Borcanelanul (elanul la borcan)
Hi. I should probably be writing "Strategic Superiority - The Saga Returns" 2016 or somesuch restatement of that ancient theme seeing how am comis-o din nou as they say in Romanian. I can't be bothered.i Maybe tomorrow, or whatever. Instead, let me tell you about my experience with Buenos Aires nightlife last night.
So, girl reports she's infiltrated a group, of which a few chicks and a coupla dudes are going to a rock concert.ii And she asked and they kindly verified that yes the tickets will be sold at the dooriii.
The place was a "centro deportivo", in the collective mythology of Argentina, but otherwise a plain warehouse with zinc sheet roof (and ventilators - welded shut), a spinning mirror ball hanging unverisimilitudiouslyiv from a crossbeam, what no doubt locally passes for a bar - a drywall-delimited enclousure, washed white and decorated with fantasmagoric "brick" pattern.
And the smell. Good lord, the smell. Do you know what New York gyms smelled like back when the year was 1930, they all included a boxing ring and a pool table, and their chief function was to provide the mob with a recruiting ground ? That smell, old stale sweat and old stale dust, cheerful pain and hopeless suffering. That acrid thing vaguely between mice and old socks that I had imagined extinct for many, many years. It's right here, I had some.
There were no "chicks", in the hundred or so attendance, seated on rickety chairs of which no three were alike, drinking happily the local swillv, carrying with the excited urgency of the poor large plates heaped with cheap fodder, soggy potatoes, wonderbread, petrocheese, steaming an unhealthy steam in their gloatful, excited faces.
There were no chicks. Everyone was dressed as for a PTA which, inexplicably, took place in the dark, in a dubious hole no self-respecting mom would have patronized back in the old country, back in the old days. Hoodie-wearing females are not chicks, they're meat robots, not to be fucked anymore than bees are to be fucked. Pants, everyone. No heelsvi, no cleavage, no nothing. Twenty minutes in I had enough of marinating in the saucevii and we took off.
We stopped for icecreamviii. SPPix girlyx had to argue with the idiots at the counter to use fucking glass bowls. For which trouble I got miserable coffee in a cup and some marginal icecream in a cappuccino glass. You know the sort, thick cheap glass with a handle on the side, it's by now universal in every obrero cafe the world over.
Twenty minutes later we were entering a Cena! Show! kinda place. A bunch of old people hanging around. The waiter comes over, I order Reserva San Juan. Dos.xi The... other waiter comes over with menus. I tell him we already ordered. He then comes over with properly warmed glassesxii, in which he pours A LOT of something. Girly points out it's not what I ordered. It wasn't. We taste the paint thinner just for the hell of it. Atrocious. I stand up, get dressed, blondy that no doubt was hot back when this country was cool, 40 years ago or so, asks us why're we leaving ? I say "because they've got no cognac", throw a hundred on the table as the avatar of disdain and we're off!
Concert, icecream and drinks. What more could you ask of the night life of a poor city inhabited by some people who don't know they're poor ? Un turno ie one hour in their love hotels goes for 190 pesos (about 12 dollars). With the condoms and the empanadas, the locals get laid with leftovers out of "quinientos", I spend twice that and can't even get a cup of coffee worth the name.
Todos Unidos! Todos Iguales! Partido Idiotas Aqui Presentos!
———Being self-employed is pretty great, let me tell you.
But not if you let yourself become your own boss. There's a difference here. I also don't feel like discussing that. Maybe some other time. [↩]Speaking of which : earlier in the week I was walking by some place when some 15 yo cut me off and very purposefully (in the manner of 15yos doing the FORBIDDEN) entered some building. From which music could be heard! So I turned around and followed her (did I mention self-employment rocks ? you get to drop what you're doing whenever you feel like!), to the surprise of a bouncer guy. Eventually he explains to me that it's "a rock concert", what I'm hearing. At four in the fucking afternoon! And "it's just about finished".
Take a moment to sink this through. Rock concert, in Buenos Aires ? Rock concert, just in time for lunch ? That is finishing ?
