance from tickling. Shows no propensity toward it...the thought simply doesn't amuse her or occur to her naturally (and she certainly doesn't want to provoke any revenge).

Consequently not very fun to tickle.

Dee Dee Twins

Ticklishness Rating: 10/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Arches of Feet, Belly Buttons, Armpits

Ruthless tickle fanatics. Love to hold down (or tie up) and tickle their victims without pity.

Giggle and laugh wickedly at the mere mention of tickling.

Sadistically tickled/wrestled one another growing up, and still do.

Active online “community” members. Each has a secret stash of tickling videos & fanfics that they think the other is oblivious to.

Switches through and through, but unable to handle doses of their own medicine for long. Low resistance. Violently kick and struggle.

Claim to have "gotten it from (their) Nana Harley."

Hobby: Spouting off dad jokes and terrible puns whilst forcing their captives to laugh. This usually involves either nitrous oxide or tickle torture.

Favorite tickle tools: their fingers, backscratchers, Wartenberg wheels

Add. Notes: Contact information exchanged with the twins. They showed more enthusiasm to join my research assignment than any other subjects encountered so far. Request funds to hire interns.

Terry McGinnis/Batman

Ticklishness Rating: 6/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Abs, Ribs

More ticklish than one would expect; less ticklish than one would hope.

Not overly physically affectionate; more rough-and-tumble from growing up as a gang punk. Doesn’t really tickle anyone except Max.

More mildly-irritated by tickling than anything else. Not sensitive enough for it to be a major deterrent.

Once bound and tickle-tortured by Dee Dee in the hopes of getting information about the Batcave. (Their methods proved ineffective.)

Add. Notes: Highly-advanced WayneTech exosuit taps into the user's central nervous system, inhibiting pain and increasing reflex speed. Practical applications obvious. Reverse-engineer at earliest opportunity.

[bloodsappho]

These crosses all over my body

Remind me of who I used to be

And Christ forgive these bones I’m hiding

From noone successfully

Wrestling with God, secrets that can’t be hidden, flesh and bone. Themes established from the very outset. Of course we wonder what are these crosses, these secrets. As we will hear, violence haunts the protagonist. She is abused, she fights back, she kills. So are the crosses decorative sigils, testaments of faith worn around the neck and fingers? Are they cuts and bruises and batterings? Are they deep, inner wounds, bleeding out silently? Are they self inflicted cuts, scored with a razor into her wrists and thighs?

Self-inflicted razor wounds go much deeper than the pop-psych logic of “self-harm”. Particularly prevalent amongst young women, they attest to a body-mind that wants to open, to bleed, to have its own limits annihilated in a rush of pleasure and pain. Mortification of the flesh is particularly common in Christian culture, self-inflicted punishment for sinful thought and deed, attributed especially to women.

Camille Paglia:

“The artist makes art not to save mankind but to save himself. Every benevolent comment by an artist is a fog to cover his tracks, the bloody trail of his assault against reality and others.”

Later

“Art advances by self-mutilation of the artist.”

Hemingway claims “to write is easy, you just sit down and bleed”. Bowie claims “to be an artist is a ridiculous thing. It makes much more sense to earn money, look after your family. I don’t know why anyone would do it.” Self experience attests to artists sitting in frozen cold apartments, unable to eat properly, following a voice that nobody else can here. Addicts and artists often go hand in hand.

“These crosses all over our bodies”, the stacked wounds and traumas of war against the everyday. The great mistake of Amero-boomerist art criticism to assume that such wounds and traumas are the fault of oppressive power structures themselves. Such power structures exist to keep violent nature in a straightjacket, a state of affairs that the artist simply cannot abide by. The only advice that can ever be given to someone who is thinking about becoming an artist is “Give up now”, because the path of crucifixion is not something that can be chosen or rationally debated.

Many cultures and esoteric paths offer Gods of ecstasy and vision who undergo violent metamorphoses and stand at the crossroads of life and death: Jesus, Dionysus, Shiva and Osiris just a few. Of course the Christ myth is an evolution of the Dionysus myth, but the Christian Universalist reading comes out of Jewish linguistic totalitarianism which wants to banish the erotics of masks, idols and personas. The multiplicity and polymorphism, not to mention the perversity, of the various robes of the dying God is anathema to the priest line that wants to establish strict loyalty and sexual submission.

Judaism today has evolved to be a champion of the erotics of the eye, with many of the great figures of Hollywood Jewish artists trained in Romanticism and Expressionism who fled central Europe when the Nazis came to power in the 1930s. It is in fundamentalist Islam where we see the nightmare of Abrahamic totalitarianism most clearly, with women wrapped in rags and virgin girls offered as the heavenly reward for total submission to God.

Michael Jackson, one of the most influential and biggest selling artists of all time. One hardly ever hears his name mentioned save in scorn, and yet his traces are everywhere — the songs and dances of every popstar of the last 20 years are unmistakenly scorred by his influence. Jackson is frightening because he is, we might say, trans-everything. Massively androgynous, morphing from black to white, physically and musically, adult and child, his career is a violent and unceasing metamorphosis. He was under the knife as much as under the camera, a vanguard of celebrity plastic surgery taken to extremes, to many an angel and to many others a satanic freakshow.

The artist, condemned to create beauty at the monstrous intersections of life.

[nameinconcept-blog]

Nadom - The National Holiday

"Nadom is the Mongolian's best-loved, happiest holiday. Nadom is a nationwide popular annual event, which coincides with celebrations of the anniversary of the Mongolian People's Revolution. In Ulan Bator, the capital, Nadom starts on the central square in the morning with a military march- past and massive popular demonstration, the high point of which is a colourful gymnastics parade. In the afternoon and evening, sports grounds and stadiums, parks and gardens, open-air stages and playhouses furnish the venues."

