FungalFractoids

Get over it.

Goebbels explains how the Nazi's learnt from the British model of propaganda: http://www.calvin.edu/academic/cas/gpa/goeb27.htm

Awesome, Australia really does have the coolest predators. But I wonder how it would fare against this rat? Rat-eating plant discovered in Cape York

Jerry O'Connel ruthlessly parodying the Cruise video, funny shit: http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/3f716ffebe

I knew the moment I saw it was you who'd replied PD i had a sinking feeling in my stomach, I knew straight away that I'd let a golden opportunity pass me by

Bored? Why not join in the fun http://en.wikinews.org/wiki/Report:_Church...cked_by_hackers

WOW... Watch this vid. CoS is being targetted by hackers. Apparently scientology.org is down... http://en.wikinews.org/wiki/Report:_Church...cked_by_hackers Why the fuck is all this creepy CoS shit popping up all of a sudden. I'm scared...

PMP Classic PD

With the insanity of our pornography laws the girls could have been older than him (ie. not underage at all) and he'd still be charged with producing child porn. Basically, you can fuck a 16-17 year old but you can't photograph it nekkid.

Not too sure I'm happy seeing this in the Travel section of The Age, but there you go. Night of the Shaman Photo: Reuters October 21, 2007 On a jungle tour, Tim Brothers attempts to break on through to the other side. There are two things that don't leap instantly to the top of most travellers' itineraries in Ecuador. The first is staring down the unlucky end of a pistola, while its drunken owner lectures you about the dangers of hanging around ATMs at night. But that's another (long) story. The second is witnessing an ancient Shaman "sucking the demons" out of his patients, deep in the Amazon jungle. As you've just downed the hallucinogenic jungle-juice, ayahuasca. National Geographic material? Maybe. Getaway cover story? Perhaps not. The way I see it, there's a big difference between taking the pre-packaged Disneyland tour, where everything is predictable and safe - if completely sterile; and witnessing the real thing. Somehow, this tour managed both. My base for exploration was Macas, in the Amazon fringes of far Eastern Ecuador. On arrival, I'm swept into the friendly arms of Bolivar, one of Macas's only Jungle Tour agents. A cross between Evo Morales and Pikachu, Bolivar straddles both indigenous wisdom and cartoony cuteness. He has contacts with native tribes of the deep jungle, lending any tour an authentic edge. I question him about visiting a Shaman, and a cheeky glint sneaks into his eye. "Para algo mas, talvez?" For something more? His mischievous tone suggests the ayahuasca vine - a traditional medicine and natural drug. I was thinking just cultural education, but . . . well, that could be good too. A 30-minute flight in a salmon-tin plane takes us to a deserted jungle airstrip. The following two-hour bumble through the jungle ends at a clearing beside a picturesque lake. Thus begins a double-day billing of village life and forays into the local primary rainforest. The latter contains a wide array of natural remedies, like an entirely herbal Soul Pattison. After our second night, I'm honestly a little deflated. While our guides are working hard, this isn't the authentic experience I'd hoped for. We're smack bang in remotest Ecuador, but the Global Village is ever-present. And I'm not just talking about the ubiquitous Dragonball-Z T-shirts. The local children are schooled in the mission, and they only haltingly speak Quechua; preferring Spanish among themselves. The villagers eke out a living through subsistence farming. But future generations could well be swallowed-up by nearby towns. The next day's spent slushing in muddy marshes, and being paddled by our 16-year-old canoe-boy, Alvino. Eventually, we arrive at our night's lodge. It's 4pm, and a lunch fit for King Kong awaits us: rice, beans, the staple yucca (a starchy potato-like vegetable) and chicha, an alcoholic corn drink. The latter is sour, thick and mealy . . . and as I discover later, fermented with the saliva of the eldest woman of the village! Alvino tells us he hasn't attended school for the past two years due to a mysterious illness. He saw doctors, physicians, and travelled to large city hospitals, all to no avail. Then, he says, he visited our Shaman. Overnight, the illness disappeared. With this glowing testimonial, we're ferried across the river again. On the opposite high bank sits a large ritual hut. An old man saunters past, and without introduction, I know it's the Shaman. We follow him inside. The Shaman peels off his shirt and plops onto a stool in the half-light of the doorway. We sit side-by-side, as Bolivar launches into a "How's yer father" chat with the witchdoctor in native tongue. It's a perfect scene. Around 70, with craggy Indian features and thin skin drawn over his bony body, the Shaman is all I'd hoped for. Conversely, I dreaded he'd be 30ish with a "Bulls" baseball cap. Like a fine orchestral melody of instruments calling and responding, the sound of Quechua is fascinating. After about 12 minutes of pleasant rattling, Bolivar turns to us: "The Shaman says, 'Hi"'. In the fading light, Alvino gives us a Dummies Guide to ayahuasca. He's guzzled many a mug, recommending it for health, religious purposes, studying for exams, and good ol' fashioned freakin' out. Bolivar says it's helped him see spirits of the jungle: Puma Gods and more. Alvino merrily adds that it's normal for the body to reject the stuff at first: retching and violent diarrhoea are guaranteed. Nice. Suddenly, the Shaman presses a shot-sized cup into my hands. Side-effects in mind, I down the lot with a wince. Elham, my fiancee, takes one, "low tide". We sit down and await the "experience". Others begin to appear: a man and three village women. As they sit, the Shaman starts to sway and chant hauntingly. The orange flicker of candles throws shadows of the man's bent frame around the room. The atmosphere is intoxicating. The villager-man points to his calf muscle. The Shaman lays him on his stomach, calf exposed. The old man places his mouth over the exposed leg, blows a hard raspberry, before sucking back, his cheeks flapping like fish fins. He repeats, shrieks like a wounded bird, then shuffles back to his stool and proceeds to summon up a series of almighty phlegm globules, chanting moodily in between each. After several repetitions of the suck and spit procedure, the man's pain has gone. Bolivar leans over and whispers that this Shaman is the region's most revered; he's never left a patient uncured. Bogus Shamans do exist however: in fact, much of this guy's business is correcting the mistakes that other "Witch-quacks" have caused. Next is a village woman suffering from wrist pain. Like a trip to the corner hairdresser's, she chats loudly to her friend as the Shaman performs his magic on her outstretched hand. Breaking the bewitching atmosphere just a tad. Before our departure, the Shaman performs a protective incantation for us. We lay down, and he shakes a large, leafy branch over our bodies. I look up to see the wildly incongruous face of the Virgin Mary staring down from a tiny golden frame on the witchdoctor's wall. The juxtaposition is mind-blowing: you simply can't find a more pagan scene than this. Our trip is unfortunately devoid of any animistic hallucinations. Never mind. Reality was stupefying enough. Bolivar explains we'd been given a rather light dose of the ayahuasca, due to our heavy late lunch. Its side-effects in mind, I can't help thinking the Shaman may have also been protecting his front veggie patch... http://www.theage.com.au/news/south-americ...ge#contentSwap1

