Being devoured by a large apex predator is nothing to take lightly.  But this story is…well…too delicious (sorry) to pass up.

Pilgrims visiting the Muslim Khan Jahan Ali shrine in Bangladesh normally toss sacrificial chickens and goats to the crocs that inhabit a local pond, in hopes of receiving some special blessing, whatever that may be.  A bit odd, in a paleo-ritualistic kind of way, but at least most of the local peasantry keep to a (relatively) safe distance.  Good, clean fun for the whole family, we say.  A few of the bolder visitors will take a quick dip in the croc-infested pond, but are usually cautious enough to steer clear of the giant carnivores.

We’re not sure why they do this, and in a corner of the globe where news headlines often tell of people being trampled by elephants and villagers being dragged from their homes in the night to be devoured by tigers, we think this sort of encounter with dangerous wildlife is tempting fate just a bit too much.  Seems to us that visiting Mecca would be a safer and more rewarding pilgrimmage.  But we digress…

Enter our hapless friend, 25-year-old Rubel Sheikh.  Apparently, a mere close encounter with the beast didn’t suit this devotee.  No, our tragic disciple of reptilian salvation chose instead to approach one of the crocs straight-on, such that he may have a more intimate (and, ostensibly, more meaningful) religious experience with the critter.  To get his “good news” from the…err…reptile’s mouth, if you will.  Sort of like those fundietards who play with poisonous snakes in order to commune with god.

But, crocs being crocs, such an experience wasn’t meant to be.  Our soon-to-be-Darwin-Award nominee unwittingly chose the hungriest one from which to receive his blessing.  The results were spectacular.  They really should feed those things before letting the local hoi polloi wander amongst them.

Well, they didn’t find much of poor Rubel Sheikh, though many of his fellow seekers made a heroic, if not successful, effort to recover him from those murky and deadly waters.

Afterwards, some of the locals remarked that it was unusual for one of the crocodiles to attack, that they are usually very “friendly.”  Ahem.  We just hope the locals don’t do anything rash against the poor crocodile, like showing up on his doorstep at night, carrying torches.  It wasn’t his fault, afterall.  He was only doing what came naturally to him, and was probably wondering why no one bothered to offer him a dessert menu or a toothpick.

During my lunch break the other day I made two small expenditures, not counting the six dollars I spent on the nasty General Tao Chicken from some dodgy takeout.  I gave a buck to a busker who was singing and playing guitar (and doing a rather shitty job of both), and I bought a lottery ticket at a nearby bodega.  I rarely–uh, make that damn near never, as I’m usually a tightwad–do either, but for reasons that escape me now, I decided to let loose a couple greenbacks.  WTF, live large.

What did I get in return for my impulse investments?  A minute or so of dubious entertainment while walking down the street, and a one-in-120-million chance of retiring early.  Which was the better deal for me?  I still don’t know.  I just hope the busker doesn’t waste his money on something stupid…like lottery tickets.

Just goes to show what a dollar will get you these days.  Good thing I wasn’t handing out Euros.

…And the world is now a little less interesting because of it.

Joe Kudla, “Snot” of the Puke and Snot comedy team, died yesterday in Minneapolis at the young age of 58.  Anyone who has visited a Renaissance Fair in the U.S. is familiar with these two characters.  Starting out some 30 years ago at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival, Puke and Snot quickly developed a reputation, often at the expense of unwitting fair-goers.  They made a name for themselves in those early years, wandering through the park, making wisecracks, antagonizing and poking fun at various fair guests.  All in good cheer, of course.  This usually caused a spectacle and was quite entertaining to watch.

I witnessed one such episode years back, when the two were observing a fussy brat whose tantrum was testing the nettle of his mother.  Unbeknownst to mother and child, P&S were standing about 20 feet away, hands on hips, saying nothing.  Meanwhile, curious fair-goers were assembling into a huge semicircle nearby, waiting to see what would happen.  All of a sudden, in perfect harmony (and in a bad, phony Brit accent), the two loudly screamed, “Ohhhh Shut Up!!!” The crowd roared with laughter.  The brat went silent.  If that mother could have dug a hole in the ground and crawled in it, she would have.  No doubt that kid would’ve followed her in it, judging by the deer-in-the-headlights look of shock on his reddening face.  It was priceless.

As their popularity skyrocketed, the team moved up to stage shows, and were rarely seen wandering about the grounds.  They performed at festivals throughout the United States, and touched the funny bones of many.  Needless to say, these stage shows were packed to capacity, with fair-goers often queuing up for hours awaiting the start.

It’s been a tough summer for the comedic arts, with the loss of greats like George Carlin and, recently, Bernie Mac.  We just lost another star of comedy.  Snot, you will be missed.