"Yumzhagiin Tsedenbal, General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Mongolian People's Revolutionary Party and President of the Presidium of the Great People's Khural"

"Sukhe-Bator Square in Ulan Bator on People's Revolution Day, the national holiday of the Mongolian People's Republic"

"On high, scarlet banners wave And gay strains of music fill the air. Inscribed on every face. A loving pride in our country fair." D. Natsagdorzh

"With intent good and peaceful our own way we wend, The power of the people uphold and defend. But should brazen enemy dare us to attack, We have the strength in sinews to beat his hordes back." D. Natsagdorzh

"The champion and his successors"

"National-style wrestling is a top favourite that excites both young and old"

Photos and Text from the photo book "Mongolia" published by Planeta Publishers and the State Publishing House of the Mongolian People's Republic. 1983

[fateandloveentwined]

Characterising Valjean: masks and struggles

Okay, so jvj's sudden intense self-deprecation towards the end of part five has always eluded me. Like, where did that come from? Hadn’t he already turned over a new leaf with the bishop and with Cosette?

Les mis has many themes, but if we cast aside all the themes focusing on french insurgencies and her people, abstract grace and love and Progress, at the heart of the brick we find her characters, and to look at Valjean, perhaps there are two things that explain his abject self-deprecation and wretchedness/misery which were so pivotal to his last chapters in the book and central to his overarching character.

below has absolutely no regard for spoilers proceed with caution lol thanks

I. Masks and veneers.

It is my sorry fate that, only ever able to command respect that is fraudulently obtained, that respect humiliates me and inwardly oppresses me, and if I’m to have any self-respect others must despise me.

cough erik poto

As stated patently in his final ruminations, JVJ never considered himself successful. Everything he did which he was respected and lauded for, it was attributed to disguised versions of himself, Monsieur Madeleine and Fauchelevent. As valjean he never achieved anything of worth, he was terrified in his first days in paris hiding from javert's pursuit and finding the convent, he never felt anything of worth as valjean but a criminal and convict pursued for the entirety of his life.

Throughout the book, he lived a struggle between accepting valjean and donning another disguise that would be some other benevolent man: the extensive deliberations on his way to Arras (who am I?), his timidity after Cosette's marriage in which he deemed his work done — either he is to don a new identity or resume the one he hid away for the many past years; towards the end, as Cosette and Marius were increasingly besotted with each other, he withdrew, letting Javert arrest him again under conditions — he resigned to the resumption of his fugitive identity.

In all these years, his convicted past self loomed over him unfailingly, especially considering his canonical rearrest after Fantine’s death — in spite of all the good he did in the world he was never, in essence, a free man of his mind.

Which brings us to our second point.

II. Jacob's wrestle

The terrible struggle of old, of which we have already seen several phases, began once more. Jacob wrestled with the angel for only one night. Alas! how many times have we seen Jean Valjean forced to grapple with his conscience in the dark, and struggling frantically against it!

The bring him home reprise in the finale is SO poignant, even more so than the original number because of what it truly meant to Valjean in the book. The musical "redeemed" many characters by painting them in a better light: Javert, with his misguided understanding of religion vs. reading the law as bible; Eponine, with her scream saving jvj's household at Rue Plumet. As for jvj, his many wrestles with faith were downplayed for the sake of simplification, going as far as to him praying earnestly for Marius’ life at the barricades in the musical when in the book, let’s face it, he was physically saving Marius but in his mind he probably didn't understand why he was doing something so foolish.

Predestined fates do not all follow a direct route. They do not run straight before the one who is predestined. They have dead ends, blind alleys, obscure turnings, daunting crossroads offering several alternative routes.

And so with the musical where all these mental struggles were downplayed, in the book he wrestled with the faith he has chosen, first during his torturously slow tread to Arras (who am I?), his ruminations on Marius (akin to heart full of love reprise), and his final confession to Marius — so many times had he struggled; there's the idea that God redeemed him through the bishop, and he did good as a man — yet still why had his life been so tortured and full of agony? At first I questioned the use of the title “the miserables/the wretched” — for les amis de l’ABC, the destitute people of the republic, I could see their wretchedness, but for Valjean — as the main character, why was the title so unfitting of the main character? But no. Internally he was wretched, he was pitiable and miserable, and in the aura of his bring him home we forget about his moments of wrath flung out about his faith and life philosophy, blunt anger at the injustice not of the world but of how his life had been — unredeemed, in spite of; the arrant, incomprehensible fear of being pursued and hunted, the resignation to his fate at the very end: moments at the sewers, before javert and before the loving newlyweds.

As such so profound it is, towards his final moments in the musical he reprises “God on high” and prays to bring himself home, he yields to the things in life he doesn’t like and defers to God’s judgement, the faith he has followed on and the bargain he has made so many long years ago — it was not at Arras that his soul truly belonged to God, it was at these final moments where he prays that he has lived his faith through — and that was when I felt jvj’s character fully unravelled.

It was a starless night and extremely dark. No doubt, in the shadows, some immense angel stood with wings outspread, awaiting his soul.

---

oops this has gone on for way too long but i was itching to dissect jvj and have put it off for so long since reading the book i just had to do it for myself anyway.

Also living for all the nonexistent COMC Edmond Dantes and JVJ crossovers because discounting the timeline they share too many similarities in knowledge acquisition imprisonment and faith and pretences to not have met and had many an interesting tete-a-tete.

*quotes taken from christine donougher's translation. explains my tendency to use wretched over miserable lol.

[spdk1]

REVIEW: Central States Wrestling - We're Not in Kansas Anymore (2024)

A Live professional Wrestling event from CSW About a month ago, I had the pleasure of attending Central States Wrestling – We’re not in Kansas Anymore, a fittingly named event as the company was compelled to relocate across the state line due to issues with armory rentals in Kansas. This is a recurring issue I’ve discussed in previous reviews, plaguing numerous wrestling shows in this area – the…

[survivalist-anon]

Log 15: Heresy City

Rolling into town was a more complicated matter for the Imperial Fists and the boys. For it was not just a matter of parking space for a bus that could accommodate a whole football team, but a matter of size in general. The world was not built for Astartes their size.

It was a challenge alone for Wick to stay hidden, this was a Herculean task for the group. Parking their car roughly 5 mi away from a road down Blue Diamond Road, the walk to the nearest Casino was... strange to say the least.

Dressed in civilian clothing, the men accidentally looked more intimidating as a group. Following a signal tracking Wick, by a tracking device placed by Aldercon for security, Bilhard follows it intensively. Well Moors had stayed behind to guard the bus, Cahrilo, Sten and Toke follow close behind.

"How much further is that blasted Wick?!", Toke had been complaining about the heat, not for any good reason either, although he's not fully affected by the weather, it is still uncomfortable for him to deal with the heat without his power armor cooling him off.

