MikeLigalig.com

The Huffington Post  |  By Megan Griffo   
Posted: 04/05/2013 3:07 pm EDT  |  Updated: 04/05/2013 3:41 pm EDT





People seem to have a love-hate relationship with dogs dressed up like humans, but that hasn't stopped the Internet from churning out more ridiculous memes.

The latest installment: Dogs wearing pantyhose (OK, we're classing it up a bit, Dis Magazine called it "bitches wearing pantyhose") is a trend picking up in China, according to Sharp Daily, a Hong Kong news site.

Botoy a-dreaming on this now here Lazy Sunday...

Quote from: hubag bohol on March 24, 2013, 10:43:42 PM



A lazy Sunday in the rascally life of a pot-bellied old goat...

Quote from: islander on March 25, 2013, 12:08:02 AM
umaanak na na uy.  ayaw na lang samoka, hehe.

Umaanak gud tawon...

The straightforward film, a fast-paced montage of archival footage, photographs and newspaper headlines, with the subjects talking to the camera, is sprinkled with clichés (“once again they upped the ante”) and seems better suited for the small screen. (American public television, in fact, is showing it this month.) The credits reveal that many of the refugees and family members interviewed in the film also had a role in getting it made.

Ultimately, this compelling story will leave viewers wanting even more information about this mission and the daily lives of the émigrés in Manila. In telling their stories, the former refugees and the proud descendants of the leaders involved can finally publicly express their enduring sense of gratitude and faith in humanity.

The players included Dwight D. Eisenhower; Manuel Quezón, the first president of the Philippine Commonwealth; Paul V. McNutt, the United States high commissioner to the Philippines; and the Frieder brothers, businessmen from Cincinnati whose cigar business was based in Manila. McNutt helped facilitate the refugees’ entry to the Philippines by granting visas. The Frieder brothers, Jews themselves, not only raised money to help with expenses but also provided jobs. They all felt frustrated about doing the right thing while still having to turn away so many others.

MOVIE REVIEW
Holocaust Heroism in the Philippines
‘Rescue in the Philippines,’ by Russell C. Hodge



3 Roads Communications
Ursula Miodowski and Martha Miodowski, in “Rescue in the Philippines.”


By NICOLE HERRINGTON
Published: March 28, 2013
http://www.nytimes.com/


The fascinating documentary “Rescue in the Philippines: Refuge From the Holocaust,” with narration by Liev Schreiber, recounts a little-known chapter of World War II heroism that is as heartbreaking as it is courageous. While much of the world was reluctant to help early victims of Nazi Germany, an effort devised in Manila during late-night poker games eventually delivered more than 1,200 European Jews to safety in the tropics.

Wa seguroy ayo ang iyang simbahan kay wa may saktong ikabayad...

Wa pa hinuon mosiaw ang pinaghotay...

Siya na pud ang mag-aguroy...

Quote from: Pikoy on April 06, 2013, 09:40:25 PM
sos...silingan raman ni nko ning bataa oi..tsk tsk.. unsa gyud kaha ang hinungdan?? mangalap pakog balita ani..

Hatagi unya mig update, Bay Piks. Kuyaw ni kay wa pay suspek nga nasikop...

Quote from: Pikoy on April 06, 2013, 09:27:27 PM
Ang suspek nigiya kaniya paingon sa maong resort apan sa iyang kahibung, gidala siya sa awaaw nga dapit daplin sa pangpang nga nag-ambo sa dagat sa Barangay Ocoy nga dunay daghang bakhaw.

Gihagad siya sa suspek og sex apan iyang gibalibaran.

Tungod sa pagbalibad sa biktima, gituok siya ug gigamitag pwersa, gihadlok nga patyon.

“Bisag giunsa niyag sukol, nalupig gyud ang biktima unya nahadlok sab nga patyon. Wala siyay nahimo, gihuboan siya’g panty ug pantalon. Nilampos ang suspek,” dugang ni Barco.

Kon tinuod man ugaling unya mabalhog sa prisohan, hayan mabaslan...

A, mora man kandidato...

...dragged to the anthill...

Naglibog...

Quote from: hubag bohol on April 06, 2013, 05:52:07 PM
Before he was about to jump, he panicked and clung to the rear door, and a male flight attendant pushed him out of the plane.

Philippine Airlines Flight 812 was a scheduled passenger flight from Francisco Bangoy International Airport in Davao City to Ninoy Aquino International Airport near Manila. On May 25, 2000, an Airbus A330-301 operating on the route was hijacked by a man later identified as Reginald Chua, just before the airplane was about to land. The flight carried 278 passengers and 13 crew members.