This country doesn't exist. It is, entirely, a work of fiction. They claim otherwise, they think and believe otherwise, but they're delusional. This place simply can't exist. [↩]They do this thing here, where the tickets must be bought in advance across town. Don't imagine this means it's a better venue or anything, it's literally the exact shit with more inconvenience heaped on top. Imagine what life'd be if Burger King required you to go to Kinko's to pay for your meal. You have to order in the clown head, go over to Kinko's to pay, then come to Burger King for your order. And there's no seating. And everyone's naturally an idiot, as opposed to constructing their idiocy deliberately out of crack and smack and ketamine, they just got it as a gift from their stupid mommies. It's called "recursos humanos" here in Argentina. [↩]Fuck you, "unlikely" ? Neverosimil, bitch! You call this rag a language ?! [↩]They call it beer, but it's directly and obviously alt-flavoured soda. Cheaper that way. [↩]"They're so impractical!"
"When's the last time you got laid ?"
"Oh well, I am not comfortable talking about"
"Shut up and get your lazy ass six inches up. Then you'll be comfortable." [↩]For one thing, spend enough time in that sort of atmosphere and you end up smelling like it.
For the other thing, stink is not the only thing that rubs off - spend enough time with stupid people and you'll become stupid, too. Which was the original point of feminism - forcing a woman to interact with nothing but children and other women similarly captive necessarily makes her stupid. [↩]The Arkakao place closed down. We found this out in the usual manner anything's found out in this country - by surprise. One day we went for icecream, found ourselves smack drab in the middle of an auction, all the various kitchen utensils, furniture etc lined up in lots and some staffers trying to give me lists of what's on sale.
This is how they do things here. Everywhere else, real estate goes on the market months before the current leasee vacates. If it doesn't meet the price, it gets discounted, up to zero if it need be, but there's no such thing as commercial space redirected to the purpose of dicking around. Here, they have no problem with it - they'll never consider discounts, as a matter of principle, apodyctically. So what if waiting one year for someone to pay your desired rent for a month is significantly a worse outcome than being paid half your desired rent all year through. Soberania! [↩]Serviciul de Protectie si Paza, in Romanian in original. [↩]I call them girls, from the inside. From the outside they appear a lot different. [↩]The local cognac by appointment to my lordship. [↩]Cognac is served in warmed glasses, yes ? [↩]
« Piles, the floral doll
The ideal Bitcoin wallet »
Category: Zsilnic
Thursday, 28 July, Year 8 d.Tr.
Body Heat
Body Heati is a very 70s thing that enjoys the notable benefit of good dialogue. It is hard to overstate just how 70s it is, stylistically, visually, conceptuallyii. It is also hard to overstate just how important good dialogue is for a movie. For instance - it entirely rescues yet another redo of that ancient themeiii from the meh pile.
Not just by itself, of course. There's also Kathleen Turner, who has no boobs, and by modern standards no ass either, yet is very lively. And it is hard to overstate the importance of lively enthusiasmiv in the consummation of amorous congress ; or cinematic digress. In any case she has a reasonably healthy relationship with nudityv, which is to my eyes and by very far the foremost qualification of any actress.
Definitely worth a watch.
———1981, by LawrenceKasdan, with Kathleen Turner, Mickey Rourke, William Hurt (and Ted Danson!) [↩]Here's one example : respected lawyer, concerned sister-of-deceased cut off from will, not-so-concerned surviving wife that altered the will, her lawyer and partner in crime, and the district attorney are gathered around a table. Lawyer inquires if anyone would mind if he smoked. The next second everyone, the women, the men, everyone has some sort of tobacco good out - with the exception of the poor DA. Who is so shockingly lonely in his abstinence that the sister extends him the use of her tobacco pile as a minimal courtesy, like you give a sandwich to the only kid at the picnic who apparently doesn't otherwise get one.
He politely declines, volunteering that he's ok, he'll just breathe the air.
Believe it or not, there was a time when the anti-smoking lobby was moreover pleasant, likable and certainly in firm possession of a point. [↩]Unhappy wife meets new fucker ; they conspire and kill the husband ; merryment ensues. Yeah, just like Double Indemnity ; The Woman In The Window and we're not even done with the year 1944! [↩]Incidentally : Turner is the original inventor of the gaydar. [↩]It's her first film. She was 27. [↩]
« Werner Koch lies.
