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Pretty—and bearded—in pink: Poster boy takes shot at pro-military attitude in gay rights movement
09:55 am



Published in 1993 by the Queer caucus of the Prairie Fire Organizing Committee, (formerly the above-ground auxiliary to the Weather Underground), this sly little bit of radical propaganda was handed out during the 1993 National Lesbian/Gay Rights March in Washington, DC. The event was far from culturally or ideologically uniform, with Sir Ian McKellen, RuPaul, Eartha Kitt and Urvashi Vaid (radical, anti-assimilation queer activist) all present.

At the time, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” was becoming a high-profile issue, and as gay rights began to seep into the mainstream, the more radical queer communities began to push back with a critique of the newly “family-friendly” direction of the movement. Of course, now queer rights are almost wholly represented in mass media as naught but marriage and military service, and those who want no part of the US military or the wars they fight are dismissed as marginal malcontents.

Given the scatter-shot state of the anti-war movement at present, maybe we can bring this guy back as a new mascot?
Via Bolerium Books

Posted by Amber Frost | Discussion
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This latex Woody Allen mask will be the most horrifying thing you’ll see all day

I turned this up completely by accident yesterday searching for something that wasn’t even Woody Allen-related. What in the name of Silence of the Lambs did I stumble upon? Apparently this latex Woody Allen mask was sold on eBay back in 2007. I-I, I have no words…

This is as hellish as it gets, m’ friends.

I can’t find much background information on it, but you can click on this link and maybe you’ll have better luck than me.

All I can say is, if you’re able to get your hands on one these for Halloween, you’ll definitely be the creepiest-creepster creeping around your burg. Ugh.

Posted by Tara McGinley | Discussion
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Whatever happened to Dzhambulat Khatokhov, the World’s Heaviest Child?
10:45 am


Dzhambulat Khatokhov

According to the Guinness Book of Records, Dzhambulat “Dzhambik” Khatokhov became world’s heaviest child in 2003. “Dzhambik”  was 3-feet 11-inches in height and weighed 123lbs.

He was just four-years-old.

His mother, Nelya Kabardarkova, said Dzhambik’s ambition was to become a Sumo wrestler.

When he was five, Nelya took her son to Japan to appear on the TV show Impossible. It was the start of a brief media career that led to several documentaries, and a rash of news items on the child.

Dzhambik weighed 6-lbs 6-oz at birth. As he grew, Nelya said that he ate 3-4 meals a day. He was always hungry. She has denied that she deliberately overfed him.

By the age of seven, Dzhambik was 4-ft 3-inches, and weighed 224lbs..

By the age of nine, he weighed 406lbs.

In an interview with the Guardian in 2006, Neyla told Nick Paton Walsh:

“He does not eat that much.”

Then she adds:

“He is happy that size. It is not shameful. He likes showing people how strong he is.”

So, whatever happened to Dzhambik?

Anorak recently posted a blog asking the same question. It would appear, that Dzhambik continued to grow, continued to make money, and continued to have a form of celebrity. Yet, the videos they posted only take Dzhambik up-to the age of eleven.

Where is he now? What is he doing? And is he happy doing it?

On September 24th, Dzhambik will celebrate his fourteenth birthday. It is difficult not to think of Dzhambik in terms of statistics: weight, height, age. But that sadly is perhaps how Neyla wants him to be seen. For being the world’s heaviest child can still make money.

Bonus clip, plus 2006 documentary on Dzhambik, after the jump…
H/T Anorak

Posted by Paul Gallagher | Discussion
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You haven’t lived until you’ve seen the kitschy Christian Americana of the Precious Moments Chapel!

Artist Samuel J. Butcher is about as American as an artist can possibly be, like, say Ansel Adams, Norman Rockwell or even Andy Warhol. He draws, paints in oil, water-color, acrylic and sculpts in mixed-media.

Butcher is primarily known as the artistic creator of the Precious Moments brand. His easily identifiable big-eyed characters, originally modeled after one of his toddler sons, and his American-Christian themes make his kitschy work instantly recognizable. Chances are your grandmother has at least one Precious Moments statuette. Precious Moments is the second most lucrative brand in the figurine marketplace.

A deeply religious man, Butcher purchased a parcel of land in the Ozark Mountains near Carthage Missouri and set about building the Precious Moments Chapel, which he worked on, really, really obsessively for years before it opened in 1989.

