psycho0222

最强说不上，不过可以说有点特色

前天看过了

http://news.xinhuanet.com/mil/2009-02/10/c...nt_10791790.htm 内容也很强大 60年代我船员高机加冲锋枪轰杀美战机至渣 1965年6月6日，湛江港。 援越船运大队政委周丰成最后一个同前来码头送行的方正平等舰队首长握别，由29艘登陆艇、运输船组成的编队满载着工程物资便驶离港口，第一站是北部湾中心的白龙尾岛。 援越船运大队是5月5日在湛江组建的，干部、战士共计493人，都经过严格的体格检查。壮族干部卢补珍新婚才6天，就离开妻子，走上战场，当艇船驶向大海的时刻，他们向祖国投去了深情的目光。 船队到达白龙尾岛已是深夜。越南东北群岛很有特色，海中有山，绿林丛丛，悬崖突兀，水深浪小。船运大队充分利用优越的地理条件，把艇船伪装成大树，藏在山根下。白天，美国海军从航空母舰上起飞的轰炸机常常超低空飞行，飞机掠过的气浪能击起水柱，吹断树枝，有时就从艇船的头顶上飞过，吹掉伪装网。这些飞机轰炸的目标是“胡志明小道”，企图切断中国援越交通线。 “小艇能不能打飞机？”大队长杨振和在二中队蹲点时，提出这样一个问题。当时，登陆艇只装备有12.7mm高射机枪2挺，冲锋枪4支。《条令》上规定，小艇防空只能疏散、隐蔽、机动，避开敌机就是胜利。“我们可以试一试嘛。” 没过几天，美军F-105型轰炸机3架，突然蹿到二中队锚地上空俯冲，随时做好了开火准备的T-107艇全体官兵冒着被敌机轰炸的危险，各种武器一齐猛射。霎时，一架敌机冒着浓烟栽入海中。 首战告捷，群情振奋。一年中，船运大队除完成大量的运输任务外，还进行数十次对空作战，击落美机9架，我方无一伤亡，成了一张移动的天网。 船运大队入越作战一年，基本上完成了海上运输任务。到来年7月份，只留下一个中队，10条艇，由周丰成政委带领，其余的已陆续回国。 人员少了，装备少了，处境却越来越险峻。美国海军把船运大队视为一颗“钉子”，意欲拔掉。 7月30日8点钟，美机12架次向姑苏锚地轮番袭击。我艇靠山隐蔽，美机难以接近，不能直接命中，他们就朝山崖上发射60多枚火箭弹，把岩石炸碎，石块砸在艇上，砸穿了许多洞。战士贾铁钢不幸被石块砸成重伤，他顾不上包扎，仍抱着机枪还击。最后倒在战位上。 贾铁钢是援越船队牺牲的第一个战士，他把五尺身躯留在了越南锦普港烈士陵园。 在以后的两个月里，战斗越来越频繁，美军越来越狡猾。9月16日，援越船队要全部回国了，干部、战士欣喜万分。这天，越南领导人给船运大队举行隆重的授勋和签字仪式，范文同总理的眼睛里闪烁着泪花，他带头领唱《越南──中国》这首充满了友谊和信赖的歌曲。结束时，范文同宣布：胡志明主席要来接见大家。就在这时，越方联络官突然告诉周丰成，“美军飞机向12号锚地突然袭击，船运中队损失很大。” 周丰成转身冲出大厅，驱车赶往锦普。公路早已被炸弹炸得坑坑洼洼，泥泞难行，他顾不上这些，命令司机拼命往回赶。 原来，美军趁我尚未转移锚地之机，先后出动飞机12架次，使用火箭弹、炸弹、机关炮、低空多角度轮番向我505、601两艇实施袭击，两艇主机被打坏，牺牲5人，伤13人。在这种情况下，指战员们临危不惧，用高射机枪，冲锋枪奋力反击，击落美机3架。副中队长卢补珍、机枪班长曹瑞华、新战士何永生就是在这次战斗中牺牲的。 为了对付美国飞机的轰炸，海军派出三个高炮团，布置在美机轰炸的线路上，南海舰队高炮八团对空作战29次，击落、击伤美机72架，直打得美机不敢在八团阵地上空飞过。在一个圣诞节前，美军新闻署宣布停止轰炸3天，八团官兵趁此机会洗澡理发。连续两个多月，官兵们没有脱衣睡过觉，衣服又脏又臭，身上的泥土成块往下掉。岂料，美国人玩了个小花招。这天一大早，阵地上空就传来了“嗡嗡”的飞机声。指战员们紧急进入炮位，有些人衣服都没有顾上穿。瞄准一看是一架小型运输机，不值得一打，就放过去了。这时，飞机身后突然洒下雪片一样的传单，花花绿绿飘落一地。原来，这是美军新闻署送来的“圣诞礼物”，上写： “你们有什么了不起！” “我今天就从你头上过去了！” 战争有时成了游戏，真让官兵们哭笑不得。

这是在美国...........