How to handle "trans" sexuality »
Category: Trilematograf
Friday, 07 October, Year 8 d.Tr.
blackmirror.nosedive.final
"Now for those of you who don't know me, which is... all of you... my name is Lacie Pound. And, believe it or not, I am one of Naomi's oldest friends. Hi, Nay-Nay! It's great to meet you too, Paul. I've heard a lot about you. He's a pretty big deal, that Paul. Pretty big deal. He makes his own tapenade! Yeah. Uh... Anyway, um... I... have looked up to Naomi pretty much my entire life. We met when we were five years old, and right up through to our teenage years, we made quite the pair. We'd talk about all the things girls talk about, you know, boys, hair, products, uh... more boys.i I mean, I tried sometimes to expand our range a little and talk about climate change, but she found that kind of boring so... She was probably right. I mean, fuck the planet, right? Whoo! Yes, thank you! Come on. Let's have a little fun here. You know, fuck the planet! Anyway... I... looked up to Naomi pretty much my entire life, which meant she was looking down on me. Always with a smile though. In high school, she was my shoulder to cry on. She seemed to enjoy that. Guys and me never worked out. They'd see Naomi and just... Whoo! You know, that was it. She had this tight ass, like two fists. Uh-huh. I was all like... I was like... through the hallways in high school. And she was there for me. Holding my hair back... as I knelt, vomiting, in front of the crapper. Thank you for that, Naomi. I always wished I was you. And... I guess that's why you kept me around so long? Until you got your new job and your fancy new friends. And that... that ...fucking... jackhole! And you didn't need me. You probably got another me. Guess there's some other "yeth Beth" you moved on to like a succubus. I'm getting to Mr. Rags, okay? Jesus! Stay back! Stay the fuck back! I'll kill him! I'll cut his head off and stick it up my ass! Time's nearly up! I... I just wanted to say, in this world so caught up in our own shit, let's not forget what matters.ii It's okay. It's okay. Happiness, fucking Paul and Naomi, and she's... she... She fucked Greg! I know she did. I know you did. Don't even try to deny... The little girl who, when we were just five-years-old in art camp, started talking to me and helped me make Mr. Ragsiii. He reminds me of you and what you meant to me then! And I'm so honoured to be here to see this shit! I love you, Nay-Nay! I've always loved you! I love you!"
"Now now Lacie, where are you going baby ?"
"I... I..."
"Nice going, showing up here with mud in your hair and all... what the hell is that on your face, even ?"
"I..."
"But you're not done yet, are you ? Nice dress, by the way. Did you make it yourself ?"
"I... uh..."
"Now take it off. Show these nice people just how pudgy you are underneath. Come on, come on, don't be shy, off it goes. That's a good girl. My my! What is with that stomach fat! Seriously, you go around like that ? Do you even work out ? Like, I mean, at all ?"
"Y...yes. Yes I... I... I run. And... and I..."
"Don't bullshit me, you filthy little slut. You don't run. Do you ? You don't run. Tell everyone here what a filthy liar you are!"
"I... I..."
"Right this instant!"
"I... don't run."
"It shows, baby. When we were fifteen there was this lanky goof that kept following her around. Before you know it, they did all those stupid things low class people do, promised each other dumb things and held hands and who knows what else. It was ridiculous to watch, like, almost adorable it was so boring. You haven't changed at all, Lacie! Ten years and you haven't changed a bit. Well, except for the lard, but really, and I tell you this from the bottom of my heart : it belongs on you."
"I..."
"Yeah, you. And don't you ever change! You're really good at what you do, honestly, and there's no reason to suspect you'd ever be even remotely good at anything else. Everyone has to find a gig in life, and being the puke at the party may just be yours. This pudgy 1.1 that shows up uninvited at high class weddings to show off her animatronic belly fat and saggy tits steel mesh can barely contain. Would you like to take off your bra too, show everyone what great udders you got under there ?"
"N...Naomi!"
"Careful the straps don't pop, then, while you tell them about Greg. Remember, how it went ?"
"N...no... p...ppp...please."
"Tell them!"
"I... I..."
"Remember, that time I came to your house, and Greg was there, and I said..."
"You... you said..."
"What did I say, Lacie ?"
"You ... you... you made me... take my clothes off. Everything. And then... and then you asked him..."
"No, first you had to turn around."
"Y...yes."
"And while we did it in your bed, you had to do calisthenics the whole time. Remember ?"
"Y...yes."
"But remember that time when you had to do with the bottle ? Remember that ?"
"I... I... N..."
"Would you like to show the guests what you had to do with the bottle, for Greg and I, back in junior high ?"