Sten, more accustomed to the weather from his time traveling to warmer States throughout his time here on Earth, it's not really share Toke's adversion with the weather. "Yield your temper battle brother, tis small yet more populated city, I am certain we will be able to find him.".

Bilhard suddenly found that Wick's signal was on the move, not as fast as he anticipated but fast enough to see that he was mobile. "He's further down the metropolitan area. Hopefully he makes a stop long enough that we can pinpoint his location.".

Cahrilo was enjoying the stroll down the hot road. He looked towards some of the buildings within as line of sight, large thematic casinos, the sound of bustling cars and what he can clearly tell was plenty of activity. "Hopefully we well not attract too much attention.". He glances over one of the electrical billboards and notices that there was an advertisement for the South Point casino's most anticipated event of the year, the 'World Wrestle-ton'. "Perhaps maybe we will blend in better if the populace believes we are performers?".

The others looked over at the billboard, "well what a shame, Moor's probably would have enjoyed this mission if it weren't for him prioritizing the bus.", Bilhard knew that Moors along with a few others back at Fort Dorn had become accustomed with life on Earth to the point of enjoying what the planet has to offer in terms of entertainment and leisure. Along with modifying automotive and military vehicles, Moor's also enjoyed watching programs such as wrestling and sports.

It was not a surprise to anyone, but it takes a considerable amount of time for an Astartes to discover what entertains them. Some can go for decades without actively pursuing anything close to a hobby. Some immediately discover upon even witnessing the interest. It is fairly easy for an angel of the emperor to forget the notion of being 'human', a constant state of war in battle will facilitate such an issue.

Toke and Sten had become alert due to the incoming influx of auditory pollution and the potpourri of smells coming from the city.

Although Sten was a more experienced veteran, he was on high alert. "Something about this place....feels foreboding.", as he warns the others, an electric advertisement and quickly shifted to promoting a new upcoming masked wrestler from Central Mexico, 'El Nino'.

It may have not been obvious to a mortal human, but to any self-respecting Astartes, 'El Nino' had unfortunately familiar proportions.

Toke was more excited about the potential experience to come. "Aye, it's probably just a really ugly mortal. I mean we've seen a few before, Sten."

"I am certain we may not have much to fear, we just need to retrieve Wick, leave, and prepare ourselves for Wick's dressdown.", Cahrilo shrugged.

"Dress down?", Toke questioned.

Bilhard, "Lock it up, we're heading into the main street.", the four men stood out from the crowd just enough to be spotted as a group.

The looks and gawking of passerbys had a very different feel from those who were marveled at the sight of armored Astartes. Out of their armor, they were as bizarre and no more extraordinary as side show performers. In Las Vegas, this will work to their advantage.

"I don't get it, why are these mortals just staring at us.", he flashes his fangs at a ticket peddler for a split second before he could even begin to bother them.

"Mortals on this planet are not use to our presence. Aldercon after a few decades discovered the hard way. Here, we must stay hidden as much as we can. In the heavily wooded state of Oregon, we can move about rather freely...here...well...", Bilhard polited refused another peddler attempted to push advertisements for strip clubs, discounted promotional tickets. "This is were we come in. In highly populated areas, we retrieve loyalists and and dispose of any traitors to the Imperium. However in recent years....we have had to bend what defines chaos here....all of this," as he he shows the slowly lighting glows of the neon lights of Las Vegas in the late afternoon, "Is heresy to us...but it is.... leisure, business and...", all four become a bit distracted with a few dancers promoting the burlesque shows around the front of the Palazzo, "pleasure".

Toke and Sten look at each other, starting to piece together that there was a distinct reason why mortals were attracted to this place.

Cahrilo on the other hand, still rather young for his rank, was a little more distracted, "well....it's all in innocent fun from what we can see....but this place does attract the more...sorted crowd."

"What kind of sorted crowd? Cultists? Chaos traitors? Xenos?", Toke inquired.

"So far we haven't found any Xenos nor have we found...well...what we define as cultists or any cultists activities. Our sources outside of the state have theorized due to our exposure to the warp. We are the only ones that come to this place....well....at least it is confirmable.", Bilhard had been having trouble locating Wick through his tracking device, until it had become redundant to do so.

Another electric billboard appeared promoting Sleen's Greek mythology themed acrobatics show, "The Pantheon", as the imagines of the show had flashed on the wide screen. A quick clip of Selene gracefully defying gravity on top of a large representation of earth itself....with a familiar frame.

Sten was intrigued but wasn't surprised, "....so....I see he is .... artistically inclined."

"why is wearing a fracking towel? Also what is that on his head? Is...he dressed up like Primarch Gilliman?", Toke squinting to understand what he was looking at.

Cahrilo was a bit worried, he knew Wick was a little bit more adventurous when it came to his personal intrigues. However, to actively do something of this level was unheard of even within the ranks of the Raven Guard themselves. If Wick was of the Blood Angels or Emperor's Children chapters this would more understandable.

Bilhard was the only one of the group that have had a inclination on why Wick had gone to to lengths of exposing himself this way. ".... something is happening here....at least we know where we can find him now. There.", him pointing to the Paris Casino couldn't have been more unnecessarily dramatic, but dramatic actions call for dramatic antics.

At the door of the entrance, again onlookers stealing side eyes and glances at the group of overly tall, muscular men. The noses of Toke and Sten had begun to crinkle. The smell of cigarettes was just as part of the air as the oxygen around.

"ESCK! What is that foul stench?", Toke was surprisingly taken back by the smoke.

Sten as well could barley handle the overbearing oder himself. "This place is adhorrant, how can anyone even remain here?".

The two imperial fists were not too surprised of the smokey smell either, they were use to smelling strong, chemical odors. Cigarette smoke was nothing in comparison to what the both had inhaled on accident.

"I shall get us rooms here. We shall complete our mission in morning with the likely hood of running into Wick now astronomically higher.", Bilhard initiated.

Cahrilo walked ahead of Bilhard to beat him to the front desk. "Pardon me, would you happen to have four rooms available?". He gave a friendly smile that almost sent the front-desk clerk swooning.

