The Story Of Everybodys Canoe: Fill & Download for Free

“What countries support the Argentine claim of the Falkland/Malvinas Islands? What countries support the UK? What are neutral?”Try to understand this much about the UN.There is the Security Council. Its members are the Big Dogs.Then there is the backbench tertulia of Everybody Else. The Little Dogs. Many of them, like Canada and Andorra, are well behaved. But even if some others are not, they really don’t matter that much.Some of the Little Dogs are Little Yippy Dogs and they like to appoint each other to Little Dog Offices and Little Yippy Dog Committees with fancy titles and pretend that they are of Some Consequence. And they really like the UN because they can make lots of Yippy Dog Noises there. Even when nobody listens to them.Image: Little Yippy Dogs appointing one another to Little Dog Offices and Yippy Little Committees prior to casting call for Monty Python film. Courtesy of Republic of Argentina.The Little Yippy Dogs like to praise people like Muammar Gaddafi, Hugo Chavez, Daniel Ortega, and Fidel Castro for awards such as their International Prize for Human Rights. It is clear that many of the Little Yippy Dogs either went to school on the Short Bus or were never house-trained in the first place.Mostly the Big Dogs put up with the Little Yippy Dogs as long as they don’t cause too much trouble. If the Little Dogs cause too much trouble then the Big Dogs on the Security Council pass resolutions and not just resolutions but sanctions and admonitions and then if that doesn’t work they send fleets and drone sorties and fire missions and then the Little Dogs draw their Little Lines of Death in the water or the sand or whatever and then the Little Yippy Dogs get the short and fuzzy end of the lollypop and they find themselves teetering back on the edge of the Stone Age once again.The Little Yippy Dogs make a dog’s breakfast of nearly everything they touch, while thinking of themselves as the dog’s bollocks.Third World countries like Argentina are Inveterate Little Yippy Dogs (ILYDs), noisy and badly behaved, perpetually jumping on the bed to wipe their dags on the pillows, and similarly soiling the carpets; bankrupt and in default, and ready to elect another tin-pot military dictatorship or populist-nationalist kleptocracy at the drop of a shiny brass button. They get moral support from even more backward Little Yippy Dogs like Bolivia with its latter-day Sopwith Camels and woven-reed stealth canoes, but even Backward Bolivia understands what happens if you sufficiently annoy the Big Dogs and what a single submarine-launched Big Dog Cruise Missile would do to its massive landlocked woven-reed navy.Image: Artist’s conception of Little Yippy Dog after sufficiently annoying the Big DogsIn 1982, perpetually delusional Little Yippy Dog Argentina (LYDA) found itself basking in moral support from the Little Yippy Dog Bloc but also confronted by the business end of the Sidewinders and so most of their airplanes and their multi-holed cruiser then were visible only to glass-bottomed boats, courtesy of some of the Big Dogs.It will be remembered (by all but the the Little Argentine Yippy Dogs) that the UN Security Council (aka the Big Dogs), just a few days after the short-lived Falklands invasion, passed Security Council Resolution 502, which called for Argentina to immediately abandon the islands and cease further hostilities. Which of course it refused to do. One has to wonder how a Little Yippy Dog like Argentina can expect to bark about having Little Dog support at the UN when it rather brashly refuses to abide by UN Security Council Resolutions.One of the many criticisms of the Little Yippy Dogs is their lack of conventional reasoning and clear-eyed observation, which is what keeps them impoverished, bankrupt, corrupt, ignored, and perpetually in the Little Yippy Dog League. That shortcoming keeps them from understanding that the Falkland Islands are a self-governing territory that left its “colonial” status long ago, and that the Falkland Islanders practice their UN-supported basic principle of self-determination.Which the Little Yippie Dog Bloc can’t seem to grasp.Which is not unusual for backward lizard-licking third-world nations and their wobbly weed-weaving supporters.The moral of the story. You don’t … you don't tug on Superman's cape. You don't spit into the wind. You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger. And no matter how many garlic-sucking fan-boys and dressed-up cannibals and yerba-sucking surrender-monkey mates you may have in the lower percentiles of the Third World, you don't mess around with the Big Dogs.