在网上看到有关央视新址北配楼火灾的消息以后，一直在关注央视综合、新闻、国际频道的权威报道。毕竟，与东方卫视、凤凰卫视和外国的媒体相比，央视距离现场最近，人员最多，设备最全，可以让我们对火灾情况有一个全面的深入的了解。然而，很可惜，在早间的《朝闻天下》和午间的《新闻30分》均没看到只言片句有关央视新址北配楼火灾的报道。 午间的《新闻30分》倒是报道了一条有关火灾的消息，可惜是澳大利亚的森林火灾。看着主持人从容不迫的报道澳大利亚的森林大火，我们不禁要问，央视为什么不能从容面对自己地盘的火灾？以前，我们可以猜测是新闻主管部门不让报道。但看到互联网、地方卫视及其他媒体上铺天盖地连篇累牍的消息，这种惯性的猜测不攻自破。 想想不久之前，温总理在剑桥大学演讲时遭遇干扰时的从容镇定，我们不禁对中央电视台的因循守旧，故步自封感到不解。在中国日益以更加开放的心态面对世界的时候，央视为什么不能以更加开放的心态正视自身的问题。也难怪有些网友要质疑其中是不是有什么不可告人的隐情。 分析一下，不难看出，在中国比以往任何时候都更加开放更加自信的今天，作为中国最大的电视媒体，央视仍不太适应，至少在面对某些敏感的问题上仍犹犹豫豫，不够果敢。此前，直播温总理在剑桥大学的演讲时，在播到演讲受到干扰时，新闻频道坚持直播下去，而中文国际频道却中断了直播画面。这就是这一矛盾心态的反应。 其实，面对这次突如其来的火灾，央视可以更从容一些。很多观众都在期待，《新闻联播》《焦点访谈》《新闻1+1》等央视收视率高的栏目尽快报道这次火灾的情况。因为，更加从容、更加自信、更加开放的姿态，显现的不仅仅是央视的进步，更是整个国家的进步！

圈里是他的鞋 视频在下面 http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-11...ding-train.html

没看

● 叶鹏飞 北京特派员 　　中共机关报持续刊登观点开明的文章，在2月3日呼吁当局正视互联网对反腐败的作用后，《人民日报》昨天又发表中央党校学者的文章，指出官员利用公权力打击网络的不利言论属于违法行为。 　　题为“学会从网络上听取民意”的文章作者是中共中央党校副教授刘素华。文章肯定了互联网的政治作用：“它已成为畅达民意，维护权益，鞭挞腐败便捷而有效的手段。” 从网络听取民意 成为官员基本素质 　　作者指出，学会从网络上听取民意，并积极回应民间的质疑，已成为新时期政府官员的一项基本素质。 　　文章批评说：“有许多官员依然对网络比较抵触，甚至将之视为洪水猛兽，认为是网络煽动了百姓情绪，一旦网上出现了不利于自己的言论，就迅速删帖甚至查封ID，并动用公权力对发帖者进行跟踪、报复。这种做法是很不明智的，而且是违法的。” 　　作者表示，虽然互联网也存在不实信息，或对政府及政策的诽谤及诋毁，然而关键还在于政府解决问题不够及时。缺乏官方权威的声音去澄清，网络传播自然产生让民间恐慌的负面效应。 　　官方主流媒体近日出现类似开明的观点除了《人民日报》，还包括中共北京市委属下的《北京日报》。该报在1月13日登载中国传媒大学教授沈敏特的文章《追求真理离不开言论自由》，开宗明义便指出“言论自由，是被写进我国宪法的”。 　　在今年充满敏感政治纪念日的关键年份，支持言论自由的观点接连出现在具备政治指标意义的《人民日报》上，格外引人关注。

Re: NOT A BIG DEAL by erindaniellem 4 days ago (Tue Feb 3 2009 11:40:34) Ignore this User | Report Abuse THANK YOU, jthekoz! you are the first person in this discussion to actually understand how WRONG and UNFORGIVABLE Christian Bale is for how he acted! It's sick how the OP seems to think that just because Christian is a movie star he can act however he wants. I don't care who you are, how much stress you're under, or how much you're being paid, you DO NOT cuss out your colleague for making a small mistake. It's as simple as that. If ANYONE besides a movie star did that, they would be fired immediately. Honestly, someone explain why the rich and famous are exempt from this. And all those excuses you people keep giving him, he's stressed, he had a bad day, he's under a lot of pressure, etc., are a bunch of BS. I'm stressed. I've had bad days. I'm under pressure. But I don't act like that! And if I did, I am positive no one would justify my behavior like they have Christian's. Wake up, you guys! Celebrities are just like everyone else. Please don't inflate their egos even more by pretending like it doesn't matter when they act like they own the universe.