In the Precious Moments Chapel, Butcher used his characters to bring Bible stories to life in dozens of murals—9,000 square feet of them all hand-painted by the artist—including the Creation myth and the resurrection of Jesus.

There is also mural called “Hallelujah Square” that memorializes the lives of real children who died young and depicts them being reunited with their parents in Heaven. Naturally the ceiling of the Precious Moments Chapel has been called “America’s Sistine Chapel” by the aesthetically undiscerning, but that still doesn’t mean that it’s not sort of weirdly cool anyway.

Would it surprise you to know that the country’s largest Precious Moments gift shop is adjacent to the Chapel? No?




Below, some smart-asses from an indie band called Fishboy stop by this unusual roadside attraction and crack wise over the Precious Moments Chapel:

A more sincere look around the Precious Moments Chapel:

Posted by Richard Metzger | Discussion
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Meet Hard Ton, the disco love-child of Divine, Sylvester & Leigh Bowery
11:35 am


Hard Ton
House music

Ladies and gentlemen, all the way from disco-licious Italy, let me introduce you to the wonderful Hard Ton!

This Italian house music performer comes across like the bastard offspring of Divine and Sylvester (and with more than a little Leigh Bowery to satisfy your outlandish-costume-and-make-up needs.) Hard Ton makes a righteous, soulful noise that harks back to the original pioneers of sleazy, seedy Chicago house like Mr Fingers and Robert Owens. In a sea of anonymous dance-music acts that seem happy to bask in the hazy glow of their battered MacBooks, Hard Ton stands out not just for making authentically retro-sounding house, but for making a huge visual statement that reminds us that house was once the realm of the weirdos and the outcasts.

Hard Ton is actually a duo composed of Mauro Wawashi, a formidable producer and DJ in his own right, and vocalist/front person Max, here taking a break from his day job in various metal tribute acts to channel his inner disco diva, including wrapping himself up in the kind of glad rags that would make a hooker blush. Being quite the big guy, this in itself is a bit of a statement, and a beautiful act of plus-size body positivity. Not surprisingly, Hard Ton are fast gaining a hardcore following among the gay bear community.

To my shame, I have known Hard Ton for quite a while now (we even shared a label, Dissident, a few years back) but have failed to feature them on Dangerous Minds before. Let’s remedy that right away! With a new EP to promote and a current tour of the States for Pride season, I sent the formidable Max some questions to wrap his tongue, and brain, around.

The Niallist: Who and what is Hard Ton?

Hard Ton: A multi-sensorial experience: you can dance to me, you can watch me, you can touch me. Sometimes you can also bite me.

The Niallist: What inspires you musically?

Hard Ton: Acid house, disco music, pop. But I suppose I got inspired from everything I ear, it could be a techno track in an underground club, a metal song in a concert, or the shit played on the radio. Outside of music I find inspiration in pop culture, club culture, photography, fashion and art. Well, some fashion and some art. And definitely all the queens who stood up against the police at Stonewall back in 1969!

The Niallist: What can someone expect form a Hard Ton show?

Hard Ton: A ton of meat screaming like a real diva. 

The Niallist: What is the strangest reaction you have had live?

Hard Ton: A guy kissed me in front of his girlfriend while I was singing, and I’m not talking about that kind of kiss that your mama would give you…

The Niallist: What is in the near future for Hard Ton?
Hard Ton
: Our new E.P. has just been released [via Killekill Records - check it out here], and we are very proud of it. We’ve also just finished a remix for S’Express, and produced some tracks for Paul Parker. And of course we are working on new tracks. As for an album… is there really anyone who still buys CDs? Well, I do!

Hard Ton “Work That Body”

You can find Hard Ton on Facebook, and keep up with the latest news via Hard Ton’s Twitter.

Posted by Niall O'Conghaile | Discussion
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The ‘Rusty Knife’ of Arigó, Brazil’s amazing psychic surgeon
08:55 am


Psychic Surgery

With their sleeves surreptitiously stuffed with chicken blood and pig guts, so-called “psychic surgeons” have been hoaxing the vulnerable (the most vulnerable) for centuries.