"N...Naomi! P... please Naomi!"
"There's a reason I'm up here and you're down there in the mud, you stupid asswipe. Now get the fuck out of here, we have things to do."
The problem with black mirror is that they spend half an hour building an elaborate set-up which they ultimately have no idea how to put to use. Which is why it's on netflix.
———Don't blame the creatives - if it's not changed in three millenia it's not changing in the next thirty years either. How far in the future do you want a couple of mass market tv screenplay writers to see ? [↩]Apparently, being Kirsten Wiig is all that matters. [↩]And kick-up dust. Yes. Because there is no imago available to you people that doesn't reduce to Elliot, your matrix, your hero, your archetype, your everything. [↩]
« Liberals ? What liberals ?
Illustrated Tapenade »
Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
Monday, 21 November, Year 8 d.Tr.
Black Snake Moan
Black Snake Moani is an inexplicable little jewel. It unabashedly depicts the importance of breaking a girl's infantile "will" as part of her normal maturation processii. It plainly shows the valuable part a length of solid chain may play in supporting introspective reflexioniii and thereby aiding the entire process. It even correctly depicts the central role played by unyielding male will in the crucible that turns confused geese into fully grown gorgons. How in the hells it escaped the censors is anyone's guess, I can't fathom.iv
Christina Ricci readily emerges as the best actress of her generation, and easily the best actress currently working. Her range is astoundingv, her delivery crisp, her mastery of her own body as a vehicle of her art entirely enthralling. She even has huge tits, as it turns out. I had utterly no idea. Now if only she hadn't spent the ensuing decade doing bullshit voice acting, TV crap, shorts and so on. Give the woman some roles already!
The preacher is extremely convincing, mostly by virtue of very good screenplay. Jackson is tired. This film's worth watching.
———2006, by Craig Brewer, with Christina Ricci, Samuel L Jackson. [↩]Teeth work exactly the same way - deciduous teeth must be broken off before permanent teeth may take their place, and failure to lose them in time will deform the bite.
Each girl develops naturally the same infantile surogate of a will, a spurious placeholder which must be broken off before she can develop a true will, turn into a woman and take her proper place by a man. In some unfortunate cases the infantile pseudowill is not broken, resulting in diformity and lifelong disability (an adherence to socialist aka "progressive" causes being an indicative symptom of this particular developmental retardation). [↩]As in the case of punishment, the most important part is for the subject to interiorize his complete and absolute lack of recourse. Failure of this interiorization breeds the anal child in the feminine. [↩]Perhaps because in typical progretardation, the male characters are even more dysfunctional, broken and sad ? Who even knows by now. [↩]Think, for a moment. Have you ever seen Kate Blanchett play anything but that certain type of "high class" "intellectual" ? Or on the sluts side, ever saw Arquette or Juliette Lewis do anything but motels and trailerparks, barefoot and chickenwire ? Ever saw a film in which Monica Belucci wasn't raped ? I get it, she's great at being raped, the other one looks great in glasses, whatever the hell already. Trying to spend as much time as possible in the fancied skin of your preferred imaginary self isn't acting. [↩]
« No Such lAbs (S.NSA), October 2016 Statement
To be clear : Hillary Clinton lost the presidential election on June 16th, 2016. »
Category: Trilematograf
Tuesday, 08 November, Year 8 d.Tr.
BitBet (S.BBET) March 2016 Statement
Resulting from Kakobrekla's rejection of last month's statement and as amply discussed within and without the forum, BitBet entered into receivership this month.
Davout is supervising that process, which is expected to complete during the month of April. Bitbet shareholders are entitled to 0.00001 BTC per share at the expense of the founders as per the contract ; should the liquidation process produce sums in excess of Bitbet's obligations, they will receive the difference proportionally. So far the high bid on Bitbet's assets stands at 9 BTC. The auction closes on Wed the 6th of April so there's still a few days.
I expect the liquidation of Bitbet to complete during April ; there will be one further, final report at the end of this month.
« Qntra (S.QNTR) March 2016 Statement
MiniGame (S.MG), March 2016 Statement »
Category: S.BBET
Monday, 04 April, Year 8 d.Tr.
BitBet (S.BBET) January 2016 Statement
Operational results
Received 24 new propositions, of which accepted 9, rejected 14.