The hijacker demanded the passengers place their valuables in a bag before he commanded the pilot to descend and depressurize the aircraft so that he could escape by a homemade parachute. Since it did not have a rip cord, one was made with a curtain sash on the aircraft. Before he was about to jump, he panicked and clung to the rear door, and a male flight attendant pushed him out of the plane.

The hijacker was wearing a ski mask and swimming goggles when he jumped out of the plane together with the valuables he had stolen while the plane was flying at an altitude of 1,800 meters over Antipolo, Rizal. Officials initially identified him as "Augusto Lakandula", based on the name on his ticket. The pilot expressed skepticism that the hijacker would have survived the jump.

Three days after the hijacking, the hijacker was found dead, his body nearly buried in the mud, in the village of Llabac, in Real, Quezon, about 70 kilometers southeast of Manila, near the border with Laguna province. Through his driver's license, "Lakandula" was finally correctly identified as Reginald Chua. --Wiki

Stars in NGC 602a


The Small Magellanic Cloud (SMC) is one of the Milky Way's closest galactic neighbors. Even though it is a small, or so-called dwarf galaxy, the SMC is so bright that it is visible to the unaided eye from the Southern Hemisphere and near the equator. Many navigators, including Ferdinand Magellan who lends his name to the SMC, used it to help find their way across the oceans.

Modern astronomers are also interested in studying the SMC (and its cousin, the Large Magellanic Cloud), but for very different reasons. Because the SMC is so close and bright, it offers an opportunity to study phenomena that are difficult to examine in more distant galaxies.

New Chandra data of the SMC have provided one such discovery: the first detection of X-ray emission from young stars with masses similar to our Sun outside our Milky Way galaxy. The new Chandra observations of these low-mass stars were made of the region known as the "Wing" of the SMC. In this composite image of the Wing the Chandra data is shown in purple, optical data from the Hubble Space Telescope is shown in red, green and blue and infrared data from the Spitzer Space Telescope is shown in red. -- http://www.redorbit.com/

Quote from: islander on April 06, 2013, 01:05:24 AM

Up, up and away...

First off, in case you are confused, the photograph above is of a male Eunuch. A eunuch is a castrated man; the term usually refers to those castrated in order to perform a specific social function, as was common in many societies of the past. In ancient China castration was both a traditional punishment (until the Sui Dynasty) and a means of gaining employment in the Imperial service. At the end of the Ming Dynasty there were 70,000 eunuchs in the Imperial palace. The value of such employmentâ€"certain eunuchs gained immense power that may have superseded that of the prime ministersâ€"was such that self-castration had to be made illegal. The number of eunuchs in Imperial employ had fallen to 470 in 1912, when their employment ceased.

Eunuchs castrated before puberty were also valued and trained in several cultures for their exceptional voices, which retained a childlike and other-worldly flexibility and treble pitch. Such eunuchs were known as castrati. Unfortunately the choice had to be made at an age when the boy would not yet be able to consciously choose whether to sacrifice his sexual potency, and there was no guarantee that the voice would remain of musical excellence after the operation. -- http://listverse.com/

The picture below is Empress Dowager Cixi wearing a Qipao. Back then, what people wore was pretty much of a sign of their social status. We can get a rough idea of that from what the most powerful woman at that time was wearing.  -- http://asianshape.com/

We bundled him up in a sheet and carried him to the river's edge.  Ice had formed, but we broke it and threw him in.  The next day search was made for Rasputin, but no trace was found.

Urged on by the Tsarina, the police made frantic efforts, and finally a rubber was found which was identified as his.  The river was dragged and the body recovered.

I escaped from the country.  Purishkevich also escaped.  But Prince Yusupov was arrested and confined to the boundaries of his estate.  He was later released because of the popular approval of our act.

Russia had been freed from the vilest tyrant in her history; and that is all.


Source: Source Records of the Great War, Vol. V, ed. Charles F. Horne, National Alumni 1923

Suddenly we heard a strange and unearthly sound behind the huge door that led into the library.  The door was slowly pushed open, and there was Rasputin on his hands and knees, the bloody froth gushing from his mouth, his terrible eyes bulging from their sockets.  With an amazing strength he sprang toward the door that led into the gardens, wrenched it open and passed out.

As he seemed to be disappearing in the darkness, F. Purishkevich, who had been standing by, reached over and picked up an American-made automatic revolver and fired two shots swiftly into his retreating figure.  We heard him fall with a groan, and later when we approached the body he was very still and cold and - dead.

We were seized with an insane dread that this man was inviolable, that he was superhuman, that he couldn't be killed.  It was a frightful sensation.  He glared at us with his black, black eyes as though he read our minds and would fool us.

