Is this supposed to be magic? Entertainment? Starving yourself for 44 days while in a clear box. Hot damn! Gotta watch that! Why am I not getting it? Somebody enlighten me.
Apparently some of the Brits are less than impressed with this stunt.
I don’t have a link, but have heard stories that:
- Someone actually tried to cut the hose that delivers his water supply.
- People have thrown eggs, coins, and other objects at the box.
- Someone fired up a BBQ grill under the box, causing the cooking odor and smoke to waft up to him. (That one was my personal favorite)
Yeah, I don’t see the appeal either. The guy’s good at sleight of hand stuff though.
I don’t know why he bothered with the starvation thing.
Man In a Glass Box Tries To Go 40 Days Without a Wank! seems a bold enough endeavor for me.
I guess he’s Master of his Domain!
If he’s so good at sleight of hand, maybe he can have a wank without anyone noticing.
His stunts don’t bother me, the high quality of the poontang he gets bothers me. Playmates and whatnot. Asshole.
Is this the same guy on Southpark that made his own cult? … that shit was cool… I’m bored, so I’m going to look some of his shit up…
Yes, but we aren’t keeping all the fun to ourselves. Thanks to that global interweb thingy anyone can play the Blaine Game:
Oh, and I read yesterday that people have tried to crash remote controlled helicopters into the box.
Now that is really funny.
I wonder if Blaine knows he’s living a Kafka story? Anyone ever read The Hunger Artist?
During these last decades the interest in professional fasting has markedly diminished. It used to pay very well to stage such great performances under one’s own management, but today that is quite impossible. We live in a different world now. At one time the whole town took a lively interest in the hunger artist; from day to day of his fast the excitement mounted; everybody wanted to see him at least once a day; there were people who bought season tickets for the last few days and sat from morning till night in front of his small barred cage; even in the nighttime there were visiting hours, when the whole effect was heightened by torch flares; on fine days the cage was set out in the open air, and then it was the children’s special treat to see the hunger artist; for their elders he was often just a joke that happened to be in fashion, but the children stood openmouthed, holding each other’s hands for greater security, marveling at him as he sat there pallid in black tights, with his ribs sticking out so prominently, not even on a seat but down among straw on the ground, sometimes giving a courteous nod, answering questions with a constrained smile, or perhaps stretching an arm through the bars so that one might feel how thin it was, and then again withdrawing deep into himself, paying no attention to anyone or anything, not even to the all-important striking of the clock that was the only piece of furniture in his cage, but merely staring into vacancy with half-shut eyes, now and then taking a sip from a tiny glass of water to moisten his lips.