Total bets in: 253, worth 236.99251202 BTCi
Revenue : 10.46445262 BTC, of which :
bets resolved : 8.64701700ii BTC
fees from refunds : 0.0 BTC
advertising : 0.1 BTC
house bets won : 1.71743562iii
gracious donations to shareholders : 0.0 BTC
Expenditure : 1.25678032, of which :
referrals paid : 0.21119981 BTC
house bets made : 0.90000000 BTC
Hosting : 0.13636363 BTC
Taxiv, 0.00921688 BTC
Profit : 9.2076723 BTC.
Miscellaneous
Not a bad month. Let's see the next one!
———Graph:
[↩]856.05450639 BTC total pool resolved this month. [↩]1.60000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved during the current month. [↩]Owed to Bitcoin's Sovereign. [↩]
« Black Book
B,TMSR~ Block Cipher Competition »
Category: S.BBET
Thursday, 04 February, Year 8 d.Tr.
BitBet (S.BBET) December 2015 Statement
Operational results
Received 12 new propositions, of which accepted 6, rejected 6.
Total bets in: 175, worth 154.45065918 BTCi
Revenue : 1.89623187 BTC, of which :
bets resolved : 0.52910621ii BTC
fees from refunds : 0.0 BTC
advertising : 0.1 BTC
house bets won : 0.98488819iii
gracious donations to shareholders : 0.28223747 BTC
Expenditure : 1.04264518, of which :
referrals paid : 0.20542712 iv BTC
house bets made : 0.70000000 BTC
Hosting : 0.13636363 BTC
Taxv, 0.00085443 BTC
Profit : 0.85358669 BTC.
Miscellaneous
Next statement will be significant, apparently a lot of bettors prefer their bets to end on year-end. We're looking at a 3-4x increase in closed bets.
———Graph:
[↩]52.91058782 BTC total pool resolved this month. [↩]0.80000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved during the current month. The house lost 0.06 and made 123% on THE TOTAL! Can you believe this shit ? [↩]Up 500% since last month. Still... affiliate revenue has for years been and remains throughout the one place people leave most money on the table of the entire BTC ecosystem. [↩]Owed to Bitcoin's Sovereign. [↩]
« Qntra (S.QNTR) December 2015 Statement
MiniGame (S.MG), December 2015 Statement »
Category: S.BBET
Monday, 04 January, Year 8 d.Tr.
Birth
Birthi tells the story of an adult woman that falls in love with a little boy, over on Cunt Planet.ii
So almighty is the suction power of her vaginal void (empowered, of course, by the green Sun of Cunt Planet) that she ends up playing naked in the bath with him, and in all seriousness discussing the little boy's "supporting her" (he actually says "I'll get a job", because apparently "I'll turn you out, ho!" was busy that evening or something). And whether he has any previous sexual experience - which he hasn't, which is all the better.
In this scandalous absurdity of a film, the man exists strictly as a reimplementation of Mr. Fabulousiii, and the woman, after having betrayed and greviously insulted the flags of her fiance, produces the following apology :
What happened to me was not my fault. There's no way I could've behaved any differently, you know. What I did... wasn't my fault. What happened to me wasn't my fault, and I can't be held accountable for it. There's no way I could ever have said to him... "Go away." I couldn't do it. It was a mistake. And... I'm sorry. I'm... But I wanna be with you. I wanna be with you. Yes, I do. And I wanna get married. And... I wanna have a good life, and I wanna be happy. That's all I want. Peace.
And he accepts this abominable atrocity, because on Planet Cunt that's what he does. "I'm going to take out your right eye, so you always remember not to stand on any other side for as long as I have a single flag up" was busy that evening, or something.
She's not alone, in the insanity, the matriarch of the clan of idiots has the unmitigated audacity to discuss whether she liked or didn't like the Avatar, as if this could matter in any sort of view or context for crying out loud already. Lauren Bacall is very convincing in the role, but that doesn't make the role less idealisticiv.
Ironically, the Avatar's actual life was with Anne Heche's poorer, simpler, weaker character ; and the boy also moves on. This leaves very little trace on Cunt Planet however, because other than being forever trapped in a subconscious state of softly dreaming, the denizens are also bereft of the gift of memory, and structurally incapable of reflexionv.
There's nothing much to see here, unless you're into idiotomology.