And then after a time he rose and walked to the door.  We were afraid that our work had been in vain.  Suddenly, as he turned at the door, some one shot at him quickly.

With a frightful scream Rasputin whirled and fell, face down, on the floor.  The others came bounding over to him and stood over his prostrate, writhing body.

It was suggested that two more shots be fired to make certain of his death, but one of those present said, "No, no; it is his last agony now."

We left the room to let him die alone, and to plan for his removal and obliteration.

Rasputin was in a gay mood.  We drove rapidly to the home of the Prince and descended to the library, lighted only by a blazing log in the huge chimney-place.  A small table was spread with cakes and rare wines - three kinds of the wine were poisoned and so were the cakes.

The monk threw himself into a chair, his humour expanding with the warmth of the room.  He told of his successes, his plots, of the imminent success of the German arms and that the Kaiser would soon be seen in Petrograd.

At a proper moment he was offered the wine and the cakes.  He drank the wine and devoured the cakes.  Hours slipped by, but there was no sign that the poison had taken effect.  The monk was even merrier than before.

This was the condition of affairs when we decided to kill this monster.  Only five men participated in it.  They were the Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, Prince Yusupov, Vladimir Purishkevich, Captain Suhotine and myself.

Prince Yusupov's palace is a magnificent place on the Nevska.  The great hall has six equal sides and in each hall is a heavy oaken door.  One leads out into the gardens, the one opposite leads down a broad flight of marble stairs to the huge dining room, one to the library, etc.

At midnight the associates of the Prince concealed themselves while I entered the car and drove to the home of the monk.  He admitted me in person.

The story of Rasputin and his clique is well known.  They sent the army to the trenches without food or arms, they left them there to be slaughtered, they betrayed Rumania and deceived the Allies, they almost succeeded in delivering Russia bodily to the Germans.

Rasputin, as a secret member of the Austrian Green Hand, had absolute power in Court.  The Tsar was a nonentity, a kind of Hamlet, his only desire being to abdicate and escape the whole vile business.

Rasputin continued his life of vice, carousing and passion.  The Grand Duchess reported these things to the Tsarina and was banished from Court for her pains.

Stanislaus de Lazovert on the Assassination of Rasputin, 29 December 1916


The shot that ended the career of the blackest devil in Russian history was fired by my close and beloved friend, Vladimir Purishkevich, Reactionary Deputy of the Duma.

Five of us had been arranging for this event for many months.  On the night of the killing, after all details had been arranged, I drove to the Imperial Palace in an automobile and persuaded this black devil to accompany me to the home of Prince Yusupov, in Petrograd.

Later that night M. Purishkevich followed him into the gardens adjoining Yusupov's house and shot him to death with an automatic revolver.  We then carried his riddled body in a sheet to the River Neva, broke the ice and cast him in.

Primary Documents - The Assassination of Rasputin, 29 December 1916
http://www.firstworldwar.com/





Reproduced below is Russian Colonel Stanislaus de Lazovert's account of the assassination of Grigory Rasputin, the Russian monk who acted as close adviser to the Tsar and (most especially) Tsarina.

Widely held responsible by contemporaries for the downfall of the Romanov monarchy through his tight hold over the Russian royal family, numerous accounts of Rasputin's eventual demise at the end of December 1916 were circulated in early 1917.

Today it is believed that Rasputin was invited to dinner at the home of the Russian nobleman Felix Yusupov, who then shot him; and that he was shot again by a second conspirator, Vladimir Purishkevich, before finally being dropped through a hole in the Neva river, where he finally died by drowning.  His corpse was later discovered on the Neva's banks.

De Lazovert's somewhat sensational (and in parts highly improbable) memoir, below, largely supports Yusupov's account but chiefly attributes Rasputin's death to the hands of Purishkevich.

Oh, run Horsey run, Horse-eater's on his way...

Despite incurring a bit of childhood trauma, seeing that animal in stump form made me aware of the sheer volume of meat on a horse. It's a large, muscular animal ripe for being turned into an enchanting HorseLoaf sandwich or McHorse with cheese. We're talking about at an entirely untapped market of delicious protein available for the taking. Silicon valley isn't the gold rush. Mobile devices aren't the future. China's population is not exploding. Horsemeat is our destiny, it's the next Web 2.0.

Who's with me?

If you imagine a horse as a giant steak with hair, they're actually kind of pleasant to look at.

