I tried to access the NCMEC website today but it seems their domain has expired or something. Somebody over there must have dropped the ball.
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I tried to access the NCMEC website today but it seems their domain has expired or something. Somebody over there must have dropped the ball.
The Charley Project Blog 
Dat’s da guvvamint. Our tax dollars at work.
I just got in to the site at:
http://www.ncmec.org/missingkids/servlet/PublicHomeServlet?LanguageCountry=en_US
Okay, the site works now. I guess they hurried up and re-registered.
Contrary to popular belief, the NCMEC is a non-government org.
Oops, my bad.
Aimee should stick to complaining about the bus service in Delaware, lolol.
Where’s the follow-up on the laptop naming, btw?? And why did Meaghan attack her bedroom furniture with a rusty axe three weeks ago?
She attacked it out of frustration with the bus service in her neighborhood, that’s why. Rather than attack an actual bus and get stuck with the damages.
Well, God knows that we of us out here in the sticks don’t need to be reading any more “Bus attacks continue on Eastern Seaboard” articles in our Sunday papers.
You’ve saved us from it; and thanks.
Always glad to be of service.
A pleasure it was to have driven to the ice house this morning, and not be faced with that sort of headline in the newspaper machines.
“ELDERLY RIDERS FLEE IN PANIC AS DELAWARE WOMAN CAUSES $46,500 DAMAGE TO BUS”
And I’m glad I wasn’t greeted over breakfast with “Batty Oklahoman Commited to Funny Farm After Reporting Bizarre Hallucinations; Lawsuits Pending.”
I FEARED FOR MY LIFE, ELDERLY MAN STATES, AS DELAWARE WOMAN GRIPED AND COMPLAINED ABOUT TRANSIT ISSUES
“But they were so real!” protests batty Okla. man “I could have touched them! I could smell them! See them! Hear them!”
Oddly—or perhaps not—I’m at the moment reading a book about an insane person, housed at Broadmoor, whose contributions to the compilation of the Oxford English Dictionary were exemplary.
Unfortunately, he believed that persons came up from his floorboards at night and whispered evil things about gypsy girls named Aimee, whose critiques of mass transit in rural Delaware tormented him to distraction.
The Professor and the Madman. Simon Winchester. One of his better book I thought.
And they also whispered slanderous vile things about a sly cad named Anthony who was always hatching some dastardly scheme.
Yes, same book, but the copy I read had the British name: “The Surgeon of Crowthorne.” Guess they thought we Yanks would have to have a more-explicit title with MADMAN figuring prominently in it.
Second time I’d read it.
I’ve never read it, but I like the Madman title much better. The other one sounds like a title for a cheesy “fantasy” book: The Sacred Ring of the Faerie Fok and Rune Elves and Ravewolves of the Circle of Bloodmoon and the Nymphomaniacal-But-Independent-and-strong Princess Callipygia of the Royal Dark House of Crowthorne and Wolfclaw.”
*stops to catch breath*
“BOok Four.”
LOL.
By the author of “The Elfin Brood Have Come to Chipping Norton, There to Dance by Moonlight in the Monkey Puzzle Tree.”
“To the Music of the Magickal Gagickal Harps of the Greenwitch of Lotridon-By-The-Sea, as Told by The Prince’s Fencing Master’s Third Assistant’s Betrothed Aelfwynrhod.”
“Featuring the Nether Wallop Morris Dancers”
Whose unicorn-skin jerkins and gnome-made dancing shoes make a walloping sound as they prance about the monoliths of the two-mooned planet of Ellipsis.
(I stole that last bit, about two-mooned Ellipsis, from an incredibly bad “erotic novel” called Babala’s Corrections, by some hack named Bethany Amber. Dont’ ask.)
“Bethany Amber”?
LOL.
Yeah, very porn-tastic, isn’t it? She could just as easily have chosen Destiny Diamonds or Lotta Lovin or something.
True confessions: I once met ’70s porn star Kristine (X-rated version of “Alice in Wonderland”) DeBell, on the set of a ridiculous-though-not-pornographic movie she starred in.
True confession: My brother and I rode the schoolbus witha girl who would later become the porn star Belladonna. She isn’t actually “from” Delaware, she was an Air Force brat and only lived here for like a year or two. Her and her sister were a year or so younger than my brother. This was probably 1993 or 94. Belladonna is the porn star interviewed several years ago by Diane Sawyer, who came off as this sad pitiful person who hataed her job but didn’t know what else to do. Turns out the TV producers had cut and pasted her comments to fit their own agenda. She apparently owns her own production company now.
