I Had A Stalker This Week

A real one, not just a pathetic internet one.

Last Tuesday I was collecting Maxman from the bus. He jumped off in his usual ebullient way, and we sang the "Max is Home!" song we usually do, starting back up the street to our house.

A guy walked by, heard the English, and turned round a bit, smiling. This happens a LOT. I'm guilty of it too because hey, if you live here long enough and hear someone speaking English without an accent, you just start talking to them. Stranger in a strange land and all that.

This guy was chatting amiably with me. I could tell my his accent he was African. Not African-American (which I think is a ridiculous term...unless you got off the plane last week, you're an AMERICAN...hell, I don't describe myself as Euro-American...), just plain African. I've met a lot of Africans in my work experiences, and I've never had any sort of issues or reasons to dislike, so I chatted back, equally as amiable.

He asked if Max was a boy or a girl which I thought was odd, so I said, "Of course he's a boy...?!" He then asked if I picked him up every day at the same time, explaining, "I walk up and down this street a lot, and I've never seen you before."

Max was a bit squirrelly, and I was afraid he'd dash into the street, so I said rather distractedly, "Yeah, his bus comes here about this time every day..."

"Oh!" says the man. "In that case, we can walk and talk for a while."

Red flags went up. I said, "Erm...I really need to be getting him home now, so I don't have time to talk."

"Well, let us meet tomorrow, then. We can talk."

"About what??" I asked rather pointedly.

"Oh, just things. Maybe 5 or 10 minutes. I can tell you about me and that kind of thing." Meanwhile he's still following me, and I'm realising I might be in a bit of trouble here. Then he said, "My name is Jude. What is your name?"

I gave him a fake one. He asked where I lived. I pointed in a direction away from my house. No way was I telling him anything.

The light changed, and I hurried across the street, but Jude stayed right with me. I hung onto Max's hand very tightly and whispered in his ear, "DO EXACTLY AS I SAY WHEN I TELL YOU TO..NO QUESTIONS." He nodded.

I was trying to figure out where I could go that would be away from the house and still in a public place. Not easy on the part of road where we were. We live directly off the main drag through town, and whilst there are a lot of cars, there aren't always a lot of people. I turned into an apartment complex where I saw a man standing there and figured if some shit went down, I could let out a yelp.

Jude kept following me, trying to ask questions and get me to talk. I finally said, "Look, what do you want? Are you trying to sell me something? Are you going to tell me about Jesus? What?"

He looked surprised and said, "Now you're angry...why are you angry? I just want to talk."

I said, "I'm not interested in talking now or tomorrow or anytime. Tell me what you're after right now, please."

So he starts talking about how hard it is to find a woman when you're an ex-pat, how he'd seen me on the road and was following me for a bit. I yelled, "YOU WERE FOLLOWING ME??"

"Not far...only to the bus stop..."

I said, "Okay, lookit, I don't know what you're after, but I'm married. My husband is tall, strong, a black belt, and would not be pleased to hear what you're saying to me. Now..." whipping out my cel phone, "if you have anything else to say, I will call him, and the three of us can have a chat."

When I mentioned the word "husband" he looked alarmed and backed off immediately. I guess he thought something else entirely when he spotted me alone, no makeup, no ring (I'd been house cleaning and don't wear one on those days), pregnant, and with a small child. Yeah, what a catch, eh?

"I didn't know you had a husband," he said.

"Yes, I do."

"Oh...okay...then never mind..." backing away, hands up, etc.

I said, "BTW, if you're looking for a woman, this is NOT the way to do it."

"What IS the way??"

"I have no idea...but not like this."

He walked back to the main road, and I made sure he was very far down the way before I turned into our drive. I then ran inside, 4-locked the door, and rang hubby saying he needed to come home NOW.