丈夫想让妻子一起看成人影片，妻子没兴趣，便争吵起来，妻子找来了丈人和小舅子“帮忙”，却没想到愤怒的丈夫举起了杀猪刀……日前，43岁的王某被杭州富阳市人民检察院依法以涉嫌故意伤害罪批准逮捕。 　　王某和妻子有一个17岁的女儿。大年初二，王某一家到妻子老家拜年，晚饭后女儿便留在了外公外婆家。王某和妻子在棋牌室搓完麻将，回到家里已是凌晨1点，妻子有些累便先睡下了。可王某精神却出奇的好，他躺在床上一边看电视一边喝酒。凌晨2时，一斤老酒下肚的王某情绪越发高涨，他拿出了一张色情碟片，邀妻子一起看，妻子不肯，王某还一直缠着她。妻子明显有了恼怒之意，但还是忍住火气劝丈夫：“快休息吧，我今天身体不好……” 　　王某仍不管不顾还想进一步动作，妻子愤然起身，将装有碟片的影碟机砸到地上，这一砸两人便拳来脚去，打得不可开交。打了一会，两人都累了，便各自蒙头睡觉。本以为事情就这么结束了，没想到妻子越想越气，加上头被丈夫打得有点痛，她就用手机拨通了娘家的电话。 　　妻子的父亲知道后非常着急，便与王某的小舅子等人也一并驱车前往。到了王家，老丈人重重的捶响了大门。王某和妻子此时已经各自睡下，听到捶门声后妻子下楼开了门，而王某仍顾自睡在床上。老丈人径直上去质问王某：“为什么打人？”王某说不上来，就指着地上的影碟机说：“我要看碟片，她却把影碟机砸了……”老丈人听了更气了：“人重要还是东西重要，人被打坏了怎么办啊！”一边说一边朝王某打了过去，顿时老丈人、王某、小舅子都混打到了一起。 　　被大家拉开后，王某瞥到了墙角的杀猪刀和磨刀棒，不由分说的拿了起来，想要去吓唬吓唬老丈人等人。 见王某拿着刀进来，大家都愣住了，妻子和女儿忙上去夺刀，可没夺下来。老丈人和小舅子见状也冲上去夺刀，一时间，几人又都扭打到了一起，混乱中，王某持刀的手不住地挥舞，只听老丈人“啊”的一声倒在了地上，随后小舅子也倒下了。 　　之后，老丈人等被紧急送往医院抢救，后老人因左大腿重要血管断离致使失血性休克死亡，王某的小舅子目前仍在住院治疗中。

…………

印度“10美元笔记本”并非笔记本 周二印度政府宣布了所谓“10美元笔记本”由于没有任何实物、照片作证,让大家纷纷猜疑其真实性。根据从印度传出的最新消息,这款产品和笔记本完全搭不上关系,只是一款超廉价的计算设备而已。 或许和之前的报道一样,这款名为“Sakshat”的产品拥有2GB内存,内置WiFi、以太网接口。但它没有显示器、没有键盘,根本不能叫做笔记本。它将被用来存储各种科教文档,必须连接一台真正的笔记本才能读取。 根据来自发布现场的消息,这款产品只是一个长10英寸,宽5英寸的方盒子,目前成本为30美元。不过据称,它在未来可以作为零件,成为一款60美元笔记本的一部分。不过项目负责人并未解释,这样一款产品为何最初被宣传为“笔记本”。

我觉得是因为信息传播发达了，所以才看到这么多的怪事

诶诶

路由器直接弄个MAC地址过滤就搞定了

现在还有不少人的无线路由密码还都是默认的。。。春节回家就有好多个，已经拿到其中两个的宽带账户和密码了

........