We weren’t friends or even really speaking acquaintances, but the one thing I do remember about her is she was veyr loud and mouthy, and made the bus driver very angry when he needed to ahve us do the emergency evacuation drill. She didn’t see what the point of it was because “If this bus catches on fire I’m still gonna panic so why do we have to go through this?” (It was cold and rainy out so she probably didn’t want to leave the warm bus.”
Anyway, Kristine’s movie might ahve been ridiculous, but it couldn’t be any more ridiculous than “Babala’s Corrections.” It was so cliched you could almost think it was a parody. I lost count of how many times the author used the phrase “the rounded hillocks of her bottom” for example.
What, the AVN award-winning star of “Buttwoman iz Bella”? LOLOL. (I think I cracked a rib laughing at her Wiki entry.)
Ms. DeBell was starring in a movie about cockfighting (ouch, my funny ribs—no, no porn pun, about actual rooster warfare), which did not see wide release, let us say. She actually flirted with me and uttered a “come hither” line, but I was too much the dumbfounded yokel to act on it, so no “rounded hillocks of her bottom” for this Kansas boy. Drat!
Ha ha, now you will probably never be able to watch a Belladonna movie without picturing her smacking her bubble gum, horse-laughing and squonking at the bus driver about the futility and inconvenience of emergency preparedness.
Me, I’m thinking that the school bus incidents would work well as a mise-en-scène for her next film—work some pun of the “bus-ty” sort into the title and, voila!
“Get On the Bust!”
“I Missed the Bust.”
“Bust Safety is Fun!!!” (with hokey kiddie music)
“Busted!”, the sexy tale of Bella’s encounter with the bus driver, the Delaware State Police, and eight other passengers. At once.
“Featuring Very Special Guest Appearances by Sunshine the Clown, Leo the Tap-Dancing Waiter, and Buffy the Poodle.”
“Heavy metal soundtrack courtesy Aimee’s brother’s record collection”
“Wardrobe by Bobbie Jo Sue Lynn’s of Oklahoma.
Sponsored by Boudreaux’s Butt Paste.”
“The three ‘fluffers’ who went missing during the making of the film will receive courtesy updates via The Charley Project site.”
Flffuer, Nutter and Cottontail.
Dewy, Blewy, and Screwy. Donald Duck’s nieces, not quite as well-known as the nephews.
The(blank) Ducks. I think you can probably fill in that blank. Hint: it rhymes.
Bucks ducks; clucks ducks; gucks ducks; hucks ducks; jux, lux, mux, nux, pux, rucks, tucks—wucks ducks?
I don’t get it. (Scratches noggin.)
Careful with that scratching. YOu don’t want to get a spinter in your finger.
No splinters, but I did have the shingles once, on the right side of said noggin.
Painful.
Oh ouch! Ouch ouch! That’s gotta hurt.
It’s as if an army of tiny men were participating in a synchronized pitchfork exercise, involving sharpened tines being driven into one’s head repeatedly, 24 hours a day.
Other than that, though, ’twas nothing at all, really.
Oh, and don’t forget the tigers they had with them, you know, the ones that clawed and dug and bit?
Yes, they were attempting—without much success, granted, but they were attempting—to herd the clamorous beasts into some sort of holding pen near my right ear.
The tigers seemed very recalcitrant, instead choosing to gnaw just above my brain.
As the poet William Blake wrote,
Tyger, tyger burning bright
On my head both day and night,
What godawful plan or brain
Makes thee bite my head in twain?
I believe that’s exactly quoted.
And I believe that you, my good and perspicacious friend, are a damned genius.
Tigers…beautiful creatures, but they really don’t make very good pets. Hard to manage, you know.
Wow, thanks! Blake, though, was truly a genius. And had he written nothing other than the metaphor that is a “…tyger burning bright / In the forests of the night,” he still would be considered one.
Had he, however, written nothing, but merely chosen to stay in his garden, naked with his wife likewise and himself talking to angels, he would have been duly transported to St Mary’s of Bethlehem, there for years to languish in sorrow.
Labelled as Poor Batty Old Bill. Good thing for him he wrote that tyger poem.
Another Blakean fave:
How the chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
As we in the trade say, the synesthesic quality of the second image—yes, truly amazing.