I asked my Knitty pals about it, and one person living in Austria had some very insightful things to say. There has been a massive influx of Africans into Europe lately, coming for work or whatever reasons, and they get mired in red tape whilst waiting for citizenship which can take years. Their opportunities are limited. The easiest thing to do is marry some sympathetic German citizen (yeah, it happens) and suddenly life gets a whole lot easier. She speculated that he thought I looked a little desperate, being pregnant with one child on my hand, and thought I'd make an easy target. She then told me the same thing had happened to her.

African guys, another poster said, have different takes on what constitutes violating personal space sometimes. When I told this story to a fellow ex-pat the other night, she said her teenaged daughter had the same thing happen on the SBahn: an African guy saw she was reading a book in English, sat down next to her, and wouldn't leave her alone. I wonder if the mentality is to just harass a woman until she gives in.

Anyway, I drove to the bus stop the next day which made me feel utterly ridiculous, as it's a 7 minute walk up the road. I didn't see the guy and felt a bit safer.

Thursday, however, after I picked Maxman up I was walking back up the main road, the most direct route, and I saw him again. He saw me, and started walking toward me, but I "gave him the slip": turned down a side road and cut through the apartment complex, all the while terrified he was going to cut me off or leap out through the wee woods right behind our house. I was really, really scared.

When we got home, Max had a wee, and I thought, This really can't go on. So I got Max put back together again (shoes in two parts of the house, coat in the kitchen, backpack under the sofa...it's amazing how he goes to pieces in so short a time), and said, "C'mon, we're going for a ride."

I drove to the local Polizei station and told the guy behind the counter what had happened. He wasn't inclined to take me seriously at first, saying, "There is no law broken if a man talks to you. There is not much we can do."

I replied, "Okay then...you tell me something. I'm pregnant and I've got a small child on my arm. You tell ME how I'm supposed to defend myself. Any ideas??"

Eventually he took me back into his office where he wrote down a bunch of details and finally said, "Here is what we will do. Tomorrow, we will send a car down to that intersection to watch for this man. If he begins to follow you again, we will take him aside and talk to him, maybe bring him to the station. But that is only if we do not have another emergency...we have only two cars here."

It was better than nothing. I thanked him and left.

The next afternoon, I collected Maxman off the bus and saw a green Polizei car make a few laps of the road and finally turn off and part in a place where they could see everything. I walked over to them, said who I was, and they asked more questions. I hadn't seen Jude today, but it was a Friday, and a lot of German places close at noon on Friday, so he might've already gone home.

These two guys (I think) came from Munich, not from my town, and they asked very direct questions: did he put his hands on you in any way, did he use bad language, etc. When nothing happened after a few minutes (aside from Max having a wee in the bushes), they said, "We will stay here a little while longer, and if he shows up, we will talk to him."

I thanked them warmly and set off. They followed me a little ways up the road, then turned into the street right before mine RIGHT as a guy fitting Jude's description walked by. It was so far away I couldn't see if it was my guy or another one, but it sure looked like him. They talked to him for a while, he threw up his hands as if to say, "What'd *I* do??" and walked back up the street.

Meanwhile I'd turned into our drive, and Herr I, our neighbour and my adopted grandfather, called down, "Helloooo!" from his upper window. I asked if he could come down, and he did. He agreed to walk with me today to Max's bus stop, furrowing his brow when I told him what was going on. His wife came out and listened as well, offering to go and yell at this man (and I can see her doing it). They then invited me into their wonderful home and tried to stuff me and Max full of food and drink. There's a reason I refer to them as my Uma and Opi (grandmother/father)!!

So I'm hoping that's the end of it. What's really bugging me is this feeling of being afraid that this Jude guy is going to leap out from behind a tree or something. I spend a lot of time on my own here in town, and now I'm all paranoid about even walking to the local ALDI. I hate this feeling of fear. And I can't even arm myself with pepper spray because it's illegal. How am I supposed to protect myself, as a pregnant and thus vulnerable girl??

I hope this is over now.

Go, Boris!