"Ah l-let me check.", he quickly tries to find some rooms, that unfortunately weren't available. "Ohhh I'm so sorry sir, but we only have one available at the moment for last second check-in.", his friendly smile was more apologetic to the inconvenience.

Cahrilo awkwardly looked back at Bilhard and the boys. "Ugh....", turning back to the clerk, "How...big....is the room?".

The look on the clerk's face was understandably blank. "Hm...you know something I've never thought about that let me check."

After a few minutes, a room had been arranged so to speak.

"....I feel like Groxen in a shipping cart.", Toke, managing to sit on the bed, woefully.

Cahrilo, his back pressed on to Toke's bad, actively proving how small the room was with the four of them in. "Well, it's just for us to stay in for a night or two.".

"Well, now we must go and find Wick. If he is an active performer here in this establishment than I'm certain we can locate him.", Bilhard was attempting to message one of the battle brothers back home in order to find an internal map of the casino.

Sten had been meditating, being a Rune priest, he was sure to find Wick without having to notify anyone. "Hold on one second Bilhard, let me locate him.".

Bilhard had forgotten about that fact, "oh...have you found him?"

Sten hesitated to answer, "I believe so.....I keep seeing rather lude and lascivious visions of....well...I can say that he has been rather busy."

Toke and Cahrilo look at Sten.

Sten, now actively distracted by the both of them staring at him, "...."

"....c'mon, what are the details.", Toke frankly spoke.

"yes.... please do not hold back", Cahrilo more curious than actively being cheeky.

"LET HIM CONCENTRATE.", boomed Bilhard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My plan worked beautifully, everyone had successfully done their part.

Selene had been preparing for the show, I had been putting my...I do not want to call it a costume. Everyone was preparing for the show as scheduled....until the door nearly flew off it's hinges.

"WHERE THE HELL IS THAT LUMBERING, OVER GROWN WEASEL?!?!", Sleen....has returned.

"AND WHERE THE FUCK IS ANGELINA?!?", he growled by this point. A bumbling barbarian.

I pretended to look occupied, but very much ready to defend my fellow costars.

"Oh Good evening Mr.Sleen.", acting innocent as always, Angelina and her twin had been my best centerfolds for this plan. I owe them a great deal of gratitude.

"DON'T YOU "Good evening Mr.Sleen" ME YOU LITTLE -", the second I saw his hands, I decided to merely stand up from my seat. ".....there you are.....you sleezy.... greasy.....Adam Driver knockoff......you.... DISCOUNTED KEANU REEVES.....I know youre behind all of this....when I find out how...I will reserve a pleasant little plot of MANURE smackdab in the middle OF ARIZONA FOR YOU." brave of him to be poking me with that blushed baby carrot of an appendage he had the misfortune to associate as a finger on to my bare abdominals.

"....I was here in the hotel...doing nothing.", not my most convincing tone...but it was not like as if I could just reduce him to a partially liquefied mess on the floor this very second.

Sleen has the bravery to grab.... whatever he could of my tunic around my belt. I actually felt afraid of him tearing it off. It was a great overbearing deal of embarrassment to wear such a gaudy toga. It was worse to experience Sleen just ripping it off out of sheer anger.

"Do you have any idea the ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT I HAD TO DEAL WITH FOR THREE HOURS BEFORE GETTING BACK TO YOU BOZOS?!?!?", oh fantastic he was going to waste our precious oxygen to relive what I can only imagine was a mild inconvenience to a rational person.

"You! You told me to find this FUCKING BLOCK OF WET CONCRETE-", the battle brothers back home will be entertained for weeks once I have the time make the extended list of wonderful insults I have collected from Sleen alone, "-was at the Gold&Silver pawnshop to sell something and I spent my expensive time there because NONE OF THOSE FAT CLOWNS COULD ANSWER my questions. "Oh the best I can do is $170 for information" PHOOEY. lousy con artists, the LOT OF THEM.", I personally was enjoying Sleen's excessive tantrum.

He then turns to Selene, already use to his terrible outbursts, has not even once acknowledged him.

"oh...my little birdie, Selene....and where... prey tell is Hans?", the second I saw him about to lay his filthy hand on her I was ready to take to him up to the rafters and devour his head.

Yet, Selene's awe inspiring resolve and quick grace had avaided him by standing up from her vanity to complete putting her costume. "Oh...bonjour Mr.Sleen....Hans was with me for some time...and followed another girl. I had met with the others at the shopping plaza and came right back to my room for a nap.".

Sleen had not expecting such a quick reaction. "Hmm..a nap...figures ....".

I felt a quick tap on my arm, "Hey, pst, homes....what are you doing with the costume rack?", I had noticed I had accidentally crushed the metal pipe that the rack had been constructed by.

I was slipping. I need to concentrate on the show for tonight, so I can commence the next part of my plan. "...oops."

Tulio knew of my extraordinary nature, but to trust him with too much information was a risk I sadly can not take.

"Anyway.....GET BACK TO WORK! I don't want any more funny business do you all understand m-", Dylan, the show director comes in to purposely interpret Sleen. I always enjoy their banter. Considering Sleen would ruin his vision every step of the way. I had planned something different Sleen....courtesy of the years of abuse he would give to Dylan.

"Sir, I just want to tell you of some...well plot changes. Since our previous 'Artemis' quit and Hans is no where to be found...may I make one tiny...little incy wincy change in casting?", he gave a false smile.

Sleen could already smell something was wrong. "What...is it....also this better be a blockbuster hit the show starts in 2 hours.", he snorted.

"well... people are sooooo into reimaginings of mythology, there like a super awesome play with some Epic emotional beats and I was wondering if you know...have Orion...dance with Artemis during the last act? Instead of, like ew yikes, implying she was raped by him? I eck, so third century B.C.E.", Dylan was an essential and eccentric part of my plan. It was easy to convince him, it is understandable since he has been emotionally and physically lonely for a while.

My offerings of gentle kindness was all it had taken. He is another soul I owe, for he was not only risking his job, he was risking his reputation.

"...why? Didn't he fuck Artemis in the stories?", Sleen's vision of mythology was a depravity worthy of being considered heresy. Even Slenessh's more cruel deviants wouldn't find any sensibility in his show.