-Disturbing Content Advisory-The most realistic horror film with a story that could actually happen, would probably be the 1972 film, Deliverance directed by John Boorman, starring Burt Reynolds, John Voight, Ned Beatty and Ronny Cox.Some folks classify this film as a thriller/drama, but Wiki has it listed as a horror film. I think it is a combination of both genres. That's my opinion, simply for the fact that those in the thriller/drama camp obviously haven't spent much time in the dense woods.In a lawless kingdom, nobody oversees the darkest nature of man in the deep woods.Sometimes, it isn't too difficult to stretch the mind, and imagine that perhaps, these nefarious crimes do indeed, occur. Sometimes. Deep in the forest. Where there are no witnesses to testify against the guilty parties.I've personally gone to school with people who were murdered for parking in the wrong spot, in the woods, in the dark, away from town, where nobody could hear their cries for help.I'm a mountain girl.I believe it really happens.The movie Deliverance, therefore qualifies as true-life horror in my book.These crimes are perpetrated where the locals are few and far between, a tight-knit community who sometimes have illicit “side businesses” hidden out there, in the “sticks” disguised among the pines, deep in the mountains. Where people employ the life of crime, and the business, in turn, keeps their families fed during the chill of winter. These families may have no other choice, with lack of resources, and what with jobs in the community being few and far between. And so they have no choice but to rely on illegal trades.When people, especially strangers, unknowingly, go poking around in those territories, they suddenly find their lives in danger. Most won't even realize what they've stumbled upon until they are right on top of it. It's quite easy to make them simply disappear. Some turn up much later, as corpses, in different locations than they started out from, and much too late for anyone to do anything to help them.This stuff is real.People “disappear” in the mountains all the time. They plan on going on short camping trips and they never come back. Their cars might be found days later at some trail head, far from where they last hiked in. Search and rescue teams go looking for them, but they seemingly vanish without a trace.I'm pretty sure it ain't Bigfoot carrying them off and moving their cars to different locations to throw search parties off the trail.Sometimes, the authorities may be bribed to look the other way.It's a racket in some towns.This isn't fiction, folks. It's illegal to distill White Lightning in these United States, because of taxes and whatnot. You can make beer and wine, but god forbid you make anything clear and pure enough to burn the hairs off granny's chin!Same with pot farms, and of course, anything chemical by nature.These backwoods businesses have been set up for centuries deep in the forests. You have probably read recent stories of huge marijuana crops uncovered in the middle of National forest land, or meth labs responsible for starting forest fires, the source of ignition being some undisclosed place in the middle of nowhere, or moonshine stills disguised by camo tarps, or sheds, distilled near a peaceful mountain stream and fed by a fresh spring water source.Everybody knows the best Mountain Dew is made with spring water, don't they?Deliverance! That's impromptu jam session, Dueling Banjos—such a great scene! However, the movie gets increasingly scary from that point on. The chilly nature of the townsfolk's demeanor is not unfamiliar to me.If you've ever explored, really explored this huge wilderness they call the U.S.A. (not skipped over it by airplane, but taken backwoods routes by vehicle to little-known towns with tiny populations) you'll feel eyes upon you as soon as you drive into town. You'll be met with stares and be recognized as a stranger and scrutinized as such. No matter where you are from. People will want to know your business. They will ask you where you're from and what you're doing there, in the guise that they are interested in your life. Just because you're recognized as a stranger.Those nosy townsfolk are probably only looking out for one another; A strange face in their parts is so rare, they may be automatically suspicious of your motives for being there. That may put them on edge.I'd advise you to get the heck out of there if you start hearing banjo music playing in the background. Just my two cents.I was brought up in one of these small towns where illicit activities run rampant and murder always shadowed our small community.Rocky Top, cuts, performed by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band written by Felice and Boudleaux BryantRocky Top Lyrics-“Once two strangers climbed ol' Rocky TopLookin' for a moonshine stillStrangers ain't come down from Rocky TopReckon they never willCorn won't grow at all on Rocky TopDirt's too rocky by farThat's why all the folks on Rocky TopGet their corn from a jarDeliverance - WikipediaFamilies of unsolved murder victims yearn for