My brother and I used to explore the woods a lot when we first moved to Idaho. One day, we came upon a large open meadow that extended upwards into dark, heavily forested hills. Making our way through the meadow, we noticed a lot of animal bones on the ground. Some teeth here. A ribcage there. The occasional half-chewed pelvis. Coming around a bend, we stumbled upon a dead horse. Eyes wide open, its limbs had been chopped off and his gaping mouth produced a twisted tongue which dangled on the side of his face. The result was a bleeding, horrific stump of a creature who stared wide-eyed outward, frozen in the final moments of its demise. Upon seeing it, my brother and I screamed and ran. I found out later that the man who owned that meadow would slaughter his horses there for the meat and then coyotes would come down from the hills and pick apart the carcasses.

Riding horses is fun if you enjoy getting owned by PorkBag

The last time I rode a horse I was 11 years old. I can't remember the name of this particular horse so I'll just refer to it as "PorkBag." I was on top of PorkBag sitting in the saddle, lightly "encouraging" the horse to move by prodding, pulling, screaming, and flailing the reins. We didn't ride the horses often so they were overweight, not to mention being arrogant little assholes who didn't respond to direction. After a few minutes of me barking orders, PorkBag lurched forward. Approximately ten feet later, PorkBag stopped, leaned against the trunk of a large tree, and stood motionless. Crushing my leg between her fat thighs and the tree, this was how she planned to get me off her back.

We sat there together, me in terrible pain and PorkBag quite content with not having to move. Eventually someone noticed, took the reins, and pulled us away from the tree. I dismounted that concluded my days of riding horses.

A horse won't let you sleep.

Every few weeks the horses would lose their s*** and decide to charge the electric fence. This meant they would run at full speed into the fence, break through, and then go roaming around the forest all night. My parents, upon discovering this, would wake me up at some horrible hour and we'd have to get flashlights and trudge through the snowy forest looking for them. I don't know why the f*** they decided to have these little adventures, but I imagine it had something to do with either feeding, fornicating, or finding new ways to f*** me over.

They'll eat more hay to punish you for your sins.

As I mentioned earlier, our horses ate a lot. So much, in fact, that after a few years I started referring to them as "the pigs." They consumed hay, mostly, which comes in bale form and weighs anywhere from 50-100 lbs per bale. This means we constantly had to replenish our supply, which involved driving to a farm somewhere and loading it up into a truck, then returning home and unloading it. We'd usually do this in the summertime when hay was plentiful and it was miserably hot. I was allergic to hay so I had to wear a respirator in order to breathe and I couldn't allow any part of my skin to be exposed to it - so I had to wear long sleeve shirts, pants, and thick gloves. Furthermore, I was a video-game-playing fat kid with tiny noodle arms that could barely lift my sega genesis controller, so over-dressing in scorching temperatures and lifting heavy bales of hay which caused my skin to break out in blisters and my eyes and lungs to burn for hours on end wasn't exactly my idea of a good time.

So Toby charged. Now, as I mentioned earlier these horse pens were thick with feces, so it was difficult to run. Luckily I was in the part of the pen where the mud wasn't deep, so I could at least manage a fumbling jog. By the time I reached the fence Toby was nearly on me. I tried to climb through but in my panic I touched one of the tension coils on the fence that kept the wire taught along the property line. Furthermore, I also touched the ground underneath the tension coil. This fence was electric and set at a voltage that could knock down an elephant, so when I grounded myself I got blasted with a shock that rendered me temporarily stunned. Fortunately I was jolted forward into the electric fence rather than backwards into the horse boner that was surging forward at 100 miles per hour. After a few more 20,000 volt shocks I managed to stumble into the opposing pen, half electrocuted but thankfully still a virgin to trans-species sex.

As for Toby, he continued to stare at me from his side of the fence, his aircraft-carrier-sized boner twinkling in the morning sun. I could see an undercurrent of sadness in his eyes, trickling somewhere below that massive desire to do some raping.

Given the opportunity, a horse will try to rape you.

We owned a stud named Toby (I say "stud" meaning a male horse meant for breeding - I'm not professing a repressed attraction to him or anything). Toby was a lonely horse; we had to keep him separate from the rest of the animals because he was always trying to have steamy horse sex with them. One afternoon, I wound up inside of Toby's pen, probably doing some b*** chore for my parents like sweeping up sticks or sawing something in half. I'll admit I was a bit careless when stepping into the pen, because I failed to notice Toby had a raging boner and was staring right at me. If you've never seen a horse penis, it's an awesome thing. Awesome in the "big bang exploding outward in universally cosmic proportions" way, not awesome in the "f*** yeah scented candles are awesome" kind of way. It's literally longer than your arm - between 2 and 3 feet. You could seriously f*** s*** up with this thing - If I had a penis like that I'd use it to play badminton or maybe hang wind chimes from it. Anyway, I was in Toby's pen and we were making eye contact. I'll never forget the look in his eyes: completely vacant of compassion or romance. Toby didn't want to get to know me and discover all my hopes and dreams. He didn't want to grow old with me. Looking into those big brown eyes that day, I saw a pure, unfiltered desire to get his rape on.