Every decade has its share of awful pop songs, but the 1970s was the decade that practically elevated this junk to an art form.  The Me Decade was synonymous with trash-pop…not to mention disco.  And that abomination known as Grease.  Here we are referring, of course, to songs that are so atrocious, that the mere mention of their titles will cause a visceral reaction from anyone having even a shred of good taste.

Just for fun (and torture), we have compiled a list of a few really bad ones that come to mind.  No doubt there are numerous “worst song list” sites out there, and the masochistic among us are free to Google some of those.  We’ll pass, thank you.

Here are our nominations for Worst Songs of the 1970s (in no particular order):

Feelings - Morris Albert  (Bad elevator music makes the charts.)

Having My Baby - Paul Anka  (Labor pains set to music.  Painful for us to listen, too.)

Last Song - Edward Bear  (She left you because you sing like a wuss! Get over her.)

Muskrat Love - Captain & Tennille  (Comparing love to a rodent is…well…too creepy for words.)

Torn Between Two Lovers - Mary MacGregor  (Juggling multiple sex partners is just too much sometimes!  Whatsa girl to do?)

Sometimes When We Touch - Dan Hill  (So disgustingly maudlin and over-dramatic it’ll make you spew.)

Escape (The Pina Colada Song) - Rupert Holmes  (Tacky personal ad rendezvous. Look for this loser on Craigslist.)

Playground In My Mind - Clint Holmes  (Torment your over-40 co-workers: play this at the office and let the earworm invasion begin.)

Afternoon Delight - Starland Vocal Band  (Skyrockets in flight! So metaphorical! So sleep-inducing!)

My Ding A Ling - Chuck Berry  (His only #1 hit. Yep, this little ditty out-charted the likes of Maybelline and Johnny B. Goode. There is no god.)

You Light Up My Life - Debby Boone  (Even her dad rocks out more.)

Please Mr. Postman - The Carpenters  (If I had to sing this I’d become a retching bulemic too.)

Shannon - Henry Gross  (Ex-Sha-Na-Na guitarist sings ode to a lost dog.  Deep.)

The Candy Man - Sammy Davis, Jr.  (Would you want this creepy guy performing at your six-year-old’s birthday party?)

Tie A Yellow Ribbon ‘Round The Old Oak Tree - Tony Orlando & Dawn  (100 yellow ribbons for the guy who just got paroled–woo hoo!)

Alone Again (Naturally) - Gilbert O’ Sullivan  (A three minute musical pity-party. Just jump off the damn bridge and be done with it already.)

It’s So Nice To Be With You - Gallery  (The title alone should serve as a warning.)

The Morning After - Maureen McGovern  (Awful dreck, this one should’ve sunk with the Poseidon.)

Loving You - Minnie Riperton  (Is that shrill singing coming out of my speakers, or just the smoke detector going off?)

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing - Leo Sayer  (The guy looks like Richard Simmons and sings in falsetto. ‘Nuff said.)

That’s our list (so far) and if we find ourselves in a devilish mood, we just might be tempted to add more.  If you really want to do the right send-up of this crap, check out the Circle Jerks’ Golden Shower Of Hits.  The way those songs ought to sound.

Norm

We’re actually going to get serious here for a moment…

A St. Paul, Minnesota, man stops his car to help an injured 14-year-old girl who had flagged him down.  What does the good samaritan get in return for his kindness?  An indictment for kidnapping and false imprisonment, after the girl fabricates an elaborate tale of abduction.

All children lie.  It’s a defense mechanism they learn early, in order to avoid punishment.  This “victim” fabricated hers, ostensibly to avoid punishment by her parents for her being out with some loser boyfriend who was likely the cause of her injuries in the first place.

Eventually, the genuine facts come to light and the man is exonerated when charges are dropped.  But not before he had posted bond, lost his job, lost his car in impound, had his mug plastered all over the media, and spent several grueling months making his defense.  We hope his attorney was pro bono.

The man was only trying to help, to do the right thing.  And he now says he will never do that again.  Can’t blame him one bit.

Oh, and did we mention that the good samaritan is an African immigrant?  That fact no doubt fed the flames of the witch-hunt, what with the increasing anti-immigrant attitudes these days.

If you encounter someone in trouble, the best thing you can do is call 911 on your cell phone, then leave.  Don’t get involved.  Someone–the “victim,” the police, an overzealous prosecutor–will invariably twist the facts around and you will find yourself under suspicion just for being there.  In some types of altercations, you can end up injured or killed just for stepping in.  When the shit hits the fan you’ll get some of it on you.  Is it worth it?