还是倒50名比较有意思

刚吃了午饭

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　　 肠子 　　 　　 吸气。 　　 尽量能吸多少就吸进多少空气。 　　 这个故事应该差不多和你能闭住气的时间一样长，然后再长出一点点。所以尽快听吧。 　　 我的一个朋友，在十三岁的时候听到有所谓的「插后庭」。就是屁眼里插进一支假阳具。据说只要把前列腺刺激得够厉害的话，不用手也能有爆射的高潮。在那个年纪，这个朋友有那么点色情狂。他总在找比人家更好的发泄方法。他去买了根胡萝卜和一瓶凡士林。用来做一次小小的私人研究。然后他想到这样在超市收银台前会是个什么样的局面：那一根胡萝卜和一瓶润滑剂孤零零地在转送带上滚到收银员的面前，所有排队付钱的客人都看在眼里，每个人都知道他今晚的大计划。 　　 所以，我那位朋友，他买了牛奶和鸡蛋和糖和一根胡萝卜，全是做胡萝卜蛋糕的材料。外加一瓶凡士林。 　　 好像他要回家去把一个胡萝卜蛋糕塞进他的屁眼里。 　　 到家之后，他把胡萝卜削成一根短棍，涂满了油脂，慢慢地坐了上去。然后──什么也没有。没有高潮，除了很痛之外，什么也没有。 　　 然后这个小子，他妈叫着说吃晚饭了。她说下楼来，马上。 　　 他想办法把那根胡萝卜拔了出来，把那根又滑又脏的东西包在他床底下的脏衣服里。 　　 吃过晚饭之后，他再去找那根胡萝卜，发现那玩艺已经不见了。在他吃晚饭的时候，他妈把他所有的脏衣服拿下去洗。她不可能没发现那根用她厨房里的削皮刀仔细修整过的胡萝卜，上面闪亮着润滑油，而且还有股臭味。 　　 我这个朋友在乌云罩顶之下等了好几个月，等着他父母来骂他。可是他们始终没有动静，一点也没有。即使现在他已经长大成人了，那根看不见的胡萝卜还悬在半空中，度过每次耶诞大餐，每次生日派对。每次和他的孩子们，也就是他父母的孙儿孙女一起在复活节找彩蛋的时候，那根鬼魂似的红萝卜还悬在他们所有人的头上。 　　 那种事可怕得无以名状。 　　 　　 法国人有句话：「楼梯上的灵光」。法文是：Esprit d’Escalier。那意思是说你找到答案的那一刻，不过已经来不及了。比方说，你参加一个派对，有人侮辱了你。你得回嘴。结果，在压力之下，大家都盯着你，你只能支吾以对。可是一等你离开了那里…… 　　 你一开始下楼梯，就──像变魔术一样，你想到该说的最好不过的话。最能把对方驳倒的话。 　　 这就是所谓楼梯上的灵光。 　　 问题是，即使法国人也没有什么话来形容你在压力下真正做出的傻事。那些你真正想到或是做出来的愚蠢而不顾一切的事情。 　　 有些事情实在低级得无以名之，低级得甚至说都不能说。 　　 回顾起来，儿童心理专家和学校的辅导老师现在都说，最后一次青少年自杀高峰是孩子们在手淫时让自己窒息而死。父母发现他们的时候，孩子的脖子上缠着毛巾，而毛巾系在他们卧室衣柜里的横杆上，孩子死了，干了的精液到处都是。当然做父母的会清理干净，替他们的孩子穿上裤子，让情况看起来……好一点。至少有这种意思。像一般让人难过的青少年自杀情形。 　　 　　 我另外一个朋友，也是我同学，他哥哥在海军服役，说中东人打手枪和我们不一样。这做哥哥的驻扎在几个有骆驼的国家里，那里的市场上卖一种看起来很像是花俏的拆信刀的东西。每根这种花俏的工具都只是一根很细而擦得雪亮的铜棒或银 　　棒，大概和你的手掌一样长，其中一端有个大头，或是金属的大球，或是像剑柄似的弯曲把手。这位在海军的哥哥说那些阿拉伯男人把老二弄硬了之后，就把这种细金属棒插进老二里面去，一直插到底，然后带着这根棒子在里面来打手枪，会让高潮来得更过瘾、更强烈得多。 　　 就是这个到过世界各地的大哥寄回来法国的俗话、俄国的俗话，还有大有帮助的打手枪秘诀。 　　 在那之后，那个做弟弟的，有天没来上学。那天晚上，他打电话问我能不能帮他拿一个礼拜的作业，因为他进了医院。 　　 他得和一些肠胃开刀的老头子住在同一个病房里，他说他们得共看一台电视。只靠一张布帘子来保有隐私。他的父母不去看他。他在电话里说他父母现在真该杀了他那个在海军里的哥哥。 　　 那小子在电话里告诉我说──前一天──他嗑了点药。在他家中的睡房里，躺在床上。他点了支蜡烛，看着一些旧的色情杂志，准备打手枪。这是在他看过他那当海军的哥哥来信之后的事，看到阿拉伯人怎么打手枪的有用资讯。这小子到处找着可以这样用的东西。原子笔太粗了，铅笔不但太粗大而且太粗糙。可是，流在蜡烛旁边的那一小条既细又光滑的蜡大概正合适。那小子用一根手指尖把那一长条蜡由蜡烛上剔了下来，用两个手掌搓得更平滑些，又长又滑又细。 　　 他既有点茫，也很色，就把那根东西从他的马眼插进硬挺的老二里，越插越深。他还留了一截蜡在外面，开始打起手枪来。 　　 即使到了现在，他还说那些阿拉伯人还真他妈的聪明。他们完全重新发明了打手枪。他平躺在床上，那小子越来越爽到都忘了注意那一条蜡，就在再来一下就要射了的时候，他发现由头上伸出来的蜡不见了。 　　 那条细细的蜡，全部滑进去了。整个滑到了里面，深到他甚至于摸不到的输尿管里。 　　 他妈在楼下叫他吃晚饭。她说下楼来，马上。用蜡的小子和用胡萝卜的小子不是同一个人，可是我们的生活情形差不多都一样。 　　 吃过晚饭之后，那小子的肚子痛了起来。是那条蜡，所以他想也许蜡会在他肚子里融化了，可以让他尿出来。现在他的背痛，肾脏痛。他连站都站不直。 　　 那小子在他的病床上打电话，你还听得见后面有铃声叮当，有人在尖叫，还有电视上游戏节目的声音。 　　 X光照出了真相，有一条又长又细的东西弯成两截，在他的膀胱里。这个又长又细的V字型吸附了他小便里的所有矿物质。越来越大，也越来越粗糙，外面包裹着钙的结晶，到处跳动，伤了他膀胱内层的柔软组织，堵住了他的小便不能排出，他的肾脏受到尿液的倒灌回流，唯一能从他老二里流出来的一点点，也因为有血而成为红色。 　　 那小子，他的父母，他的全家人，他们看着那张黑白的X光片，医生和护士就站在旁边。那个由蜡形成的大V字白得亮眼，每个人都看得到，他只好说了实话。这种阿拉伯式的打手枪法，他哥哥在海军写信告诉他的事。 　　 现在，他在电话里哭了起来。 　　 他们用他上大学的基金付了膀胱开刀的医药费。这么一个愚蠢的错误，现在他再也当不成律师了。 　　 　　 把东西插到你自己身体里面。把自己卡在什么东西里面，不管是蜡烛在你的老二里，还是你的脑袋在索套里，我们都知道麻烦大了。 　　 让我惹上麻烦的事，我称之为「潜水寻珠」。也就是说在水底打手枪，坐在我父母的游泳池里，在比较深的那一头的池底。我深吸一口气，踢着水潜到池底，脱掉泳裤。在那里坐上二、三、四分钟。 　　 就由于打手枪，我有了非常大的肺活量。只要家里没有别人在，我就会一整个下午都在干这件事。等最后打出来的时候，我的精液，会成为乳白色一大坨、一大坨地悬浮水中。 　　 之后，再潜下水去，把这些捞起来，一把把捞起之后擦在毛巾上。所以这才叫「潜水寻珠」。即使池水中有氯。我还是会替我姐姐担心，还有，全能的耶稣，还有我妈。 　　 当时我在这个世界上最害怕的一件事就是：我那十几岁，还是处女的姐姐，一直以为她只是越长越胖，结果却生下一个有两颗脑袋的智障婴儿。两个头长得都像我。我，既是父亲又是舅舅。 　　 最后，你碰上的却不是你担心的事。 　　 「潜水寻珠」最棒的部分是游泳池过滤和循环马达的进水口。最棒的部分就是光着身子坐在那上面。 　　 就像法国人说的：有谁不喜欢别人吸他的屁眼？ 　　 不过问题是，前一分钟你还只是一个想自己爽一下的小子，下一分钟你就再也当不成律师了。 　　 前一分钟，我正坐在游泳池底，天在波动，由我头上八呎深的水里看出去，是一片浅蓝。除了我耳朵里听见自己的心跳之外，整个世界寂静无声。我那条黄色条纹的泳裤套在脖子上，以策安全，怕万一有个朋友、邻居，或是任何一个人突然出现来问我为什么没去练足球。入水口在节奏稳定的吮吸着我，而我把白白瘦瘦的屁股压下去享受这种感觉。 　　 前一分钟，我吸足了气，把老二握在我手里。我父母去上班，我姐姐去学芭蕾舞，几个钟点里都不会有人回家来。 　　 我的手让我到了高潮的边缘，然后我停下来，游上去换一大口气，再潜下来坐在池底。 　　 我这样反复地做了一次又一次。 　　 这想必就是女生想坐在你脸上的原因所在，那种吸力就像你在一直不停地拉屎。我的老二挺得好硬，屁眼一直像有人在舔吸，我不需要空气。我耳朵里听到心跳声，我一直留在水底，最后眼前都冒出了金星。我两腿伸得笔直，两边的膝弯都在水泥池底擦伤了。我的脚趾发青，脚趾和手指都因为泡在水里太久而皱了起来。 　　 然后我让自己达到高潮，大坨的白色精液开始喷射出来。那些珍珠。 　　 就在这时候，我需要点空气了。可是就在我想踢水往上游时，却做不到。我没法让脚伸到我身子下面。我的屁股卡住了。 　　 急救单位的人会告诉你说每年大约有一百五十人这样卡住，被循环马达给吸住了。你的长头发，或是你的屁股卡住的话，你就会淹死。每年都不知有多少人送命，大部分在佛罗里达州。 　　 大家只是不谈这件事，就连法国人也不是每件事都会说的。 　　 我一腿跪起，把一只脚塞进身体下面，半站起身时，感到屁股那边有什么东西拉扯住了。我把另一只脚也伸到身子下，踩着池底往上游。我离开了池底，不再碰到水泥地，可是也吸不到空气。 　　 我用力踩着水，两臂划动，大约到离水面一半的地方，但是没法再高。在我头里的心跳越来越响，也越来越快。 　　 明亮的光点不停地在我眼前闪来闪去，我转头往后看去……可是那完全没道理。那条粗索，像某一种蛇，青白色的，还看得见上面有血管，由出水口上来，咬紧了我的屁股。有些血管在往外渗血，红红的血在水底看起来是黑的，由那条蛇苍白的皮肤上的小小裂缝漂了出去，消失在水中，而在那条蛇薄薄的青白色皮肤里面，还看得见一坨坨消化了一半的食物。 　　这是唯一可以说得通的事，有什么可怕的海怪，一条海蟒。从来没在光天化日下见到过的东西，一直躲在游泳池出水口的黑暗深处，等着咬我。 　　 因此……我用力地踢着，踢着又滑又有弹性而打着结的皮和上面的血管，好像有更长一截从下水口拉了出来。现在大约和我的腿一样长了，可是还是紧咬着我的屁眼。我又用力一踢，离我能换气的地方又进了一吋。我仍然感到那条蛇咬住我屁股往下拉，但离逃生又近了一吋。 　　你能看到纠结在蛇肚子里的有玉米和花生。你还看得见一个长形的亮橘色的球。就像是我爹逼我吃的那种大型的维他命丸，让我增加体重的，让我能赢得足球奖学金。其中有添加的铁和Ω─三脂肪酸。 　　 就是看到那颗维他命才救了我的命。 　　 那不是一条蛇。那是我的大肠。我的肠子给拉出了我的身体。这是医生所谓的「脱垂」。是我的肠子给吸进了下水口。 　　 急救人员会告诉你说，游泳池的马达每分钟能抽八十加仑的水。力道大约在四百磅左右。而最大的问题是，我们的内脏是连在一起的。你的屁股只是你嘴巴的另外一头。如果我随他去的话，马达继续作用──把我的内脏扯脱──最后会到我的舌头。