Yet every vein of the paranormal has its hero, its standard-bearer… and psychic surgery is no exception. Nestled in its dubious and oft-maligned ranks is the charming, beguiling and relatively well-authenticated instance of Arigó, Brazil’s celebrated “surgeon of the rusty knife.”

Regardless of its veracity or verifiability, it is an incredible story—science and spirituality shaken together into a narrative cocktail worthy of the finest magical realist imagination.

Born José Pedro de Freitas in 1921 on a farm in the Brazilian Highlands, Arigó was an entirely unschooled miner up to the age of thirty. Then, however, his life took an unexpected turn, when he became plagued with terrible depression and headaches and hallucinations. A local spiritualist informed him that the maladies were symptomatic of a spirit’s attempting to work through him: they would persist, he was assured, until he obeyed the entity’s bidding.

How Arigó first succumbed to the will of this sprit (ostensibly a German surgeon called ‘Dr Adolphus Fritz’, who died during WWI) is one of the more colorful episodes of a colorful life. Attending some political convention with fellow miners around 1950, an entranced Arigó reportedly entered a sleeping senator’s hotel room, and carved out a recently diagnosed tumor with his razor.

A little later, he similarly plunged, blade first, into an unwell relative’s vagina, plucking the cancer from her uterus. In both instances, the recipients of such spontaneous and unorthodox treatment apparently experienced no pain or panic whatsoever, nor subsequent infection, and were completely healed—all elements that remained characteristic of this strange surgeon’s practice for years to come. (Arigó never, I should stress, made use of any anaesthetic.)

Arigó went on to treat thousands from every walk of Brazilian life, from peasants to politicians, sometimes up to 300 a day, never accepting payment, diagnosing with instant, unerring accuracy, and occasionally complimenting his free jazz operations with detailed prescriptions this illiterate and unschooled man would churn out in an unusually academic example of automatic writing. While at his work Arigó would speak, fittingly enough, in a thick German accent.

Although he operated in relative harmony with the medical profession—sometimes he would send people away without treatment, telling them a less transcendent physician would suffice—this establishment still persecuted him, in concert with the Catholic church, and Arigó would serve some time in jail for unlicensed practice. He died in 1971, a controversial legend and enigma.

Now cop the following: the American intelligence asset, psychic researcher, and author of The Sacred Mushroom Andrija Puharich’s account of his own time with Arigó—and his own brief but remarkable experience under the latter’s notorious blade. The not-a-little sinister Puharich’s credentials are far from impeccable (he was, after all, patron of that “spoon-bending” charlatan and spy Uri Geller), but his tale is still a powerful one…

Finally, watch some of Puharich’s bizarre footage for yourself, and see Arigó gouging out cysts, fishing out tumors and whipping out cataracts as if it ain’t no thing, while his unflinching patients sit there cool as cucumbers. You even see him rooting around in a guy’s skull.

While I would hardly describe the following as “safe for work” (puss flies, blood oozes), your correspondent happens to be an almighty wuss about this kind of thing, with an outright phobia of doctors, surgeries, surgeons, gory flicks et al— yet still managed to find this footage quite bearable. Either because it’s uncanny. Or because it’s bullshit. Take your pick…

Posted by Thomas McGrath | Discussion
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Your new favorite cult film: ‘Grey Gardens’ fans will love ultra-twisted ‘Little Lady Fauntleroy’
11:45 am


Lauren Harries
Keith Allen

In the late 1980s, British talkshow host Terry Wogan introduced his viewers to the curious sight of ten-year-old James Harries, a supposed child prodigy “expert” on antiques.

The young Harries sported fancy dress, a bow tie and a curly bleached-blonde perm, making him look like a pint-sized Harpo Marx. However, Harries, apparently convinced of his own genius, was anything but silent, you see, and came off as an imperious, snobby and obnoxious kid to the general public, becoming one of those brats that you really love to hate. (To be honest, I can’t call to mind a similarly obnoxious kid from the entire history of American TV, either real or fictional. James Harries, as the British public were to find out, was a bit of both...).

Harries “act”—a supposed talent for spotting antiques at flea markets for a few pence that were worth thousands of pounds—was bullshit (based on a single example trumped up by his father to a local newspaper and then parlayed to televsion). The child published a guide to antiquing, Rags to Riches, and the family opened an antiques shop in Wales. As Harries got older, the novelty wore off and the family fell on hard times and lost their business.

