Critical Third

There’s not much more I need to say to introduce this story, it kind of speaks for itself.

“Is she crazy? According to Tridevil, “I am crazy. But the crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, so technically since I know I’m crazy, I’m not crazy.””

Cray-cray. I guess Radical Inclusion makes Burning Man a great place for the X-Men to frolic.


 

Re-blogged from HappyPlace:

Florida woman gets a third breast implanted to become “unattractive to men.”

Sep 22, 2014 @ 11:27am

You’re gonna wish you had three hands. (Via Twitter)Her name is Jasmine Tridevil. She’s 21, from Tampa, Florida (of course), and her name isn’t the only thing that’s fake. She also has three breasts on purpose. She was born with two naturals and then, after being rejected by 50 surgeons, found one doctor at the bottom of the barrel who would stick a third one on her right in the middle.

The doctor had to make that boob from scratch out of silicone, skin tissue from her stomach, and a mini-implant to create a protruding nipple. Later she had an areola tattooed on to complete the look.

As Miss Tridevil explained on The News Junkie program on Orlando radio station 104.1, the whole procedure cost her $20,000, and her doctor required that she sign a non-disclosure agreement protecting his identity so that he “wouldn’t get in trouble.”

But why, you ask yourself in your sane-person’s head, would she do this?

She wants to become an MTV reality star.

Third boob’s a charm. (Via Facebook)MTV hasn’t signed on or anything, but she’s hired a camera crew on her own to follow her around.

Jasmine, if you haven’t come up with a name for your show yet, may I suggest Three Boobs on a Little Lady?

The show is going to be real, and it will be spectacular. Documenting her life as a three-breasted woman, she saved the moment she showed her mom what she had done for the cameras. This is sad for her family, but great for anyone who wants to see footage of her mom freaking out and running out the door. Her mom now refuses to speak to her, and will not let Jasmine’s sister speak to her, either.

She told her dad on camera, too. Apparently, he “really isn’t happy.”

Is she crazy? According to Tridevil, “I am crazy. But the crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, so technically since I know I’m crazy, I’m not crazy.”

Gotta (third) hand it to her, that’s the exact kind of irrational circular logic that is perfect for reality TV.

Television stardom is her goal now, but she claims that’s not why she got the surgery. She says she is sick of dating, so she made herself “unattractive to men.” She clearly underestimates man’s motivation.

On the plus, side, whoever created that three-boob-bra Etsy store finally has a customer base.

 

 

Hmmmm......

Hmmmm……

Warm Fuzzy of the Day

In response to Burner demand, we’ve created a new category for posts: Warm Fuzzies. These will be inspirational, positive, heart-warming, soulful, loving, joyful stories.

We’ll start this week on a positive note, by considering Alternative Ways of humans living together in smaller groups. Back in the BS (Before Safari camps) days, Burning Man used to be a bit of an experiment in this type of thing.

One such tribe that does this in an innovative and effetctive way is the Himba of Namibia. They name their children after a song its mother hears before its conception. The whole village sings their song at special times.

From thefreethoughtproject.com:

here is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home. 

Here is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.

And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.

In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.

The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.

And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.

You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home.

The tribe in this story is known as the Himba Tribe. They live in the northern parts of Namibia on the banks of the Kunene River.

Read more at http://thefreethoughtproject.com/tribe-africa-birth-date-child-counted-born/#dgxjEcw2mTALWtJi.99

 

 

 

Riding Inside A Dust Devil At Burning Man

Burning Man Project Director Chip Conley’s Fest300 has released another Burning Man promo video. This one is 3:05 long, the 0:05 is for Fest300 advertising. So is this now the Commodification Threshold? Anyone can shoot promo videos at Burning Man, as long as they just show their logos at the start and end for a few seconds? Just wondering, because I can think of all sorts of brands that could do epic Burning Man videos, ending in 3 seconds of their logo.

Commenter Reb has pointed out that once again, Fest300 is ignoring safety guidelines:

Although some may say a Dust Devil differs from a White Out, the official Survival Guide advises the following regarding White Outs: “Be on alert for moving vehicles. ❧ If you are driving a vehicle, STOP and wait for the air to clear. You will not be able to see where you are going and could hurt yourself or others.” The video shows just how poor the visibility is inside a Dust Devil- riding a bike inside one looks like a good way to get impaled, smash into people, artwork, a bus, guy wires, etc. Now there’s another reason not to ride into one- it can be full of idiots