———2004, by Jonathan Glazer, with Nicole Kidman, Lauren Bacall, Anne Heche. [↩]Cunt Planet is this alternative reconstruction of the world where women actually matter - not as accessory items but as the pulse and structure of the Universe. Ridiculous, I know, but there's a reasonably large demo of emotionally stunted and developmentally retarded females that loves the shit, so what can you do. There's a demo for the "Action" genre, even. [↩]A recurring trope in Cunt Planet fiction, Mr. Fabulous is a male most excellent in all topics and fields of male excellence, that nevertheless never enslaves the woman, nor beats her nor tortures her nor otherwise puts her in her proper place. For never explained reasons, love's not generally mentioned other than as a verbal fetish.
It's exactly the fetishized "alternative parent" emotionally stunted and developmentally retarded females would fixate on, part and parcel of their retreat in daydreaming as an alternative to life. [↩]Ie, the opposite of realistic. [↩]They do an idle, psychotic spinning instead, a sort of rumination not unlike what passes for prayer in the far East. [↩]
« Today on Trilema : A history of the Polar Crabs ; A Discussion of Very Deep Globules ; A General Theory of the Corn Cobb as well as an Autobiography of Herzog Balthasar Hedgehog by Mr. Burt Mugg.
Random visuals from someplace »
Category: Trilematograf
Monday, 25 April, Year 8 d.Tr.
Better Off Dead
Motto: "It's with a very young Cusack. Pretty much all gags,
but they're not bad gags. I think you might like it."
She was right, I did like it. Better Off Deadi is essentially a teenage Cusack (who was 19 at the time, and had starred in a coupla teenage-interest materia obscuraii) going through an hour and a half of mostly visual gags nominally and rather loosely set to the music of a typical "teenage discovery" blabla like the US keeps making for some god forsaken reason. You know the crap, guy thinks he loves a girl who's a total bitch while neglecting much sweeter girl but then comes to senses and so on.
The raisin thingiii is definitely memorable ; the "anti-highschool" where the kids are genuinely interested in the subject matter and actually good at is is indeed very close to the actual highschool I went to (yes - believe it or not that is exactly how school went when I was in school!) ; the monomaniac Korean brothers are comedically monumental and so on.
There are many possible things to do on a rainy day ; there are various ways to employ that pleasantly mellow half-day after drinking massively the whole night previous ; there's some things you can show a girl you just fucked just as well as your underage first cousin ; this list may continue as well as split into various sublists. Better Off Dead fits well in all the above, which is more than can be said about most other things. It's ubiquitously comedic, let's say.
There's worse things to be.
———1985, by Savage Steve Holland with John Cusack [↩]Putative productions that have been anecdotally shown to exist and are collectively believed to make up about five-sixths of all cinema. [↩]"I think we're all going to enjoy this little treat. I got the recipe from the Ladies' Home Journal. The mail got wet in the rain, so some of the pages ran together, but what I couldn't read I improvised with my own creative ideas. You see, it's got raisins in it. You like raisins."
This introduction precedes and forebodes an unbelievably tensile aspic of dubiously gray-pink aspect, which then proceeds to crab off the plate when poked. It's the food gag of all time! [↩]
« Do you know who did this ?
The two cent class »
Category: Trilematograf
Saturday, 26 March, Year 8 d.Tr.
Bel Ami
Bel Amii is a loose retelling of the Maupassant novel by an entirely unknown director. This looseness is not markedly detrimental to the new piece ; the superb sets and costumesii allow it to breathe its own breath and live its own life. No it's not Bel Ami the book - it is Bel Ami the film, and it stands very well on its own.
Robert Pattinson (the leading man) is unremarkable other than having a very nice back. Kristin Scott Thomas is consistent, and in her case consistent means good. Uma Thurman comes off as a very good actress, doing work on the level of Dangerous Liaisons and The Producersiii, as opposed to the sad atrocities she did for Tarantinoiv. She's still ugly, though, but at least here they have the sense to not display her paddlefeet.
Christina Ricci is very convincingly the woman, in the traditional (and period-adequate) sense of the term : "endless is the power of the sea, because anything it will carry". She'll take all abuse, bruise a little, heal soon thereafter and smile sweetly forevermore. The species is built on this, like it or not, and Ricci gets it across splendidly.
For all those merits it still didn't do very well at the box officev, which is shocking and unfortunate. Watching Bel Ami certainly beats watching Transformers or Whatever-Man or whatever the fuck they guzzle their flavoured fizz with.