The next time anyone heard about this strange little boy, it was in 2001 when the notorious dark lord of Fleet Street public relations, Max Clifford, whipped the tabloid papers in to a frenzy over his new client, now known as Lauren Charotte Harries. Money from the media interest is what funded Harries’ sex change. After this, with Clifford’s help, Harries went about trying to become a celebrity transsexual without that much success.

Enter comic actor Keith Allen (father of Lily) who made the 2004 documentary Little Lady Fauntleroy about Harries and her ludicrously dysfunctional family for Channel 4. It’s truly one of the most insane and riveting things I’ve ever seen. And don’t worry if you’ve never heard of James/Lauren Harries, because it doesn’t matter, you get crash landed from the very start into the world of this zany family—every one of them a “genius” with a PhD in Metaphysics from a fake university somewhere in America. They also confer advanced degrees on each other and believe themselves to be morally and intellectually superior to the rest of us, including the father, a convicted arsonist, who comes off like a caricature of a mad Tory. Allen does an admirable job of playing nice with the fucking crazy Harries family, but eventually, like the viewing audience, he just loses it on them.

You’ll be appalled, but you will watch the entire thing, I’m quite sure…

On Snag Films, so you’ll have to register first to see it:

Thank you Chris Campion!

Posted by Richard Metzger | Discussion
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WTF?: An outdoor toilet in Scotland?
11:09 am



Santa delivering his presents early?

Either that, or perhaps some disgruntled customer taking revenge on the emporium below? Fish & Shits?

Not much else to be said about this picture other than to reassure Dangerous Minds’ readers that we do have indoor toilets in Scotland. I should know—I live in the Bonnie country.
Via The Poke (25 Reasons Why We Love Scotland)

Posted by Paul Gallagher | Discussion
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07:23 am

Current Events

Ed Snowden
Ed Chiarini

...  according to conspiracy theorist Ed Chiarini (aka Dallasgoldbug) that is. I hope you didn’t think… Oh well, you’re here now. What’s done can’t be undone and all that.

Yes, as soon as this NSA story hit, I knew that my man Ed Chiarini—already responsible for “exposing” Iran’s Ahmadinejad as Henry Winkler (as you can read here in my DM article from last year)—would have something… interesting to say on the matter. He has far from disappointed.

Not only, you see, are Snowden and Zuckerberg apparently related (yeah I know, pretty freakin’ ironic), but the former is also apparently “played by” the same actor responsible for Tyler Clementi, the young man the media rather insensitively dubbed the “Rutgers sex-cam suicide.”

I’ll let Chiarini explain exactly how, suffice to say that you’ve gotta love conspiracy theorists like him. The mainstream media announces that the world is effectively a digital police state and they say, “Oh no it isn’t!” The daft, contrary buggers…

Posted by Thomas McGrath | Discussion
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When Goths thought it was OK to go on Neo-Nazi talkshows

Boyd Rice: Wannabe Nazi or the original troll?

Larry Wessel’s 2011 Boyd Rice documentary Iconoclast was, I thought, an interesting way to spend four-odd hours. In it, Rice does come across as a curious individual, half dark lord and half fabulous fan-boy, with a mania for tiki bars, practical jokes, and a hundred other peculiar hobbies and fixations. It was noticeable however that the film—seemingly made in close collaboration with its subject—was also something of a white-wash regarding Rice’s flirtation with white-supremacy.

It seemed significant, for example, that the following appearance by Rice on the US Nazi Tom Metzger’s self-styled “controversial pro-white TV show” Race & Reason didn’t make Wessel’s capacious final cut. When not discussing electronic music’s “intrinsic whiteness,” and deriding “pitiful liberal humanist values,” Rice, Tom Metzger, and the show’s co-host (a Neo-Nazi Hank Kingsley!) find common ground concerning Adolf Hitler’s underrated prose style. “Whenever you see Mein Kampf referred to in print,” muses Rice, “they always use the exact same words—they call it turgid prose and incoherent and stuff (…) when you read it it’s like the exact opposite.” (Which, according to the Thesaurus, throws up the following antonyms: “humble, modest, quiet, reserved, self-effacing, balanced, collected, normal, sane.” Sounds like Mein Kampf to me!)

More after the jump…

Posted by Thomas McGrath | Discussion
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