Dylan, visibly frustrated, "listen, it's bad enough I had to designs these brightly color preschool productions outfits that I SWEAR the cease and desist letters won't stop because of it. We're having WAY too many young audience members today and I think we should keep the production at the very least "PG 13", if you wanted a snuff film you could have driven to the shady part of town and boom you have your high production porno there." Oddly enough, he was the only soul who could talk to Sleen the way he did without any harm be felling on to him.

Sleen was many terrible things, but a fool in respects to the prospect of losing money was not one of them, " ok I'll bite...who did you have in mind to play Orion?".

Oh how I could sing my inner joy of watching Sleen fall to his knees in protest when he heard my name from Dylan's lips.

"Boss, Sleen bean, listen, you already have him wearing like.... seriously is that a table cloth, oh I don't care, you might as well have him wear the leotard besides it is just for tonight and people pay good money to watch big sexy men so big sexy shows, ok stop wiping your tears in my CELINE faux leather pants your leaving some weird residue.", he looked down on Sleen, who had just started crying.

"You... EVIL.... little Twink.", he uttered bitterly with tears.

"Mr. Sleen that's 'Mr. Evil Little Twink' to you, I'm a professional.", I was not certain what a 'twink' was...but I could only imagine how much bravery and valor they have when facing their foes to fell them in battle.

End of log 15

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster @starfrost740

@squishyowl @sleepyfan-blog @lawnchair86

[nerdygaymormon]

This Tumblr Ask is mostly an excuse to interact with another human. I hope you don’t mind.

Would you say Mormonism has a better history of changing entrenched stances than other religions?

Of the religions which don’t currently perform same sex marriages, which do you think will start in the next 100 years?

Who would you guess is going to be the central orbit in your afterlife: you or your husband?

Over the past 20 years, Salt Lake City Utah has had some of the best numbers regarding changes in racial diversity and home prices in the nation. A generation ago this relationship (then known as “White Flight”) was a major and very sad problem many municipalities faced. Is Mormonism in Florida making lives better for Black people?

These are interesting questions.

—————————

Would you say Mormonism has a better history of changing entrenched stances than other religions?

Mormonism believes in on-going revelation, and its top leader is considered to be a prophet and we also have apostles. In other words, the structure is one which suggests change is an ongoing feature of this church. Compared to where the LDS Church was in 1830 or even 1960, much has changed.

Despite this, it seems to me to be slower than others when it comes to reconsidering "entrenched stances." It didn't allow full participation by Black members until 1978. Every few years it seems to take another small step or two towards equality for women, but the slow pace of change makes it feel like it's falling further behind much of Christendom.

I think the reason for this church being slow to progress forward is that it raises questions about the role of the prophet and apostles. If the past leaders were wrong about race or the inclusion of women, what might the current leaders be wrong about? Undermining the authority & teachings of past leaders calls into question the authority & teachings of the current leaders. Can I disregard what they're saying on LGBTQ+ topics because I believe there'll be further revelation and change, even if the current leaders say that the current teachings won't change, just like the past leaders said there wouldn't be change?

The current workaround is that doctrine doesn't change, but policies do. While I know many consider the LDS Church's teachings on gender and marriage to be doctrine, they have changed many times and therefore I think of them as policies.

—————————

Of the religions which don’t currently perform same sex marriages, which do you think will start in the next 100 years?

One of the ways churches create an identity for themselves is by what they stand for. They also can define themselves by what they are against. Unfortunately, for hundreds of years Christianity has adopted being anti-gay/anti-queer as part of the definition of what it means to be Christian. Changing this identity is difficult.

There are Christian denominations wrestling with accepting same-sex marriages. Changing their stance has roiled their denominations. While many are thrilled, some traditionalists are alarmed & dismayed and whole congregations vote to leave that particular denomination.

I think this study showing the changing acceptance of gay marriage by religions in the United States is fascinating. I think it predicts most religions in the United States will ultimately accept queer people and same-sex marriages.

This chart shows that the Latter-day Saints moved the most in the past 8 years, from 27% to 50%. This is very much related to LGBTQ+ members coming out, especially teenagers and those in their 20's. Also, we have had a wave of adults who came out & left their mixed-orientation marriages. It's been a big, messy process, but now it seems most everyone knows or is related to a Mormon/ex-Mormon who is out as LGBTQ+. Which underlines that when people actually know queer folks and hear our stories, it changes hearts.

—————————

Who would you guess is going to be the central orbit in your afterlife: you or your husband?

Gosh, I don't know how to answer this. I'm not sure what this means to be the "central orbit" of my afterlife.

Considering I'm single and don't have a husband, I will have to say that it won't be my husband. Although, if I'm lucky, maybe one day my marriage status will change

—————————

Over the past 20 years, Salt Lake City Utah has had some of the best numbers regarding changes in racial diversity and home prices in the nation. A generation ago this relationship (then known as “White Flight”) was a major and very sad problem many municipalities faced. Is Mormonism in Florida making lives better for Black people?

It's interesting you speak of Salt Lake City as racially diverse. When I visit, I notice the lack of such diversity. I suppose compared to where it was, it is becoming more diverse, but so is the United States.

Utah is the 34th most racially and ethnically diverse state in the nation, putting it in the bottom half of states. Forty percent of the state’s growth since 2010 has come from racial and ethnic minority populations, who are expected to account for one in three Utahns by 2060. In contrast, it is projected by 2040 that the United States is expected to have no race or ethnic demographic which is more than 50% of the population, making us a majority minority nation.

So yes, Salt Lake City and Utah are becoming more diverse, but still lags far behind the United States as a whole.

As for your question whether Mormonism in Florida is making lives better for Black people, I don't think so. I also wouldn't say we're making life worse.

I know we have talked about being more welcoming of Black people and have had some committees in my local area to discuss what changes we can make in our congregations or what contribution we can make to the Black community in the area. I'm not aware of any sustained efforts to make changes or to partner with local organizations.

Our congregations in Florida may look more diverse than the average congregation in Utah, but typically they're not as diverse as the neighborhoods where we are located. We have much room for improvement in making a space where all feel welcome and that this is their spiritual home.