A horse is the world's biggest s*** pump.

Our horses ate a lot. When I say a lot, I mean all day, every day. They didn't nibble or peck - they vacuumed food up like a bulimic does after watching "America's Next Top Model." This resulted in a constant river of crap firing out of their asses. They'd also usually stand in the corner of the corral which was closest to the food supply, which caused the poop to all be concentrated in a single place. In the winter my brother and I were charged with the responsibility of cleaning out their trough. We had to wear knee-high rubber boots and wade out into the 4 foot deep mixture of mud, urine, and feces to reach it. The mud became so thick that when we tried to take a step our boots would suction into the mud and our feet would lift out of the boot. We then had to dangle from the fence and try to pull the boot out. It was like playing on the monkey bars except underneath you there was a deep, dark ocean of rotten horse s***.

I grew up in Northern Idaho, where IQs are generally room temperature and it's socially acceptable to drink whiskey mixed with cough syrup for breakfast. My family moved there from California when I was seven and decided to buy a couple horses in order to embrace the Idahoan lifestyle. We didn't ride them, really, they mostly just stood outside like big dumb lawn ornaments. Over the next ten years I developed an unruly hatred for these God-awful pig monsters. Here's why.

http://theoatmeal.com/


I'm not going to dance around the issue: I hate horses. I hate them.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Horses are kind. Horses are beautiful. Nations have been built on the backs of horses. All that.

You haven't seen the things I've seen, however. You haven't suffered at the hands of these terrible beasts. You don't know what horses are like because you've probably never owned one.

Allow me to enlighten you.

Quote from: islander on April 06, 2013, 01:33:59 PM
come to think of it, except for our familiarity with some popular verses in the bible, along with scenes of biblical stories that we grew up with, either as told or as seen in pictures, i doubt if most of us have really read the whole bible from beginning to end.  but we have a sense of it, we believe every word in it, placed it on top of our 'collective library', and are trying our best to live by it.

Yes, there is no point in trying to read as many as you can lay your hands on. There should be psychic space within the self for one's sense of book-reading pleasure to commingle and find comfort in.

Quote from: islander on April 06, 2013, 01:15:24 PM
pagka-siaw na lang, hahaha!  but who can argue?

one of the best pieces i've read in months.  thanks, bai hubs!

You're welcome! He he, sa pagkamapasalamaton, maklaro nga wa gani kabasa sa A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man...

Quote from: islander on April 06, 2013, 01:36:46 PM
klaroha usa unsa ang prize.  uroy kun makadaog ko, padad-an pa lang ko nimo anang espada nga naa sa yuta, na, maoy gidangat...

Concern well taken, but no problem. Kon gusto nimo, pwede ipadala ang dalar ikwibalint...

Botoy's Mini Reef Tank

Ang writer of the best caption ani nga picture makadawat og prize...

Bayard has produced a witty and provocative monograph with a serious point and a rallying cry: 'We must profoundly transform our relationship to books.' His guilt-free approach to literature is an attractive one and stretches beyond his ostensible subject: often, when he uses the word 'book', this could just as well be substituted for 'experience.' Despite his predisposition, he offers entertaining close readings (some of them accurate) on a range of writers, taking in Robert Musil, Balzac and Shakespeare, as well as Groundhog Day. He has a tendency to complicate the obvious and his urbanity is occasionally annoying - he should not be taken at face value - but you should judge for yourself: despite what Bayard might tell you, How To Talk About Books You Haven't Read is above all worth the read.

This is particularly true given the frailties of subjectivity. Each reader is haunted by their 'inner book' - 'the set of mythic representations... that come between the reader and any new piece of writing'. Then come the problems of memory. Bayard leads us, via Montaigne, to the somewhat undergraduate argument that to read is inevitably to forget. 'At this point, saying we have read a book becomes essentially a form of metonymy.'

Bayard revels in the power of mistelling; he mischievously introduces inaccuracies into his summaries of novels by Umberto Eco, David Lodge and Graham Greene. When he later confesses to this, he remains unrepentant: 'I invented nothing... I was uttering a subjective truth.'

Bayard's tone is relentlessly tongue in cheek; it rests on the supposition that what he is saying is very naughty. Culture, he sniggers, is 'a theatre charged with concealing individual ignorance'. There is something deliciously French about all this: where else, we may wonder, would you risk such disapprobation at the insistence on the intellectual short cut? Bayard refers to 'the oppressive image of cultural literacy without gaps'.This is a peculiar worry: does anyone actually believe in it?