closure, justicehttps://www.usnews.com/news/best-states/mississippi/articles/2017-04-05/elderly-man-arrested-in-rankin-moonshine-bust*Deliverance Plot-Four Atlanta men, Lewis Medlock (Burt Reynolds), Ed Gentry (Jon Voight), Bobby Trippe (Ned Beatty) and Drew Ballinger (Ronny Cox), decide to canoe down a river in the remote northern Georgia wilderness, expecting to have fun and witness the area's unspoiled nature before the fictional Cahulawassee River valley is flooded by construction of a dam. Lewis and Ed are experienced outdoorsmen, while Bobby and Drew are novices. While traveling to their launch site, the men (Bobby in particular) are condescending towards the locals, who are unimpressed by the "city boys".Traveling in pairs, the group's two canoes are briefly separated, with Ed and Bobby getting stranded on the riverbank. They encounter a pair of local men with a shotgun, who force them into the woods at gunpoint. Ed is tied to a tree, while Bobby is forced to strip and raped by one of the men while being forced to "squeal like a pig". As the men prepare to sexually assault Ed, Lewis sneaks up and kills the rapist with an arrow from his recurve bow while the other escapes. After a brief but hotheaded debate between Lewis and Drew about whether to inform the authorities, the men vote to side with Lewis' recommendation to bury the dead man's body and continue on as if nothing had happened.The four continue downriver but encounter a dangerous stretch of rapids, during which Drew suddenly falls into the water and disappears. The other three crash their canoes into rocks, which results in Lewis breaking his leg. Encouraged by Lewis, who believes Drew was shot by the rapist's partner and they are now being stalked, Ed climbs a nearby rock face with the bow while Bobby stays behind to look after Lewis. Ed hides out until the next morning when the stalker appears on the top of the cliff with a rifle; Ed clumsily shoots and kills the man, while accidentally stabbing himself with one of the spare arrows. Ed and Bobby weigh down the body in the river to ensure it will never be found, and repeat the same with Drew's body which they encounter downriver.Upon finally reaching the small town of Aintry, they take Lewis to the hospital. The men carefully concoct a cover story for the authorities about Drew's death and disappearance being an accident, lying about their ordeal to Sheriff Bullard in order to escape a possible double murder charge. The sheriff clearly doesn't believe them, but has no evidence to arrest them and simply tells the men never to come back, to which they agree. The trio vow to keep their story of death and survival a secret for the rest of their lives. Later on, Ed awakens, startled by a nightmare in which a bloated human hand rises from the lake.(source: Wiki)

Humm. Having had a semi-adventurous life, usually solo to up the excitement levels, it's hard to pin one down.After all I grew up in New Zealand. We did fun stuff as kids in the hills.Crossing the East Mataki River on a two-wire bridge. There were two similar bridges.Later, maybe getting as far south as it is possible in the English-speaking world by foot, below 47° South.Antarctica and icebergs in the distance.Or travelling through Mexico with my entire vocabulary learned from watching Zorro on TV. Or was it the Lone Ranger? As I recall "Hi Ho, Tonto!!" didn't prove at all useful.The plastic bedspreads did make me wonder what usually went on in there.Or getting out of Bolivia by wading a river back to Argentina, and finding that with rampant inflation the Austral which had been at 12 to US$1 when I arrived was then at 4200 some months later.Or getting robbed in Rio.Maybe hitchhiking up Sumatra to Lake Toba when it actually was an adventure, with a bunch of happy Australians, with a ride from a guy who turned out to be working for the Indonesian secret police. I had been wondering about that not so concealed weapon.Fun day out at the Equator on Sumatra. Didn’t realise those shorts were totally uncool at the time.Or riding my bicycle up to Cape York in Australia from Perth via the Great Central Road and Boulia. The cold sweat in the palms of my hands of having to negotiate potentially croc infested rivers remains indelibly etched in my memory.Crossing the Pascoe River on Frenchmans Track, Cape York.But it has to be something in Papua New Guinea. That remains the Wild West for tourism. Not so easy travel, even these days.With Da Boyz, heading towards the Baiyer River Wildlife SanctuaryMaybe hiking the Kokoda Trail, before it became a thing. I didn't meet any other tourists during my nine days. I did meet some locals, here's Max and his family.Max and team at Kokoda at the end. I stayed the night. Thanks again.Or jumping on boats to cruise out to Rabaul, where I snorkelled out 20 m from the Nonga shore, and freaked myself out on discovering an underwater cliff, 120 m straight down apparently before there's a small ledge, and then plunges another 1000 m. With the water frighteningly clear it was like being on the top of a 20 storey building, and jumping off. I didn't like the look of those substantial sharks either that were cruising 50 m below. I needn't have