Haha... Ormus.. What a crock of shit. Yeah, and probably with good reason...

It's like something out of The Onion... But one thing stands out to me... If the guy allegedly sold her drugs when he was just thirteen then how can he, as a minor, be considered criminally negligent?

As Charlie Brown would say: Good grief! Are News Ltd journo's so bereft of material that they have to spend their days trawling internet conspiracy sites in the hope of finding a story?!? hebrew- Right on, Evidently neither News Ltd nor the 'UFO Area website' could be bothered even looking up the name of teh Pitjantjatjara, but I'm sure they know more about their rock art than their elders or Australia's anthropologist community. I've never been to Uluru but reading this did remind me of Bill Bryson's book on Australia, he was quite awestruck by Uluru and commented that if he was ever going to go looking for evidence of an alien mothership then he'd start digging there Personally, I don't think we'll ever find hard evidence of 'aliens' because the phenomenon is one that occurs in dimensions only accesible by the mind- kind like Graeme Hancock makes out in 'Supernatural'...

Ah the bastards are onto it. Oh well, codeine is nasty as shit anyway. And I don't think you can split them in half like you used to so you could throw away all the horrid ibuprofen. No great loss imo

I'm getting the fuck off this fascist continent

Can you IV it?

From my cold, dead hands!

How easy is ephedra to grow? Is it as effective for hayfever?

Are you asking about Pol Pot? ::boom boom::

Who the hell did you rob?!?!?!

Kudos Tarnicus, I'm glad to finally read something sensible in this thread

AAP The Orstrahyun

What a fuckin' hypocrite > This from ANY religious leader would be enough to make me choke on my Weeties, but from a Catholic pope of all people! Hey, Benedict, you Hitley Youth fuck, have you had a look at the Vatican's policy on AIDS and condoms in Africa lately?!? The Daily Mail

http://gawker.com/news/the-future/schizoph...mick-329133.php

Yes, definitely Smoking off foil is a really bad idea... Eukoencephalopathy has been associated with heroin users chasing the dragon from foil.