'Non-reading' for Bayard, is 'a genuine activity'. It implies an engagement with literature and is different from mere 'absence of reading'. A 'true reader' is simply 'one who cares about being able to reflect on literature'. With so little time and so many books, he argues, it is better to spread the net wide and settle for a general sense of the multitude.

Bayard invokes Paul Valery - 'that master of non-reading' - who, rather like Oscar Wilde, claimed the critic depends 'neither on the author nor the text'. Readers must be creative, for to read is to interpret which is also, by necessity, to write. Just as Flaubert once wrote a book 'about nothing,' so, too, should the 'true reader' be able to opine about nothing. Excessive reading, for Valery, 'stripped France of its individuality'.

Bayard's approach is Derridean: a focus on the relation between objects and the systems that support these. He perceives books themselves as a 'system', important only in so far as they are received within society: the gossip that they generate; the ideas that they spawn; the conflicts that they provoke. 'Relations among ideas are far more important than the ideas themselves,' he insists. Thus, it is only ever necessary to get a rough sense of what any particular book is about - and where to place it in the 'collective library'.

Pierre Bayard's How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read is an invaluable guide to subverting the reading classes, says Toby Lichtig
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/jan/06/fiction.society





How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read
by Pierre Bayard; translated by Jeffrey Mehlman
Granta £12, pp185


Pierre Bayard is a Paris-based professor of French literature. As such, he is a practised charlatan, a literary bullshitter, a professional 'non-reader'. 'Because I teach literature at university level,' he says, regretfully, 'there is, in fact, no way to avoid commenting on books that most of the time I haven't even opened.'

Bayard is infiltrating a 'forbidden subject', an area equivalent to 'finance and sex' in its secrecy. Despite society's 'worship' of reading, he avers, we are most of us heathens, even among the literary elite. And quite right, too: why waste time reading Joyce and Proust when you can talk about them - or skim the work of others? Taking it as given that no one actually reads for the pleasure of the process, Bayard proceeds to investigate the meaning of bibliographic cultural capital.

'Non-reading' for Bayard, is 'a genuine activity'. It implies an engagement with literature and is different from mere 'absence of reading'. A 'true reader' is simply 'one who cares about being able to reflect on literature'. With so little time and so many books, he argues, it is better to spread the net wide and settle for a general sense of the multitude.

Agoi, moambak man kaha...

Quote from: islander on April 06, 2013, 10:33:03 AM
ka-hampasabol pod sa manorya sa pulis nga iya na lang giunhan ang 17 anyos ug pusil kay padung unta siya pusilon.  sa bogo tuod ni nahitabo, pero morag medyo nanimahong buwad sa daanbantayan ang estorya da.

Hmm, ang buot ninmong ipasabot, nga ang pulis kay possessed by an egregiously murderous spirit?

Quote from: BolBuhol on April 05, 2013, 10:54:38 PM
hang ijang pamato hang gitipigan sang porol.

Haron may naa pares hang birok niya nga itlog haw...

Quote from: islander on April 05, 2013, 09:09:42 PM

Hmm, dragon submarine ang giangkasan...

Hmm, kaila ba kaha ni nga doggie unsa siya nga canine variety...

Hmm, brayt jud bitaw ang doggies...

Results from the study show that dogs are able to form a visual category of dog faces, and group pictures of very different dogs into a single category, despite the large diversity domestic dog breeds offer. All nine dogs in the study were able to group all the images of dogs within the same category.

“The fact that dogs are able to recognize their own species visually, and that they have great olfactory discriminative capacities, insures that social behavior and mating between different breeds is still potentially possible,” the authors wrote. “Although humans have stretched the Canis familiaris species to its morphological limits, its biological entity has been preserved.”

Back in November, redOrbit reported about how a team from the University of Lincoln found that dogs learn to associate word with objects in different ways than humans. The researchers said that although a dog might bring back the right object once asked, he thinks of the object differently than the human does.

“Where shape matters for us, size or texture matters more for your dog,” these authors wrote in the journal PLOS ONE. “This study shows for the first time that there is a qualitative difference in word comprehension in the dog compared to word comprehension in humans.”

Dogs Are Able To Visually Recognize Their Own Species
February 15, 2013





Lee Rannals for redOrbit.com â€" Your Universe Online


New research reported in the journal Animal Cognition claims that dogs are able to pick out faces of other dogs on a computer screen, and can group them into a category of their own.

Dr. Dominique Autier-Dérian, who led the research along with colleagues, performed the first study to test dogs’ ability to discriminate between species and form a “dog” category in spite of the variability within the dog species.

Previous research has shown that in some species, individuals are able to recognize more easily, or are more attracted by images of, individuals belonging to their own species than those belonging to another species.