———2012, by Declan Donnellan, with Christina Ricci, Uma Thurman, Kristin Scott Thomas. [↩]Decorations by Anna Lynch-Robinson (well done on those lamps!), costumes by Odile Dicks-Mireaux, art direction by Zsuzsanna Borvendeg and set design by Atilla F. Kovacs.
These people managed to support the director and cast through 102 minutes of period dress and interiors without bothering my easily bruised senses once.
Yes, here and there the people wouldn't have done that or said that, not for their life, not in a million years, nor could ever have as much as conceived of such. True.
But they'd have not done or not said it quite credibly at that very table, rather obviously under tassels altogether similar, there's a perfection of detail that I can't explain other than by thinking the people involved actually grew up among surviving artefacts of the very period in question. Living memory, there's no other explanation for such quality of work.
It is a rare priviledge, to enjoy correct period sets. [↩]Which I can't believe I never actually reviewed ?! [↩]God almighty, was there anything worse than Kill Bill ? Except of course for Kill Bill 2. [↩]38k opening weekend, 120k total US gross ? Call them UStards and let them be, Jesus F. Christ, what was the problem, not enough fat midwestern chicks guzzling Coors while dressed in bedsheets to tickle your "historical sense" ?
They drank Coors in Rome, right ? [↩]
« And they won't fucking yield.
They're not progressive, they're just lazy - a practical exercise »
Category: Trilematograf
Monday, 14 November, Year 8 d.Tr.
Bad Timing
Bad Timingi topped some chart of "hottest sexploitation films" maintained evidently by idiots. The film is tame to the point of fraudulence. It's clear they really really want to make a sexy film with sexy things in it and like women etc, but the means they pick to attempt their evidently cherished goal are a liberal usage of nude bodicesii and general dumbfuckery rather than the high road of frank tits and pussy, making the whole thing feel dirty. Scummy. Clammy. Like a repressed middle class underwear drawer.
It was observed during the endless tedium of this screening that "art" filmmakers really had it a lot easier in the days when smoking was "intellectual" because they could take care of a good twenty minutes by just adding footage of dudes lighting their cigarettes. Roeg pumps this to about twenty-five.
The scenography is rather elegant, making use of the proposed setting of Vienna as well as of Garfunkel's apparent acquaintance with interiors in Greenwich Village. The soundtrack is very pleasant, the walls are covered in bookshelves looking just-so etcetera etcetera. Sadly, the script was written by idiotsiii, none of it works, not in any detail, not in the general lines, the dialogue is particularly impossible but the everything else is just about equally bad.
Theresa Russell looks about forty eight, and tired. This in spite of being literally 23 at the time she was playing the supposed 24 year old Milena Flaherty. It is beyond comprehension how the hell this could have happened, but please review the footage and get back to me. Unless Nicolas Roeg kept her up all night long week after week, plying her with cheap rot-gut by the bucket in his (eventually successful) quest to fuck her already. In any case this is the saddest failure of stage make-up in the history of cinema.
A young Harvey Keitel with a lot of hair (but still the same collar style) is mildly interesting. Art Garfunkeliv is essentially an alternatively-dressed carrot, and has no business being involved with acting.
The film altogether is not worth watching, unless you're a pervert of course.
———1980, by Nicolas Roeg, with Harvey Keitel, Art Garfunkel, Theresa Russell [↩]These aren't those things cut to let out the tits and the cunt. They're those things colored to look like skin, but cut just exactly like the boring shit American women wear. [↩]Yes I'm aware Laurie Bird killed herself just about in that manner just about at that time. So ? [↩]Who is a Romanian Jew, by the way, did you know this ? [↩]
« Kismia dating scam
Peruvian immigrants > Argentine natives »
Category: Trilematograf
Saturday, 15 October, Year 8 d.Tr.
Awful offal waffle falafel
Adela was a sophomore in high school and already second in the cheerleading team. Everyone complimented her on the clear, pallid beauty of her flawless skin, predicting great things for the future and maybe even a modelling career.
One Sunday afternoon Adela felt tired after having spent the previous Saturday with her boyfriend, and took a nap.
While napping she had a dream. Her boyfriend was rubbing her breasts together in her dream, getting rougher and rougher. Adela was paralyzed. Eventually he popped her nipples like they were zit heads, and gelatinous blobs of yellowish, foul smelling puss came oozing out until her breasts were completely deflated, skins hanging completely loose like popped balloons.
