Posted on 06/09/2016 4:34:29 PM PDT by ghosthost
I think his Snow White is amazing. The guy is a super accomplished make up artist. He certainly has contouring and highlighting down to give the appearance of different facial shapes.
His Maleficent looks very much like Angelina Jolie, and I was surprised how much his Taylor Swift looked like her.
He has a very expensive addiction. The big eyes contact lenses, and wigs are outrageously expensive, and the costumes
are easily thousands of dollars.
Do you think war “set some of them straight”?
Today Klinger would get a promotion.
Yup. Disneyland is wonderful for kids and parents need to watch them at all times.
My little niece wears a princess dress whenever we go to Disneyland on West Katella Avenue and she gets stopped by the kind ushers who politely ask her for an autograph. She smiles and signs like a pro.
The dangers of Disneyland have led to many books and web sites. Still, some young college students love the place, go once a month and sing the songs while driving to a parking spot. Weird. Lack of religion and lack of faith in the Lord.
Walt Disney, in my opinion, was a brilliant person and a role model. His wife was Catholic and Walt took care of her parents in Ventura with humble care. Amazing guy. His original train set is at the Gene Autry museum. I am sure he is turning over in his grave. Exorcists should go and sprinkle holy water a few times a year.
From BASEketball:
Robert Stack: The police have pieced together numerous theories on Coop’s whereabouts.
Doug Remer: I have no clue where the hell he is. For all I care he could be hanging by his neck in his closet!
Robert Stack: Scenario One: He’s hanging by his neck in his closet.
Jenna Reed: You want to know where Coop is? Just look for where the most heinous, vile, horrible exploitation of children takes place.
Robert Stack: Scenario Two: Coop is at DisneyLand.
That logic would explain the constant story trope of witch’s cabins in the deep woods. Far from everyone else, because they weren’t allowed to be in the village.
I will say he looks a lot better than some of the other freaks I have seen.
—
The only Snow White (or any Disney character portrayal for that matter) that ever got my attention was Joulia Stepanova in the Rammstein Sonne video. But then again, I am a notorious and unrepentant heterosexual.
Aragr and Ergi apply to women too; the generic meaning is “unnatural”. Someone could pronounce Aragr because you were rich and walked past your starving neighbor every day. But if your starving neighbor was too lazy to feed themselves, THEY would be Aragr. The trial of combat was basically to see if you had any guts left in you to even try to.save youself, if you didn’t care about yourself, they couldn’t count on you to be there for them, either. When they emphasized strength and bravery, it wasn’t chest thumping, more like you had a worthy spirit in you, had fight left in you, evil made you weak-hearted and your heart is the shield that keeps evil out. It’s a harsh environment and a harsh life when you know enemies could come from any side, SJW wouldn’t cut it.
No. Daddy said that most of them washed out before basic
training was over. No one harassed them. This was not the
norm back then. Daddy NEVER expressed any contempt for
ANYBODY - except the Nazi officers. He felt sorry for the
ordinary conscripted German soldier. Said they did not want
to be there; but if they refused to “Heil Hitler” and go
where sent, they would be shot by the Nazis. - He always
said, “War is HELL!” It is.
No, they are not crazy ; )
My Mom’s family was in Austria during the war, her father was nominally in Civil Defense but had a protected job in the coal mines; lost an arm in unsafe conditions fulfilling unrealistic quotas, but begged for a job at half pay, his war was to keep his family from starving.
When I was young I worked with him for a summer, pushing 70 he moved 400# pilings into position with one hand and his knees. If there was nothing to do, he would crawl on his knees on the lawn pulling up weeds where no one else could see any weeds. Never saw him sick, never saw him take a day off, until his wife passed away, then he did nothing but drink his two beers a day and sit. A month later he followed her. If they make them like that any more, they’re not making the papers. Can still remember his sweaty smell on his towel...which towel is Opa’s? Definitely this one ;)
Rumor has it that he was frozen in a cryogenic tube, for future life, but I get your point, thanks for the response.
I never should have looked at this thread. I just threw up in my mouth.
If we only do just the nominal work around the place to
keep ourselves from getting stoved up, we do well. They
don’t make them like our fathers today. - I guess if they
get hungry enough & no government handouts available; that
would motivate them. - The old government “sow” is just
about totally emaciated; but the little piglets are still
latched onto her tits. Husband’s in his 70’s & still works
every day that the Lord sends & I’m nearing 70 and help
any way I can.
At least we know who would be the first snack when the zombie apocalypse begins
When Mom thought we were too spoiled she would always trot out the story of the first time they ate a housecat.