The team studied this among domestic dogs, which have the largest morphological variety among all species. There are over 400 pure breeds of dogs that have been registered.

Researchers explored whether this huge diversity among domestic dogs presented a challenge for dogs being able to recognize their species, when confronted with other species.

The team showed nine pet dogs pictures of faces from various dog breeds and cross-breeds on a computer screen for the study. They simultaneously showed these faces of dogs, along with faces of other animal species, including human faces and wild animal faces. The dogs were shown more than 144 pairs of pictures to select from during the study.

Authors of the study observed whether the dogs were able to discriminate any type of dog from other species, and could group all dogs together, regardless of breed, into a single category.

Hmm, kadugo ra diay ang tanang taga Balingsya diris TB? Malagmit, kay ang tanan abilidaran...

Bwahaha! Aguroy, mapaktol jud kang Mujicaha ka!

Argentina has made a formal protest against neighbouring Uruguay after President Jose Mujica was caught describing the Argentine leader as “an old hag”.


By Harriet Alexander3:57PM BST 05 Apr 2013
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/


Mr Mujica, a former guerrilla leader, spoke disparagingly of Cristina Kirchner without realising his microphone was turned on at a press conference.

He also said that she was “worse” than her late husband Nestor, president before her who died suddenly of a heart attack in 2010 and had an eye condition.

“This old hag is worse than the cross-eyed man,” he told Carlos Enciso, the governor of Uruguay’s Florida province.

“Cross-eyes was more of a politician, she’s just stubborn.”

He criticised his neighbouring leader for her overtures to Pope Francis, the former Archbishop of Buenos Aires, who she wants to mediate over sovereignty of the Falklands.

“You’re not going to go to an Argentine pope explaining him what’s a map, what’s mate (Argentine tea) and what’s a flask.”

Benefit para ni Botoy: makadaginot intawon sa pamilete...

Agoi, delikado jud lagi ning manguyab tag anak sa pulis...

Na-rekober sa crime scene ang usa ka kalibre .45 nga pistola, tulo ka mga kabhang sa bala, samtang si Tabay, bulontaryong mi-surrender, dala ang iyang 9mm pistol.

Si Bagarinao nipasabot nga wa nila isalikway nga personal ang motibo sa kremin kalabot sa relasyon sa biktima ug sa anak sa suspek.

Apan bisan pa man niini, ilang ipanigurong patas ang imbestigasyon sa kremin.

Hinuon iyang giklaro nga ang nakuhang mga pamahayag sa habig lang sa iyang deputy.

Magpadayon ang ilang imbestigasyon sanglit ning pagsuwat ila pang gikuhaag pamahayag ang anak ni Tabay nga menor de edad nga maoy saksi sa kremin.

Ang dalaga naa sa ilang womens and children’s protection desk.

Ugmang adlawa, si Tabay ingon man ang biktima ilang ipa-ubos sa paraffin test.

Ang Sun.Star Superbalita misuway sa pagkuha sa habig ni Tabay, apan magsige lang og ring ang iyang cellphone.

Si Sr. Supt. Patrocinio Comendador, nga nahinabi sa Sun.Star Superbalita nagkanayon nga karong buntag mopagawas siyag press release kalabot sa maong insedenti.

Matod niya nga dunay sinsitibong isyu ang mao nga insidente.

Ni Guam P. Logroño
Friday, April 5, 2013


POLICE official nipusil patay sa uyab sa iyang anak nga giingong mosukol ug mopusil unta kaniya dihang iyang naabtan kagahapon sa alas 3 sa hapon sa usa ka payag sulod sa Don Catarata Memorial National High School sa Barangay Guadalupe, dakbayan sa Bogo.

Si Chief Insp. Ceferino Tabay Jr., deputy police chief sa Bogo City Police Station, naunay pagbalhog sa karsel sa Bogo Police Station human iyang napatay si Vincent Paul Montesclaros, 17, nagpuyo sa nahisgutang barangay, 1st year college sa Northern Cebu College sa dakbayan sa Bogo.

Si Monteslaros uyab sa 16-anyos nga anak anak ni Tabay ug bag-uhay lang migradwar sa sa Saint Louise High School sa dakbayan sa Bogo.

Si Supt. Anthony Bagarinao, hepe sa Bogo Police Station nga nahinabi sa Sun.Star Superbalita, nagkanayon nga si Montesclaros gideklarar nga dead-on-arrival (DOA) sa Cebu Provincial Hospital sa dakbayan sa Bogo tungod sa samad pinusilan sa ulo ug dughan.

Matod ni Bagarinao nga duty si Tabay atol sa krimen.