worried. The 10 year old local kids who jumped in with their pieces of wire and rubber bands making a miniature spear gun were intent on spearing one.Not exactly Rabaul or Nonga, but it looked much like this, as did I.Or flying from Mendi down into a small hole in the clouds for an exciting landing, and walking/canoeing to an island in the middle of Lake Kutubu, that I have previously written about. GJ Coop's answer to What is the most zany and idiosyncratic place you've ever been?Wasemi men’s longhouse, where I stayed three nights. Thanks guys.Most of these Little Adventures have few remaining images due to my transient nature over the past decades.I do have a few images of my second trip to Papua New Guinea, and my visit to the Kerema region.This part of the road has been undriveable. Back then it was all there was.For some reason I managed to prearrange ten days in the backcountry with a government medical party, heading up the Lakekamu River.This was the Team at the end of the trip. See if you can spot me. Doc front left.Back then there was no actual road to Kerema, a town with a population of about 6000 people on the south coast of Papua. I flew the 230 km north-west from Port Moresby, and spent the ten memorable days cruising upstream as part of a malaria control team. The expedition was kinda useless — everyone had malaria, and we weren't carrying medicines to treat anyone.This was the start because I am so cleanIt took a few hours by the four-wheel-drive to get to the roadend at the Tauri River where we set off in a motorised canoe trip through the estuaries swamps.Out on the Lakekamu RiverWe meandered our way across to the Lakekamu River that really takes its time getting anywhere.Refueling from the 44 gallon drum. A long way from everywhere.We made it upstream as far as Okavai for three nights, long past Urulau, but it is hard to work out the other six villages that were visited because even now Google Earth has poor maps of the area. Not much else online. There were 22 individual houses in Okavai.We stayed in a few villages as we tootled upstream. There was plenty of true jungle to be observed, flocks of huge black bats that were liberated from their upside down perches by the noise of our two canoes. Noisy flocks of parrots.One of the guys was a sharp, humorous and kind young doctor, who had us in stitches, not literally, with his tall stories. I'm not exactly sure why there were so many of us, but it made for a lively experience. In the ten days everyone’s personality ended up shining through. Who knows what they made of me.Some of the kids along the way were completely freaked out by my appearance. They had never seen someone so pale skinned previously, in the flesh. They would hide then sneak back, intrigued, then run away in consternation when I turned around.Peter and Michael, so says my slide.Three memorable moments from my memory banks:Walking from the landing place to Okavai village, the braver kids shouted to me as I crashed through the long grass, and started throwing stones furiously at something. One of them ran ahead and picked up the dead snake, 2 m long, apparently entirely venomous.Okavai snake killers. A happy lotPlaying basketball with the teenagers, that had the whole town laughing at my feigned clumsiness, where I had a distinct advantage with my 6' 2" gangly frame. (OK, my goofyness might have been real.)And the highlight in the food department: a delicious cassowary stew, served with rice. I tried not to remember the bird’s sad face as I tucked in. Its day hadn't worked out precisely as planned.Butchering the cassowary. Oh, did I eat some of those gizzards as well?One of the crew was a local. I met his family: brother, mother, sister, etc.Fish curry tonight, not expired large bird. I find a perch for my long suffering back. This is the kind of open air hotel where I stayed each night.I enjoyed being asked into people's houses, and lives. They had few possessions, but they did have a rich communal life. Of course I couldn't see the suspicions, anxieties, jealousies, et cetera. But they didn't seem to have such a bad existence. They seemed happy, requiring communication and cooperation between the eighty or so gathered together in their village. Here’s a few images, note that all images in this answer are my own:Gran’ma at the stove.Somehow my experience gave me some perspective about my typical Western viewpoint on how the world should work. That's not to say their world is better, but it does point out some elements that have been neglected in the blur of sensation that makes up our own, more modern lives.So, many experiences. Kerema is one of the most random. All making up the disparate patchwork of life that has made me who I am.I'm not sure that everybody really requires to have such an extreme perspective on their lives. Still, an occasional shakeup let's us find out what really matters.Make the most of those heartbeats.There's a postscript to my Kerema Little Adventure. Four months later, when my prophylactic anti-malarial drugs wore off, I succumbed to malaria myself. Congratulations on the doctor who finally worked out what my issue was.