They lived in the hill country of Austria during the war and when times got hard and rationing got tight during WW2 the people in the city thought the country were always loaded with food. In the hills the little farms were glorified garden patches compared to our farms in the Midwest. So they sent nazi snoops unfit for the army to live in the villages and take the farmer’s crops and chickens right out from under their noses. My grandfather mined coal with one arm, and then tended a “farm” on a hillside on top of it, but couldn’t raise animals because someone had to guard them 24-7, if the confiscators didn’t take them, hungry neighbors would steal them. The farmers after having their goods taken away, themselves had to go ten miles to a larger town to get their rations and bring them back (the wonders of a siciist system for you) which for him meant going on foot with my mother and our Aunt Inge, who then was an abandoned child he found and adopted, and they would carry their weekly rations back. His wife always begged them to try to get “meat with lots of fat” because the ration for two adults and two children was 1/4lb of meat per week.
My grandfather became inventive about ways to get food. He planted the borders of his property with berries, which made the confiscation officer angry...why didn’t he grow something more worthwhile. Opa replied that the berry bushes were easy to get, they grew like weeds and took care of themselves, and with one arm and a full time job in the mine he couldn’t manage the farm like he used to. Of course, if he could ever find some sugar, his wife made excellent preserves... The confiscation officer was a fat man and took the very best for himself from the food he confiscated, and everybody knew it. He smacked his lips at the thought of berry preserves and said if Opa’s berries came in, he would find the sugar.
When the berries came in, the confiscation officer was not very adept at figuring how many berries and how much sugar made how many jars of preserves; too eager to scurry off with his loot. After that he used to slip Opa a little tobacco, because he wanted to stay in good standing with his source of a special delicacy. Opa would trade the tobacco with army soldiers for their blood sausage rations.
I mentioned a discrepancy between Opa’s harvest and what the confiscation officer actually got. The berries Opa could squirrel away, and some of the officer’s sugar, he fermented. Then distilled into brandy. And his wife made sacks to carry the brandy out of sleeves of raincoats, so he could hide it under his clothes when he passed through the manned checkpoints walking down into the bottomlands where the rich farms were, and he knew the bigger farmers bribed tbe officials to be allowed to keep some of their goods, so he looked for a well-fed farmer and did the WW2 Austrian version of “the Art of the Deal”. The brandy poured into bottles, and then the sacks held butter, cheese and fatback for the trip back. He always got very nervous when there were dogs at checkpoints, but his single arm, civil defense pin, and immaculate Sunday dress seemed to help him get through.
My mother went hungry enough even with her father’s inventive mind that she had scoliosis for life mostly due to being a child working like an adult with not enough calcium in her diet. And once when he was at his wits’ end, he cornered a cat in an alleyway and wrung it’s neck. He couldn’t gut it and clean it one handed, so he came home and unceremoniously dropped the dead animal on the kitchen table and told his wife: “Cook this.” She baked it in an oven with spring greens, but not the head and the tail, he wanted those seperate. He was a smart man of few words. Because he knew neighbors would smell the food cooking, he knew they would turn him in to the confiscation officer for a reward for reporting a “hoarder”, and when the banging on the door came, he met the fat man with an entourage of his hungry turncoat neighbors he’d grown up with and knew all his life, and when they demanded his hoarded meat, he showed them the tail and head of the cat and said “You mean this hoarded meat?” They looked horrified. One of the neighbors demanded the cooked cat for himself, said he recognized it, it was his cat. The officer took my grandfather’s side, said “If that was your cat, you would have eaten it already. Everybody, go.” They left. Opa put the cat’s head and tail on the cutting board, sat down at the kitchen table, and said “Tomorrow, that will make good soup.”
After the “cat incident” three things happened. The fat officer felt sorry for the one armed man and cut him extra slack, my mom’s family got a reputation as crazy desperate people, which was helpful in certain scenarios, and stray cats began disappearing with extreme prejudice. The smell of roasting meat overcame all barriers.
*****Reading your post, I sat here thinking how I could help, and couldn’t think of very much. But I have loads of stories, so a story is all I’ve got to share. Now go trade it for some butter! ;)
“siciist” should read “socialist” woops:)
Gosh. I wish I did have some good country butter. My
grandmother used to keep a milk cow down at the barn
behind their house, even after they moved from the farm
to town. - Husband & I buy organic butter when we can;
but he’s really pooh-pooh about “organic” stuff. I hope
I can get him to buy pasture fed beef; but he’s a big
one on CHEAP whatever it is. - I grew up on dried beans,
potatoes & cornbread one day, then the same every day
thereafter. Got anemic at one point from no red meat;
but we had what we had. - My mother grew up really hard
during the Depression. Her brothers & father hunted,
squirrels, possums, rabbits & anything they could find.
The boys liked possum; but Momma always said possums
were nasty animals. I’ve always had to eat what’s
available & glad to get it. Had a little cola & candy
as a kid & have a few rotten teeth to show for it.
Kids now are spoiled & don’t want anything that hasn’t
got a slice of pizza hanging off of it. AND that pizza
better NOT have any vegetables on it!
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