想想看要承受四百磅的力道，就知道那会怎么把你里面掏空了。 　　 我可以告诉你们的是，你的肠子不会觉得有多痛。不像你皮肤对疼痛的那种感觉。你所消化的那些东西，医生称之为「排泄物」。再上面一点是食糜，一堆浆状的东西，混着玉米、花生和圆圆的绿色豌豆。 　　 漂浮在我四周的就是由血和玉米、粪便、精液和花生混在一起的汤。即使我的肠子给拖出了我的屁股，而我紧留住剩下的部分，即使在这样的情况下，我第一件想要做的事却是想办法把我的泳裤穿回去。 　　 老天不容我父母看到我的老二。 　　 我一手握拳堵在屁眼上，另一只手把我的黄色条纹泳裤由脖子上拿了下来。但是，要把泳裤穿上还是件不可能的任务。 　　 你如果想摸摸你的肠子是怎么感觉，那就去买一盒那种小羊肠做的保险套吧，拿一个出来，拉长了，在里面灌上花生酱。外面涂上润滑剂，放在水里面。再想办法扯断，想办法拉成两段。那实在是太韧又太有弹性了，而且滑不留手得无法抓住。 　　 小羊肠的保险套，就是肠子嘛。 　　 现在，你们就能明白我要对付的是什么了。 　　 你只要一放手，你就会肠子都没了。 　　 你要是游到水面上去换气，你的肠子也就都没了。 　　 你要不往上游，就会淹死。 　　 就看你是选马上死掉还是一分钟后死掉。 　　 等我父母下班回来会发现的是一个巨大赤裸的胎儿，蜷成一团。漂浮在他们后院游泳池里混浊的水中。由一根满布血管而扭曲的肠子系在池底。和那个在打手枪时把自己吊死的孩子不一样。这个是他们十三年前从医院带回家来的宝贝。是他们希望能得到足球奖学金，将来得MBA学位的孩子。会在他们年老时照顾他们。是他们所有的希望和梦想。漂在那里，光着身子，死了。四周是由浪费掉的精液所形成的乳白色珍珠。 　　 如果不是这样，就是我父母会发现我裹着一条血淋淋的毛巾，倒在游泳池和厨房那具电话之间的半路上，一段断了的肠子还由我那条黄色条纹泳裤的裤腿里拖了出来。 　　 那是法国人都不会谈的事。 　　 在海军服役的那个哥哥，教给我们另外一句话。一句俄罗斯的俗话。就像我们说的：「谁要这个，就像要头上有个洞。」俄罗斯人则说：「谁要这个，就像要屁眼里长牙。」 　　 「ㄚ许挪不系呢羊向道隆亦。」 　　 你们也听过那些故事，说落入陷阱的野兽会咬断自己的腿，哎，随便哪只土狼都会告诉你咬几口可比死掉强多了。 　　 妈的……就算你是个俄罗斯人，说不定哪天你也会想要有那些牙齿呢。 　　 否则，你得做的就是──你得扭过身子去。你用一只手勾在膝盖后面，把那条腿抬到你脸上。然后想办法往你的屁股咬下去。在喘不过气来的时候，只要能再吸一口气，你是什么都会咬的。 　　 这种是你在和女孩子第一次约会的时候不会告诉她的事。要是你想要她吻你道晚安的话，就不会说的。 　　 要是我告诉你们说那是什么味道的话，你们就永永远远不会再吃乌贼了。 　　 实在很难说我父母觉得哪件事比较恶心：是我怎么惹上麻烦呢，还是我怎么救了自己一命。去过医院之后，我妈说：「你当时根本不知道自己在干什么，宝贝，你当时太震惊了。」而她学会了怎么做水煮蛋。 　　 所有的人都觉得恶心或替我难过…… 　　 我需要这些，就像屁眼里要长牙。 　　 现在，大家老是说我看起来太瘦了。大家一起吃晚饭的时候，因为我不吃他们烧的炖肉而都不说话，又气得要死。炖肉让我吃不消，还有烤火腿。任何会在我肠胃里待上两个多钟点还不能消化的，出来还是原样。家里烧的利马豆或是大块的鲔鱼，我上完大号站起来的时候，会发现还是原状在马桶里。 　　 在动过大肠切除手术之后，消化功能就没那么好了。大部分的人都有五呎左右的大肠。我还算运气好，能留下六吋。所以我终于没能拿到足球奖学金，也始终没能念到MBA。我的两个朋友，那个蜡小子和胡萝卜小子，他们长大之后，身子也壮了，可是我始终没比我十三岁时候的体重多长一磅。 　　 另外一个大问题是，我父母花了一大笔钱去整修游泳池。最后我爹只告诉那个来弄游泳池的家伙说是一只狗。家里养的狗掉下去淹死了。尸体给吸进了下水口里。即使那家伙打开过滤箱，掏出一条滑滑的管子，一段湿淋淋的肠子，里面还有一颗很大的橘色维他命丸，到了那时候，我爹只说：「那只狗真他妈的疯了。」 　　 就连在我楼上睡房的窗口，都能听见我老头说：「那只狗啊，一秒钟没看住都不行……」 　　 然后我姐的月经没来。 　　 即使在他们把游泳池的水全换了，即使他们卖了房子，而我们搬到另外一州去住，我姐也堕了胎之后，我父母始终没再提这件事。 　　 从来不说。 　　 那是我们家的那根看不见的胡萝卜。 　　 现在你们可以好好地，深吸一口气了。 　　 因为我还没吸气。（完） ============================================================== 英文原文 Guts By Chuck Palahniuk (from the collection Haunted) Inhale. Take in as much air as you can. This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can. A friend of mine, when he was thirteen years old he heard about "pegging." This is when a guy gets banged up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have explosive hands-free orgasms. At that age, this friend's a little sex maniac. He's always jonesing for a better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some petroleum jelly. To conduct a little private research. Then he pictures how it's going to look at the supermarket checkstand, the lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier. All the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned. So, my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients for a carrot cake. And Vaseline. Like he's going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt. At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down on it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except it hurts. Then, this kid, his mom yells it's suppertime. She says to come down, right now. He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty clothes under his bed. After dinner, he goes to find the carrot and it's gone. All his dirty clothes, while he ate dinner, his mom grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring knife from her kitchen, still shiny with lube and stinky. This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to confront him. And they never do. Ever. Even now he's grown up, that invisible carrot hangs over every Christmas dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost carrot is hovering over all of them. That something too awful to name. People in France have a phrase: "Spirit of the Stairway." In French: Esprit de l'escalier. It means that moment when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at a party and someone insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party… As you start down the stairway, then -- magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should've said. The perfect crippling put-down. That's the Spirit of the Stairway. The trouble is even the French don't have a phrase for the stupid things you actually do say under pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think or do. Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about. Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks would find them, a towel twisted around the kid's neck, the towel tied to the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm everywhere. Of course the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look… better. Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad, teen suicide. Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how guys in the Middle East jack off different than we do here. This brother was stationed in some camel country where the public market sells what could be fancy letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of polished brass or silver, maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, either a big metal ball or the kind of fancy carved handle you'd see on a sword. This Navy brother says how Arab guys get their dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole length of their boner. They jack off with the rod inside, and it makes getting off so much better. More intense. It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases. Russian phrases. Helpful jack-off tips. After this, the little brother, one day he doesn't show up at school. That night, he calls to ask if I'll pick up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because he's in the hospital. He's got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says how they all have to share the same television. All he's got for privacy is a curtain. His folks don't come and visit. On the phone, he says how right now his folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy. On the phone, the kid says how -- the day before -- he was just a little stoned. At home in his bedroom, he was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and flipping through some old porno magazines, getting ready to beat off. This is after he's heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how Arabs beat off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ball-point pen's too big. A pencil's too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle, there's a thin, smooth ridge of wax that just might work. With just the tip of one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle. He rolls it smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin. Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit of his boner. With a good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work. Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They've totally re-invented jacking off. Flat on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can't keep track of the wax. He's one good squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax isn't sticking out anymore. The thin wax rod, it's slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can't even feel the lump of it inside his piss tube. From downstairs, his mom shouts it's suppertime. She says to come down, right now. This wax kid and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much the same life. It's after dinner when the kid's guts start to hurt. It's wax so he figured it would just melt inside him and he'd pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kidneys. He can't stand straight. This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can hear bells ding, people screaming. Game shows. The X-rays show the truth, something long and thin, bent double inside his bladder. This long, thin V inside him, it's collecting all the minerals in his piss. It's getting bigger and more rough, coated with crystals of calcium, it's bumping around, ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss from getting out. His kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood. This kid and his folks, his whole family, them looking at the black X-ray with the doctor and the nurses standing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody to see, he has to tell the truth. The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote him from the Navy. On the phone, right now, he starts to cry. They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mistake, and now he'll never be a lawyer. Sticking stuff inside yourself. Sticking yourself inside stuff. A candle in your dick or your head in a noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble. What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater, sitting on the bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep breath, I'd kick my way to the bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I'd sit down there for two, three, four minutes. Just from jacking off, I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I'd do this all afternoon. After I'd finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang there in big, fat, milky