Nipauli kini makadiyot sa ilang balay aron mokaon, apan miapas sa iyang anak nga didto sa tunghaang pampubliko sa high school, 150 metros ang gilay-on gikan sa ilang balay.

Si Tabay nibutyag kaniya nga sa pag-abot niya sa maong dapit iyang naabtan sa sulod sa payag sa ekwelahan nga nagkadugo ang iyang anak nga babaye.

Ang biktima gikatahong mobunot unta sa iyang armas aron unta siya pusilon hinungdan nga iyang giunhan sa paggpusil.

Human niini, si Tabay nanawag og back-up ug ilang gidala sa tambalanan ang biktima apan dead on arrival kini.

Quote from: islander on April 05, 2013, 06:04:18 PM
or can you see the arse of one when you look at the face of the other?

He he, in principle it ought to work both ways, yes, but now I'm not too sure...

Quote from: hubag bohol on April 06, 2013, 05:41:43 AM
“Sana magsama-sama tayo sa bagong pulitika kung saan walang paninira [We’re hoping that we can be united towards a new politics, where there is no criticism],” he said.

Hmm, kadako unta sa akong kalipay kon ang pulong "criticism" iyang giilisan og "dynasty", thus:

"We’re hoping that we can be united towards a new politics, where there is no dynasty."

Binay: ‘I pity my daughter’
By Karen Boncocan
INQUIRER.net
6:45 pm | Friday, April 5th, 2013





LUCENA CITY, Philippines â€" Amidst mounting opposition against political dynasties, Vice President Jejomar Binay could not help but pity his daughter, Nancy, who is running for senator under Binay’s United Nationalist Alliance (UNA).

Speaking to thousands at the Quezon Convention Center on Friday, the Vice President said alleged efforts to discredit his daughter, Nancy, were unfair.

He said that his daughter has been subjected to demolition efforts “kawawa naman ang anak ko [I pity on my daughter].”

The younger Binay has been hit with criticism after criticism, particularly over her lack of experience in public office, something which she admitted hurt the most out of all the attacks she has received.

But in a recent interview, the UNA candidate maintained that she had no regrets in joining politics and was even willing to “go through this process all over again.”

The opposition has cried foul over attacks on Binay, San Juan Representative Joseph Victor Ejercito Estrada, son of former President Joseph Estrada; and Cagayan Representative Jack Enrile, son of Senate President Juan Ponce Enrile, saying that it was likely the work of the Liberal Party.

What was necessary at this point was for a new kind of politics, one that is devoid of mudslinging, according to the Vice President.

“Sana magsama-sama tayo sa bagong pulitika kung saan walang paninira [We’re hoping that we can be united towards a new politics, where there is no criticism],” he said.

OK pud kaayo kon ang Queen sa kontra, Blue Label...

OK ni. Kada kan-on nga pisa, imnon...

(philstar.com) | Updated April 4, 2013 - 6:42pm


TARLAC CITY, Philippines -  Blood is still thicker than water.

The Cojuangco couple vowed to deliver votes for the United Nationalist Alliance (UNA) in this province but  said that political differences would not affect their relationship with the Aquinos.

Former Rep. Jose “Peping” Cojuangco said he and his wife, UNA senatorial bet Margarita “Tingting” Cojuangco, still have supporters, having served as local officials for a long time.

"I was congressman here for five terms. Tingting was governor for eight years. I think we have enough supporters who still believe in us,” he told reporters in their residence in the sprawling Hacienda Luisita here.

Quote from: islander on April 05, 2013, 05:33:27 PM
way to go; bff for better or for worse.

Hmm, I can imagine how you started your lifetime attachment to felines...

Quote from: islander on April 05, 2013, 05:28:57 PM
how to tell them apart: one has a round face, the other a round arse.  can you tell which one?

Hmm, I won't be surprised seeing the face of one when I get a glimpse of the arse of the other...

Quote from: islander on April 05, 2013, 05:26:46 PM


naapil ba kaha tawon ang kumagko sa butcher sa hamburger patty?

Hmm, the butcher being a dog, or cat?

Quote from: islander on April 05, 2013, 05:20:07 PM
poor godel.  despite his genius, he never learned to cook for himself.  if only he knew way ahead about pope francis and fr chic, they who always knew how to cook for themselves.  his genius would have been complete.

Hmm, I guess the tragedy was occasioned not so much by his disinterest in cooking but rather by his doting on his wife...

Hmm, I'm sure you can answer all questions regarding this creature...





- Botoy incarnated as a cat shark

Quote from: Votives on April 05, 2013, 02:00:11 PM
wow kalami... ako intawn tubig ra

Basin molapas na ka sa langit sa imong kalaki, Bay Vots...