[misfitwashere]

November 21, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

NOV 22

Today, former Florida representative Matt Gaetz withdrew his name from consideration for the office of attorney general. He did so shortly after CNN told him that they were going to report that the House Ethics Committee had been told there were witnesses to yet another sexual encounter between Gaetz and a minor in 2017. There was already evidence that he had sent more than $10,000 to two women who later testified in sexual misconduct investigations. The notes explaining the payments said things like: “Love you,” “Being my friend,” “Being awesome,’ and “flight + extra 4 u.” 

Trump transition spokesperson Alex Pfeiffer told Will Steakin of ABC News that discussions of Gaetz’s payments “are meant to undermine the mandate from the people to reform the Justice Department.” 

Gaetz’s withdrawal turns attention to Trump’s pick for secretary of defense, Pete Hegseth. As host of the weekend edition of Fox & Friends, Hegseth has no relevant experience to run a crucial United States government department, let alone one that oversees close to 3 million personnel and a budget of more than $800 billion. 

According to Heath Druzin of the Idaho Capital Sun, Hegseth has close ties to an Idaho Christian nationalist church that wants to turn the United States into a theocracy. 

Jonathan Chait of The Atlantic did a deep dive into Hegseth’s recent books and concluded that Hegseth “considers himself to be at war with basically everybody to Trump’s left, and it is by no means clear that he means war metaphorically.” Hegseth’s books suggest he thinks that everything that does not support the MAGA worldview is “Marxist,” including voters choosing Democrats at the voting booth. He calls for the “categorical defeat of the Left” and says that without its “utter annihilation,” “America cannot, and will not, survive.” 

Like Gaetz, Hegseth is facing stories about sexual assault. Yesterday, officials in Monterey, California, released a police report detailing a 2017 sexual assault complaint against Hegseth. The report recounts chilling details of a drunk Hegseth blocking a California woman from leaving a hotel room and then sexually assaulting her. A nurse reported the alleged assault after the woman underwent a rape exam. Hegseth says the encounter was consensual, but he paid the woman a settlement in exchange for a nondisclosure agreement. He was never charged.

Trump’s pick for secretary of education, Linda McMahon, is also short on experience in the field of the department she has been tapped to oversee. She once incorrectly claimed to have a bachelor’s degree in education when she was trying to get a seat on the Connecticut Board of Education and is known primarily for her work building World Wrestling Entertainment. And she, too, has been entangled in a sex abuse scandal. In October, five men filed a lawsuit claiming that she and her husband, Vince McMahon, were aware that former ringside announcer Melvin Phillips was assaulting “ring boys” who were as young as 13.

A spokesperson for the Trump transition said of McMahon’s misrepresented credentials: “These types of politically motivated attacks are the new normal for nominees ready to enact President Trump’s mandate for common sense that an overwhelming majority of Americans supported two weeks ago.”

But Trump’s pick for director of national intelligence makes McMahon look like a prize. As military scholar Tom Nichols points out in The Atlantic, former representative TulsI Gabbard is “stunningly unqualified” to oversee all of America’s intelligence services, including the Central Intelligence Agency. Nichols notes that her constant parroting of Russian talking points and her cozying up to Syrian dictator Bashar al-Assad make her “a walking Christmas tree of warning lights” for our national security.  

Former Republican governor of South Carolina Nikki Haley suggested that Gabbard is “a Russian, Iranian, Syrian, Chinese sympathizer” who has no place at the head of American intelligence. A Russian state media presenter refers to Gabbard as “our girlfriend” and as a Russian agent.

And then there is Trump’s tapping of Robert Kennedy Jr. to head the Department of Health and Human Services. Kennedy has no training in medicine or public health and, in addition to being a prominent critic of the vaccines that have dramatically curtailed disease and death in the U.S., is an outspoken critic of the Food and Drug Administration, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and the National Institutes of Health.

There are a number of ways to think about Trump’s appointments. The people he has picked  have so little experience in the fields their departments handle that Erin Burnett of CNN suggested that he is simply choosing them from “central casting”—a favorite phrase of his—to look as he imagines such officials should. Indeed, as Zachary B. Wolf of CNN pointed out, while President Joe Biden vowed to make his Cabinet look like America, Trump’s picks look “exactly like Fox News.” Trump has actually tapped a number of television hosts for different positions. 

That so many of his appointees have histories of sexual misconduct is also striking, and underlines both that they share his determination to dominate others and that they do not think rules and laws apply to them. 

But there is another pattern at work, as well. In a piece he published on November 15 in his “Thinking about…” newsletter, scholar of authoritarianism Timothy Snyder explained that destroying a country requires undermining five key zones: “health, law, administration, defense, and intelligence.” The nominations of Kennedy, Gaetz, Hegseth, and Gabbard, as well as the tapping of billionaires Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy to run the so-called Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE, to destroy the administration of the government, are, according to Snyder, a “decapitation strike.” 

“Imagine that you are a foreign leader who wishes to destroy the United States,” Snyder writes. “How could you do so? The easiest way would be to get Americans to do the work themselves, to somehow induce Americans to undo their own health, law, administration, defense, and intelligence. From this perspective,” he explains, “Trump's proposed appointments—Kennedy, Jr.; Gaetz; Musk; Ramaswamy; Hegseth; Gabbard—are perfect instruments.  They combine narcissism, incompetence, corruption, sexual incontinence, personal vulnerability, dangerous convictions, and foreign influence as no group before them has done.”

But that destruction of the United States is so far still aspirational. The constant references to Trump’s supposed “mandate” are misleading. He did not win 50% of the vote, meaning that more voters chose someone other than Trump in the 2024 election than voted for him, and even many of his voters appear to have misunderstood his policies. 

According to Jonathan Karl of ABC News, Trump’s loyalists have tried to shore up support for his nominees in the Senate by threatening the Republican senators: "If you are on the wrong side of the vote, you’re buying yourself a primary. That is all. And there’s a guy named Elon Musk who is going to finance it.” 

That threat is a direct assault on the Constitution, which gives to the Senate the power to advise the president on senior appointments and requires their consent to a president’s choices, and one that also hands the U.S. government over to an international billionaire. Forcing a leader’s political party to get into line behind that leader is the first task of an authoritarian, who needs that unified support in order to attack political opponents. 

But, so far, the threat hasn’t worked: it could not save Gaetz in the face of public outcry. 