gobs. After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each handful in a towel. That's why it was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty, my Mom. That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, thinking she's just getting fat, then giving birth to a two-headed retard baby. Both heads looking just like me. Me, the father AND the uncle. In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you. The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool filter and the circulation pump. The best part was getting naked and sitting on it. As the French would say: Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked? Still, one minute you're just a kid getting off, and the next minute you'll never be a lawyer. One minute, I'm settling on the pool bottom, and the sky is wavy, light blue through eight feet of water above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears. My yellow-striped swim trunks are looped around my neck for safe keeping, just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to ask why I skipped football practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I'm grinding my skinny white ass around on that feeling. One minute, I've got enough air, and my dick's in my hand. My folks are gone at their work and my sister's got ballet. Nobody's supposed to be home for hours. My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch another big breath. I dive down and settle on the bottom. I do this again and again. This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump that never ends. My dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee rubbed raw against the concrete bottom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from being so long in the water. And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls. It's then I need some air. But when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can't. I can't get my feet under me. My ass is stuck. Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this way, sucked by a circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you're going to drown. Every year, tons of people do. Most of them in Florida. People just don't talk about it. Not even French people talk about EVERYTHING. Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt. Getting my other foot under me, I kick off against the bottom. I'm kicking free, not touching the concrete, but not getting to the air, either. Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I'm maybe halfway to the surface but not going higher. The heartbeat inside my head getting loud and fast. The bright sparks of light crossing and criss-crossing my eyes, I turn and look back… but it doesn't make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, blue-white and braided with veins has come up out of the pool drain and it's holding onto my butt. Some of the veins are leaking blood, red blood that looks black underwater and drifts away from little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails away, disappearing in the water, and inside the snake's thin, blue-white skin you can see lumps of some half-digested meal. That's the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent, something that's never seen the light of day, it's been hiding in the dark bottom of the pool drain, waiting to eat me. So… I kick at it, at the slippery, rubbery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out of the pool drain. It's maybe as long as my leg now, but still holding tight around my butthole. With another kick, I'm an inch closer to getting another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I'm an inch closer to my escape. Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange ball. It's the kind of horse-pill vitamin my Dad makes me take, to help put on weight. To get a football scholarship. With extra iron and omega-three fatty acids. It's seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life. It's not a snake. It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call, prolapsed. It's my guts sucked into the drain. Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute. That's about 400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we're all connected together inside. Your ass is just the far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps working - unraveling my insides -- until it's got my tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound s**t, and you can see how this might turn you inside out. What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels pain. The stuff you're digesting, doctor's call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme, pockets of a thin runny mess studded with corn and peanuts and round green peas. That's all this soup of blood and corn, s**t and sperm and peanuts floating around me. Even with my guts unraveling out my ass, me holding onto what's left, even then my first want is to somehow get my swimsuit back on. God forbid my folks see my dick. My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellow-striped swim trunks and pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible. You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lamb-skin condoms. Take one out and unroll it. Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold it under water. Then, try to tear it. Try to pull it in half. It's too tough and rubbery. It's so slimy you can't hold on. A lamb-skin condom, that's just plain old intestine. You can see what I'm up against. You let go for a second, and you're gutted. You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you're gutted. You don't swim, and you drown. It's a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now. What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating in the cloudy water of their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of veins and twisted guts. The opposite of a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital thirteen years ago. Here's the kid they hoped would snag a football scholarship and get an MBA. Who'd care for them in their old age. Here's all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm. Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from the pool to the kitchen telephone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out the leg of my yellow-striped swim trunks. What even the French won't talk about. That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase. The way we say: "I need that like I need a hole in my head…" Russian people say: "I need that like I need teeth in my asshole…" Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any coyote would tell you a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead. Hell… even if you're Russian, some day you just might want those teeth. Otherwise, what you have to do is -- you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind your knee and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You run out of air, and you will chew through anything to get that next breath. It's not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss good night. If I told you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari. It's hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I'd got in trouble or how I'd saved myself. After the hospital, my Mom said, "You didn't know what you were doing, honey. You were in shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs. All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me… I need that like I need teeth in my asshole. Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all quiet and pissed off when I don't eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me. Baked ham. Anything that hangs around inside my guts for longer than a couple hours, it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or chunk light tuna fish, I'll stand up and find it still sitting there in the toilet. After you have a radical bowel resectioning, you don't digest meat so great. Most people, you have five feet of large intestine. I'm lucky to have my six inches. So I never got a football scholarship. Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I've never weighed a pound more than I did that day when I was thirteen. Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swimming pool. In the end my Dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned. The dead body got pulled into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the filter casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a watery hank of intestine with a big orange vitamin pill still inside, even then, my Dad just said, "That dog was f**king nuts." Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my Dad say, "We couldn't trust that dog alone for a second…" Then my sister missed her period. Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another state, after my sister's abortion, even then my folks never mentioned it again. Ever. That is our invisible carrot. You. Now you can take a good, deep breath. I still have not. End

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