I was chatting with a fellow ex-pat of mine who used to live in the same exact part of England that we did. We knew the same folks...heck, we knew each other...and we moved here about the same time. She's good people.

Anyway, she asked me if I missed England. I said, "I thought I would, but I really don't, not that much. I miss certain people and things, but not enough to fill me with a longing to go back. I think I got everything out of it that I wanted to."

But as I checked my inbox today and saw the following article, I realised there is one person I miss very much, and that's the Mayor of London...Boris Johnson.

Non-Americans might not be familiar with him, but my fellow Brits certainly will be. I'm a big Boris fan. He's incredibly, blindingly intelligent but completely off his nut at the same time.

If you look up the Wiki page for Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, you'll see a list of controversies which have sprung up around him. Although he's Mayor of London, he will always be a journalist first, and a lot of the controversies have come from him not backing down on his opinion, right or wrong.

I remember seeing Boris on "Have I Got News For You", a topical news show with two fixed panelists Ian Hislop and Paul Merton. Boris was the guest host, and it remains one of the best episodes I've ever seen.

Many Londonders would hotly disagree with me about BoJo, but to me, he's wonderful.

And now, someone else thinks as much, too (and yes, his hair does normally look like that...in fact, that's rather tidy for Boris).



LONDON - London Mayor Boris Johnson rescued a woman attacked by a group of girls wielding a metal bar after answering her plea for help during an evening bicycle ride, a spokeswoman for his office said on Wednesday.

Documentary filmmaker Franny Armstrong was confronted by a group of young teenage girls as she was walking in North London on Monday night, media reported.

"I was texting on my phone so didn't notice the girls until they pushed me against the car," the Guardian newspaper quoted Armstrong as saying. "I saw that one of them had an iron bar in her hand. It was more than a meter long."

"Then along came a cyclist. And I thought, 'Good, he's a big bloke,' and shouted, 'Can you help me please?," The Guardian reported.

"I said, 'That's the mayor of London!' and they ran off," Armstrong told the Guardian. "They must have thought they were going to get in trouble. One dropped the bar, so Boris picked it up and cycled after them."

Johnson, a Conservative, was elected mayor in 2008. After the rescue he then walked Armstrong home.

She said that although she had voted for his Labour opponent Ken Livingstone in last year's election, Johnson might be the tougher of the two if you ever found yourself in trouble down a dark alleyway.

"He was my knight on a shining bicycle."

Bleary-Eyed...

...and with a bit of an Up Too Late Hangover, I'm posting these shots from last night.

We had to drive about 90 minutes to the nearest American Community, but it was worth it. The haul was 10x better than the cheap-ass place we went last year, where all the candy was donated to the participating German community, and they kept most of it for themselves. Seriously, they sat there and handed out like ONE tiny Tootsie Roll or ONE piece of Double Bubble, going, "Eins, bitte...eins bitte." And this was in a VERY prosperous section of town with 1.5million Euro homes. He visited 22 houses and got 22 pieces of candy. NEVER AGAIN.

On the way home, we swung by a party hosted by our friends A and R where Max charmed everyone with his little British accent, his British mannerisms, and his way cool Jedi light saber moves. My kid rocks.

But I digress. Seriously, how adorable are these pics??


(Right before we started trick or treating). My young Padawan!

The cops were there handing out glow sticks for the kids to wear. Most of them wore them round their necks, so it looked like a Disco Halloween. It was hilarious.

Right as we were getting out of the car, this van pulls up next to us, and this kid, about Max's age, gets out dressed as Darth Vader. He had a light saber exactly like Max's in red, so they began a pitched battle on the grass. Then the little guy's brother hops out dressed as a storm trooper. Two against one, but Max had The Force on his side. It was hilarious. The four of us stood there laughing our heads off.

Turns out that family had come from 4 hours away to come trick or treating. There was an American Community where they were, but the dad said the throngs of people that swarmed were beyond control, both Americans and Germans, so they drove here and rented a cabin. In fact, a lot of our friends did the same thing, instead of having to drive back in the dark. We may do that next year...