Almost as soon as Gaetz withdrew his name, Trump presented former Florida attorney general Pam Bondi as his replacement for the attorney general post. In March 2016, Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington (CREW) found that the Trump Foundation illegally donated $25,000 to support Bondi at a time when she was considering joining a lawsuit against Trump University. Her office ultimately decided not to join the lawsuit. 

Bondi defended Trump in his first impeachment trial, during which she was a frequent guest on the Fox News Channel. She supported Trump’s campaign to insist—falsely—that he won the 2020 presidential election. She is also a registered lobbyist for Qatar. 

Meanwhile, Republican perceptions of the economy have changed abruptly. As Philip Bump of the Washington Post notes, since Trump’s election, there’s been a 16-point drop in the percentage of Republicans who say they were doing worse a year ago than they are now. 

While that change is due to Trump’s election, in fact Biden’s policies continue to deliver. White House press secretary Karine Jean-Pierre told reporters today that for the second year in a row, the average price of a Thanksgiving dinner has fallen. According to the American Farm Bureau, that price fell 5% this year, with the cost of turkey down 6%. Gasoline to travel for the holiday is also down to its lowest point in more than three years, by about 25 cents per gallon since this time last year, falling to below $3.00 a gallon in almost 30 states. 

Tonight, Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo suggested that Americans should keep scorecards of the country’s economic numbers, “charting where inflation, unemployment and GDP were at the end of Biden’s term and regularly updating it with Trump’s latest numbers.” He noted that “the country is now covered with embryonic factories, businesses, economic redevelopment projects and more courtesy of Joe Biden’s CHIPS act and the Inflation Reduction Act,” and predicted that Trump will claim credit for all Biden accomplished. 

Keeping track would help preserve those projects in the face of threatened Republican cuts and at the same time prevent Trump from being able to claim more credit for his administration than it has earned. 

—

[tjkl895]

(https://www.sjanickiphoto.com/2023-2024-College-Wrestling/2024-02-23-Michigan-State-Vs-Central-Michigan/125-157lbs-Michigan-State-Vs-Central-Michigan-22324/i-Pxjhw2J)

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION MAGAZINE: December 1995

LIVING RAW 

AN OVERVIEW OF CABLE’S MOST EXPLOSIVE PROGRAM

BY KEITH ELLIOR GREENBERG

World Wrestling Federation ring announcer Howard Finkel remembers the pangs of anticipation he felt as he watched the television crew rig up the lights in New York’s Manhattan Center before the first broadcast of Monday Night Raw on January 11, 1993. “It was something we were going to embark on,” he recalls, his deep voice rising in a theatrical pitch. “No one knew what was going to happen. We were going live over the air, and I had this sense that Monday Night Raw was going to be really different from anything that the fans had ever seen before.” 

Finkel’s instincts proved to be correct. For nearly three years, devotees of the World Wrestling Federation have stopped whatever they were doing and flicked on USA Network on Monday nights to keep track of the twists and turns in the neverending saga that is the mat wars. With its animated crowds, blaring lights, stirring music and frenzied wrestling action, Monday Night Raw has evolved into the highest-rated weekly series on cable television today. 

“All the elements came together,” explains the show’s producer Jennifer Good, “the quality of the matches, the motivation of the wrestlers, the graphics, the music, the lighting, the enthusiasm of the crowd.”

As the 1995-1996 season kicked off in September, some big plans were underway for Monday Night Raw. Bowing to popular demand, the World Wrestling Federation and USA Network agreed to rerun broadcasts on Thursday nights for fans who may have missed the mayhem earlier in the week. And, as this issue was going to press, serious discussions were underway to debut a bi-monthly Raw magazine. 

To be sure, the pandemonium broadcast on Monday Night Raw has been significant enough to fill a library. Among the memorable episodes: Razor Ramon’s famous loss to the then-unheralded 1-2-3 Kid; Jerry “The King” Lawler’s verbal onslaught on Bret Hart’s parents in the audience in the middle of a show; Finkel’s managing the Bushwhackers against Well Dunn; Bret joining forces with actor William Shatner; Bam Bam Bigelow’s challenge of football great Lawrence Taylor; Bertha Faye’s nose breaking sneak-attack on Alundra Blayze just seconds after she won the World Wrestling Federation Women’s Championship; Bob Backlund’s placing the chicken wing on former World Wrestling Federation Magazine writer Lou Gianfrido; Sid’s assault on the Heartbreak Kid Shawn Michaels the day after WrestleMania XI; and the British Bulldog’s shocking ambush of Diesel before the pair was scheduled to battle Men on a Mission.

The end result of these incidents is a viewership of nearly five million people just in the United States, where the program is broadcast in both English and Spanish. Throughout Central and South America, the show is seen on USA’s sister station USA-Latin America. Additionally, Monday Night Raw is now watched on various outlets around the globe. 

“I think what makes Monday Night Raw so unique is its energy,” says Good. “It’s out of control. We like to say that anything can happen, and it usually does, but that’s not a cliche–it’s really true. Monday Night Raw is like a steam train rolling down the tracks.” 

Everybody  associated with the program seems to have a favorite Raw moment. 

Announcer Todd Penttengill still gets excited reminiscing about “an unknown 1-2-3 Kid defeating Razor Ramon. You have to understand: The 1-2-3 Kid had a losing record up to that point. With that one victory, he became a star. Now, that was a moment–a moment in time.”

Lawler giggles at his excursion into the stands during a Bret Hart-Bam Bam Bigelow contest. As Bret’s parents, Stu and Helen, watched their son in the ring, the self-proclaimed King began peppering them with insults. “I told Helen she was so old she remembers when the Dead Sea was just sick,” Lawler howls. “I said when she gave birth to Bret, she got a ticket for littering.”

Hearing the offensive fusillade, Hart bailed out of his match–and his feud with Lawler commenced.

World Wrestling Federation Magazine editor Vince Russo long regretted his sending Gianfriddo to the arena to interview Bob Backlund. Backlund called Gianfriddo into the ring, clamped on the chicken wing and nearly put an end to the reporter’s pastime as a competitive bodybuilder. 

Now that Gianfriddo has fully recovered, Russo is able to laugh about the exchange. “When Louie got chickenwinged, he became a part of Raw history,” the editor says. “With his arm in a sling, he wrote a story that was infinitely more up-close and personal than anything that I had ever read anywhere.”