I think the mittens add a nice touch. Max took off one and left the other on one because "that's what happened to Luke! And his dad!" I am SO proud that my kid is partaking of my nerdly knowledge.





THIS IS MY FAVOURITE SHOT. This guy was walking round, dressed as a Storm Trooper IN THE REAL THING, not just the open-backed one, the REAL clam-shell outfit and with an Official Imperial Blaster. I kept following him because he looked so amazingly awesome, and all the nerdliness I've kept forced down for so long just exploded out of me. He was so tall and menacing...but I tell you what: he couldn't hear or see very well out of that helmet, poor guy.

Anyway, even Max was a little intimidated. See the gloved hand on the shoulder? That's me going, "Hold still! That gun doesn't really shoot!" because Max kept scampering round.

We took a detour on the way home to stop off at the party. It was all adults there, and I was worried that Maxman would be bored, and he was, at first. Then I remembered that Alisha is like a big kid herself (well, not that big...she's quite petite) and she chased Max all over the house, finally catching him and flipping him upside down, tickling his tummy which made Maxman laugh insanely. Then her hubby Blue brought out his Lego Tie Fighter and his Lego X-Wing, and Max was happy as a clam.

Blue put the wings of the Tie Fighter on backwards and said, "See, if this were to fly, it'd just go round in circles..." which made Max collapse on the floor giggling. Alisha tried to put it back together but snapped up a joining Lego brick and couldn't get it to go on right no matter how she tried. Max finally said, "Oh, HERE..lemme show you!!" and put it back together.

I meanwhile chatted with a guy dressed as an Arab sheik and his girlfriend who was dressed as a belly dancer in authentic garb from Saudi. She had an amazing body and really carried the outfit off well...till she spilled half a cup of red wine on herself. She was profoundly embarrassed, but I said, "Hey, I bet you'll smell awesome now!"

No one there were parents, so my bulging belly struck up a lot of questions and conversation. I like imparting The Wisdom that yeah, even though spawning a child is gross, the rearing of said child can be whatever you make it out to be. In the end, the belly dancer, who'd never met Maxman before, said, "What an amazingly cute kid...he's so sweet!" Even her boyfriend the Sheik, said, "If I knew I would be blessed with a kid like that, I'd have one tomorrow."

TOTALLY made my night. Totally.

Bill Cosby

If someone had given me a choice between Obama and Cosby as to who should win the Nobel Prize, I would've voted for Cosby hands down. Even though I stopped liking him when he started using his "Cosby Show" as a political platform...but I consider that a bit of a wrong turn, considering how much he's actually done toward getting his fellow blacks inspired to pursue education, getting parents to instill morals younger, and his extensive list of honourary degrees. He actually EARNED his doctorate.

And to be honest, I liked "The Cosby Show" because it showed that being an upper-middle class black family was possible. It wasn't perfect (how many Uncles did the kids have anyway? and how come none of the kids looked anything like their parents?? And oh, how annoying was Lisa Bonet, who didn't say her lines as much as whine them out?), but we used to watch it all the same.

Seriously, go look at the Wiki article on Bill Cosby. He's done amazing stuff you probably don't even know about.

Above all, I remember watching "Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids" on Saturday mornings before I got shuffled off to a soccer game, either mine, my brother's, or my sister's. If you're of my generation, you had a friend or two who could imitate Fat Albert's "Hey hey hey!"...my HS buddy Crystal did an awesome imitation of Mushmouth.

Anyway, I got the following in my Inbox early this morning, and it sorta rekindled my happy feelings for Bill Cosby. I like it when people take a stand on making society's members responsible for their actions, good or bad, and I especially like it when folks point out, as I often strive to do, that nobody is autonomous. Yes, your actions and speech are seen and heard by others, and no, you're not entitled to anything except that which you earned.

Enjoy (the highlighting is mine).

'They're standing on the corner and they can't speak English. I can't even talk the way these people talk:

Why you ain't,
Where you is,
What he drive,
Where he stay,
Where he work,
Who you be...

And I blamed the kid until I heard the mother talk. And then I heard the father talk.

Everybody knows it's important to speak English except these knuckleheads. You can't be a doctor with that kind of crap coming out of your mouth.
In fact you will never get any kind of job making a decent living.

People marched and were hit in the face with rocks to get an Education, and now we've got these knuckleheads walking around.

The lower economic people are not holding up their end in this deal. These people are not parenting. They are buying things for kids.

$500 sneakers for what? And they won't spend $200 for Hooked on Phonics.

I am talking about these people who cry when their son is standing there in an orange suit.

Where were you when he was 2?

Where were you when he was 12?

Where were you when he was 18 and how come you didn't know that he had a pistol?

And where is the father? Or who is his father?

People putting their clothes on backward. Isn't that a sign of something gone wrong?

People with their hats on backward, pants down around the crack, isn't that a sign of something? Isn't it a sign of something when she has her dress all the way up and got all type of needles [piercing] going through her body?

What part of Africa did this come from??

We are not Africans. Those people are not Africans; they don't know a thing about Africa.

I say this all of the time. It would be like white people saying they are European-American. That is totally stupid.

I was born here, and so were my parents and grand parents and, very likely my great grandparents. I don't have any connection to Africa, no more than white Americans have to Germany, Scotland, England, Ireland, or the Netherlands. The same applies to 99 percent of all the black Americans as regards to Africa. So stop, already! Someone working at Wal-Mart with seven kids, you are hurting us.

We have to start holding each other to a higher standard.

People used to be ashamed. Today a woman has eight children with eight different 'husbands' -- or men or whatever you call them now.

We have millionaire football players who cannot read.

We have million-dollar basketball players who can't write two paragraphs. We, as black folks have to do a better job.

We have got to take the neighborhood back.

Someone working at Wal-Mart with seven kids, you are hurting us.

We have to start holding each other to a higher standard.

We cannot blame the white people any longer.'
Dr. William Henry 'Bill' Cosby, Jr., Ed .D.

Dishwashers and Other Demilitarised Zones

If you've been reading my other blog, you'll know what I've been dealing with this last week or so and why I've been so slow on the blog updates. There's just not enough energy to go round these days. Plus Max was off all this week (his school seems to assign vacations randomly), so I've been pretty busy trying to keep the house from sliding down a Talus slope into irredeemable sloth.

Speaking of which...yonks ago Penny Karma mentioned how she has an Enchanted Dishwasher, and about two years ago I realised she's not the only one. An Enchanted Dishwasher, if you're curious, is a dishwasher that only she can see...in my house, apparently, I'm the only one who see ours. It means if no one can see it, they can't put their dirty dishes into it or empty it when a load's done. Because it's ENCHANTED. A spell has been cast over it by some nefarious magic wielder so that it's invisible.

But I've got a few variations on a theme. Hubby CAN see the dishwasher from about 7.30 to 8.30 each evening when he's doing the washing-up. And on Sunday mornings when he empties it from a load done on Saturday evening. I suppose it emerges from the mist for an hour each day, kind of like the appliance version of Brigadoon. After that, however, it vanishes from view.

How do I know?

Because even if it's WIIIIIDE open, with its door down and its maw agape, he will still put dishes on the counter top over it, around it, in the sink, on the island...everywhere but IN the dishwasher. Even if I taped a large red arrow pointing straight to the racks saying, PLEASE FILL ME WITH SCHMUCKY DISHES...I AM NOT COMPLETE UNTIL YOU DO!, it'd still slip under the radar.

The other time hubby can see this dishwasher is during those rare, blessed moments when it pops from the mist at random times, and he's compelled to deposit a cup or some cutlery...and completely re-arrange how I've got things stacked.