Color commentator Dox Hendrix got excited recently when Henry Godwinn–also known as H.O.G.--turned his slop bucket against his onetime allies in Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase’s Corporation. “I thought that it was pretty cool when H.O.G. slopped DiBiase. Then it was even cooler when he slopped King Kong Bundy. And it was even cooler yet when he slopped Sid.”

For the 1995-1996 season, dozens of wrestlers–including Diesel, Michaels, H.O.G., 1-2-3 Kid, Owen Hart, Waylon Mercy, Razor Ramon, the Undertaker, Hunter Hearst-Helmsley, Bret Hart, Dean Douglas, Kama, Yokozuna, Fatu and Goldust–recently gathered on the roof of Titan Tower, the World Wrestling Federation headquarters in Stamford, Connecticut, to film a new opening for the show Thousands of fans also turned up. And as they banged at the gates outside the building, Backlund appeared, set up a podium and delivered a long, rambling speech–all about America’s moral decay.

Shawn Michaels danced on an elevated portion of the roof, watching the other wrestlers advancing on the ring, while helicopters swept spotlights over the scene and special Monday Night Raw cheerleaders held an impromptu pep rally. Meanwhile, drivers in cars on I-95, which runs parallel to the building, craned their necks in wonder at the 50-foot blowup of the Undertaker swaying in the evening breeze.

“Everybody in the ring,” David Sahadi, the Federation’s director of on-air promotion, suggested. He quickly regretted his words.

Instead of mugging for the cameras, the wrestlers forgot about them, and soon, long–simmering rivalries boiled over into warfare–to the delight of the fans on hand.

The 1-2-3 Kid delivered a spinning kick to Dean Douglas, who then found himself choked and slammed by the Undertaker. Mercy and Diesel rumbled against the ropes. Still pumped up from, his ladder match with Ramon at SummerSlam, Michaels propped up a ladder outside the ring, ascended it and flattened Kama with a high crossbody block. All the while, Hunter Hearst-Helmsley stayed on the ring steps, observing all the turbulence with his usual highbrow detachment. 

“Everybody out of the ring,” Sahadi said. Remarkably, a number of the athletes obeyed his order, continuing their tussles at ringside. Only Diesel remained in the center of the squared circle. However, when the crowd gave him a rousing cheer, a jealous Owen Hart stormed through the ropes and attacked. Within seconds, the other wrestlers also returned, as fans were treated to a second battle royal.

Nine-year-old Johnathan Bonilla and Edgar Giribaldo, 10, both of Stamford, couldn’t have been happier. “We watch Monday Night Raw together sometimes,” Edgar said. “It’s all action and surprises. Once it starts, you never know just what you’ll get.” Said 8-year-old Nicholas Kort of Armonk, New York, When I hear the music at the beginning of Monday Night Raw, I get excited. I know that the wrestling’s coming soon, and I know that the wrestling’s going to be wild.”

[happyllamaglama]

Llamas are members of the camelid family meaning they're pretty closely related to vicuñas and camels.

Camelids first appeared on the Central Plains of North America about 40 million years ago. About 3 million years ago, llamas' ancestors migrated to South America.

During the last ice age (10,000-12,000 years ago) camelids went extinct in North America. Now there are around 160,000 llamas and 100,000 alpacas in the United States and Canada.

Llamas were first domesticated and used as pack animals 4,000 to 5,000 years ago in the Peruvian highlands.

Llamas can grow as much as 6 feet tall though the average llama between 5 feet 6 inches and 5 feet 9 inches tall.

Llamas weigh between 280 and 450 pounds and can carry 25 to 30 percent of their body weight, so a 400-pound male llama can carry about 100 to 120 pounds on a trek of 10 to 12 miles with no problem.

Llamas know their own limits. If you try to overload a llama with too much weight, the llama is likely to lie down or simply refuse to move.

In the Andes Mountains of Peru, llama fleece has been shorn and used in textiles for about 6,000 years. Llama wool is light, warm, water-repellent, and free of lanolin.

Llamas are hardy and well suited to harsh environments. They are quite sure-footed, easily navigating rocky terrain at high altitudes.

Llamas are smart and easy to train.

Llamas have been used as guard animals for livestock like sheep or even alpacas in North America since the '80s. They require almost no training to be an effective guard.

Llamas don't bite. They spit when they're agitated, but that's mostly at each other. Llamas also kick and neck wrestle each other when agitated.

Llamas are vegetarians and have very efficient digestive systems.

A llama's stomach has three compartments. They are called the rumen, omasum, and abomasum. A cow's stomach has four compartments. Like cows, llamas must regurgitate and re-chew their food to digest it completely.

Llama poop has almost no odor. Llama farmers refer to llama manure as "llama beans." It makes for a great, eco-friendly fertilizer. Historically, the Incas in Peru burned dried llama poop for fuel.

Llamas live to be about 20 years old. Though some only live for 15 years and others live to be 30 years old.

A baby llama is called a "cria" which is Spanish for baby. It's pronounced KREE-uh. Baby alpacas, vicuñas, and guanacos are also called crias. Mama llamas usually only have one baby at a time and llama twins are incredibly rare. Pregnancy lasts for about 350 days, nearly a full year. Crias weigh 20 to 35 pounds at birth.

Llamas come in a range of solid and spotted colors including black, gray, beige, brown, red, and white.

Llamas are social animals and prefer to live with other llamas or herd animals. The social structure of llamas changes frequently and a male llama can move up the social ladder by picking, and winning, small fights with the leader of the group.

A group of llamas is called a herd.

Llamas have two wild "cousins" that have never been domesticated: the vicuña and the guanaco. The Guanaco is closely related to the llama. Vicuñas are thought to be the ancestors of alpacas.

The current population of llamas and alpacas in South America is estimated to be more than 7 million.

Yarn made from llama fiber is soft and lightweight, yet remarkably warm. The soft, undercoat is used for garments and handicrafts while the coarse, outer coat is frequently used for rugs and ropes.

Trying to tell the difference between a llama and an alpaca? Two obvious things to look for: Llamas are generally about twice the size of alpacas, and alpacas have short, pointy ears, whereas llamas have much longer ears that stand straight up and give them an alert look.

thoughtco.com/fun-facts-about-llamas-3880940.