Does anyone else have a partner that does this? It's a very divisive thing, dishwasher stacking. My dad sees it as the kitchenware version of Tetris and always has. If you put a cereal bowl any other place than The Cereal Bowl Habitat, he will follow behind you and re-home it. Salad bowls are the bastard cousins of the Cereal Bowls and go on the top rack which, as we all know, is just social death for a bowl, being that the top rack is reserved for pieces of Tupperware, glasses, overly long utensils, and little tiny custard dishes.

My hubby will open the dishwasher, sigh deeply with dismay because clearly I haven't utilised every cubic inch of the dishwasher to its utmost potential, and begin the long process of Dish Relocation and Reassemblage. This is usually followed up with a short diatribe on Why Things Should Go Where They Do. I usually nod politely and continue with whatever I'm doing, thinking, "Yeah, I'll pack that m-f'er however I *&@&ing well please, thanks."

My BIL Larry is the ultimate dishwasher stacker. He will not run a load until that washer is crammed with so much stuff he has to brace his feet and lean on the door to get it shut. The result is that often things need to be re-washed because they're stacked so deeply the jets of water never came within squirting distance of some dishes. So they sit hopefully in the washer again, praying for their moment in the Lemon-Scented Cascade Sun. A few drinking glasses have been there since Thanksgiving 2003.

As well, my FIL has A System for dishes in his own washer. Whenever I visit, I'm usually the first one done eating, mainly because I don't like to sit around the dinner table after the eating's done discussing things ad nauseum like my in-laws do because eventually it comes round to some shortcoming of mine. So I usually leap up and start tidying the mess in the kitchen. I don't mind because it keeps me away from the slings and arrows that fly out of MIL's gob, and it makes me feel useful. MIL used to protest, but I shut her down once with, "You spent so much energy making that wonderful meal...you sit and relax for a change. More ice tea?" She hasn't protested since.

And yes, no matter how I stack the dishes, FIL comes in behind me and re-stacks them. I know he will, so I more or less do it now just to irk him a little and also hopefully to show him there's more than one way to wash a dish.

I'm somewhere in the middle with all this. I have my quirks (all the forks and knives must be pointed down for safety's sake) but if someone wants to reload the machine, I'm more than happy to pass that hat onto them. Just don't lecture me on why your way is better in my own home. If you want to rinse the dishes so much that they're already clean (which is what my dad does...his mantra is, Why put dirty dishes into a dishwasher??), that's your bag. Don't toss it on my side of the fence.

But if you're going to ignore an open, empty washer that is begging to be filled and stack plates on every possible kitchen surface so high they rattle when you open a drawer, then you're not really in a place to criticise, are you.

Recently Maxman asked me who was in charge of the house. I asked him which Zone he was referring to.

"Erm...the kitchen??" he said.

"Oh, that's totally my territory," I told him. "Daddy knows better than to start something in there."

Max nodded. "You keep your zones pretty tidy, then."

I beamed. My day was made.

Black Dynamite!

I saw this over on List of the Day this morning, and it totally made my day. I'm jealous of the folks in the US who get to see it opening today, and I can't say how much. I predict that once this makes it to DVD, it will occupy a hallowed place in my DVD Hall of Fame between Pulp Fiction and Kentucky Fried Movie.

Anyway, if you're scratching your head about what this jive ass turkey's on about, go here and watch the trailer:

www.blackdynamitemovie.com

Then go to Black Dynamite Yoself, and you can REALLY have a lot of fun.



Or...



Just to let you know, I'm not above doing this to my own son...


Wow. You can even Dynamite famous people...

Sir Sean Connery..


German President Angela Merkel...


Personally, I think he looks better this way...


Y'know, British PM Gordon Brown looks much, much better this way, shockingly enough. Can I get a Heyup! from my British buds or what?


French PM Jacques Chirac. Who said the French don't have a sense of funk?

And lastly, a man who could definitely use some funkifying. You know him. You love him. The man of the hour...



Now don't you think world negotiations would got a LOT better if the leaders were required to look totally rockin'? No more business suits, ties, sensible shoes. Just big old fros (or you can rent one...hell, the magistrates in England still wear those white wigs), loads of bling jewelry...you could spend the first hour of any political meeting just saying, "What it is, brother man. That is some RIGHTEOUS gold you're wearin'".

I think people would be far more relaxed if their clothes were colourful, happy, and comfy. I know I am. Get me some mile-high platform shoes and a lurex jumpsuit open to my navel, and I'd be happy as a mouse in a cheese factory.

Happy Weekending!

Now This is JUST The Sort of Thing That Wets My Chops

I love love LOVE it when cluelessness gets all idiotic and threaten-y and even warns of LEGAL ACTION only to be smacked down by common sense.

Are you familiar with the Streisand Effect? No? I wasn't, until recently. I knew WHAT it was, just didn't know what it was called.

To wit:

The Streisand effect is an Internet phenomenon where an attempt to censor or remove a piece of information backfires, causing the information to be widely publicized. Examples of such attempts include censoring a photograph, a number, a file, or a website (for example via a cease-and-desist letter). Instead of being suppressed, the information receives extensive publicity, often being widely mirrored across the Internet, or distributed on file-sharing networks.[1][2]

It began when a photographer took a picture of Babs' beach front house as part of a coastal erosion awareness project.

From Wiki:

Barbra sued photographer Kenneth Adelman and Pictopia.com for US$50 million in an attempt to have the aerial photo of her house removed from the publicly available collection of 12,000 California coastline photographs, citing privacy concerns. Adelman stated that he was photographing beachfront property to document coastal erosion as part of the California Coastal Records Project. As a result of the case, public knowledge of the picture increased substantially and it became popular on the Internet, with more than 420,000 people visiting the site over the next month.[6]

So, in short, it follows a law of human perversity: the more you tell someone "No, you can't do that," the more they'll want to. Stepped up a notch: if you tell someone "I'll sue!", the more defiant the other person will become, especially when the instigator hasn't a snowball's chance in a cesspool.

So follow me, my lovelies, to the following picture, and see if you can find anything wrong:



No, your screen isn't curved...that's what Ralph Lauren proffered in a recent advert for...I don't even know...corsets? Unreality? NyQuil addiction and its ugly ramifications?

Yeah. Chickie poo had been photoshopped so severely she wasn't even real any more. Compare the size of her head to the size of her waist.

Gross.

Enter Xeni Jardin over at boingboing.com who blogged, "Ew. Her head's bigger than her pelvis, dude..." in an air of mockery and contempt. Which, if you're up on this sort of thing, isn't infringing on any legal real estate because as an advert, it's been released into the public domain.

Well, the good bubble-headed folks over at Ralph Lauren didn't see it that way.

According to them, this is an "infringing image," and they thoughtfully took the time to send a DMCA takedown notice to our awesome ISP, Canada's Priority Colo. (SOURCE: boingboing.com)

Instead of running away like a wounded animal yipping "IKE! IKE! IKE!", boingboing replied with...(hold onto yer hats, it's wonderful):

So, to Ralph Lauren, GreenbergTraurig, and PRL Holdings, Inc: sue and be damned. Copyright law doesn't give you the right to threaten your critics for pointing out the problems with your offerings. You should know better. And every time you threaten to sue us over stuff like this, we will:

a) Reproduce the original criticism, making damned sure that all our readers get a good, long look at it, and;

b) Publish your spurious legal threat along with copious mockery, so that it becomes highly ranked in search engines where other people you threaten can find it and take heart; and

c) Offer nourishing soup and sandwiches to your models.

LOVE it when a sharp mind over comes a big bad corporation who loves to wield the term "legal action" like a slap on the wrist.

Streisand Effect, indeed.