Adela started screaming, which woke her up. She ran off to the bathroom, and there she discovered her face entirely covered in thick, pustulent acne.
Belen was married and her husband worked in insurance. His name was Miguel. One day while she was doing dishes Miguel came into the kitchen to drink some water and Belen noticed for the first time that he is actually made of gnats.
Miguel was not so much Miguel as rather a swarm of gnats, so dense it kept his clothes puffed up but still, tiny little gnats. Later that day they made love, and Belen found herself impaled by a projection of swarming gnats, buzzing barely audibly while stretching out her inside and pleasurably.
Belen started screaming and her husband Miguel started buzzing louder.
Carmen had a bad habit of cutting her toe nails in a negligent manner. One day, while eating sushi that she had made herself she started choking. Everyone else thought she choked on a stray fish bone, but she could tell it was really one of her toe nails, specifically from the third toe of the left foot. She remembered cutting it quite clearly. It must have become entangled in her blouse and then later fallen into the nori bag.
In spite of nearly choking on her own toe nail in the sushi she had made herself, Carmen continued to cut her toe nails negligently, and so three weeks and nine days after nearly choking on her own toe nail in the sushi she had made herself, Carmen died when a three hundred and nine kilogram toe nail fragment fell on her head and instantly killed her. It fell from the top of the bedroom door where it had jumped at an earlier time, spending the entire interval feeding itself on aphids and other invertebrates.
Despina was identified as a white nationalist by the official press organs in spite of not actually being either white or in any sense nationalist. In fact, Despina was a datura bush, with pinkish flowers and a sunny disposition.
For her grave transgressions and guilt as a white nationalist, Despina was cut down and thrown into the river. The river washed Despina into the lake, and she became caught into the intake grate for the city's water supply. That night, for the first time in many years, the news bulletins made perfect sense to a majority of the viewers.
Florina heard a strange noise on her way home, but against her better nature she didn't immediately drop everything to investigate. The next day she heard the same noise, and so she took her car to the shop, but they said that it wasn't from the car.
Florina took a different path home, but still heard the noise, and became very bothered and distraught. She went to the doctor, who measured her auricular things, and decided she must drink more water.
Florina drank more water and never heard the noise again.
Eleanor is only mentioned here on account of her name.
Gloria masturbated for the first time when she was nine. It was very painful, which she liked a lot. Gloria continued to masturbate as she aged, but it became less and less painful over the years. Eventually her cunt started to produce a slippery juice every time she masturbated, which her mother told her is normal, but which also got in the way of getting a good sore going.
Eventually Gloria discovered that tampons take care of the juice, especially if covered in alum dust just before insertion, and always used really rough woolen and jute gloves to rub herself, but in spite of all her efforts it never got as painful as it was when she was nine and Gloria was never again satisfied.
Hortensia once ate an earthworm while playing with the other children in the yard. The earthworm secreted a protective cocoon in her stomach, and years later when Hortensia died and was buried the earthworm first waited for everything to settle down, then came out of its cocoon and went on about its business.
Earthworms are very patient creatures.
Unknown to her family or anyone else, Ioana suffered from a exceedingly rare condition where all the cells are receptive to spermatozoa and readily create zygotes on contact. When she was 19 Ioana answered a casting call from a pornographic production company, and came in contact with sperm for the first time in her life as three men ejaculated on her body.
Later that night Ioana developed a rash, and by the time of her Freudian Psychology class the next Tuesday, she had entirely disappeared under a pile of aborted three day old babies.
Jasper met a guy but wouldn't suck him off so he cursed her.
The next morning Jasper was with some friends when they all decided to go have a hamburger, but Jasper thought hamburgers are gross and didn't want to go. Then later at home she went to get a bowl of cereal, but she thought milk is gross so she passed.
Then later Jasper passed on bread, frozen dinners, peas and garbonzo beans because they were all gross. She ate a little paper and went to bed. The alarm went off but Jasper passed out and then she died.
Karin had fungus. 'Nuff said.
Lillith was as cute as a cute, fluffy bunny. Unfortunately, she was also an obligate coprophagiac. As you well know, obligate coprophagiacs have no choice but to ingurgitate their mostly indigestible diet, then evacuate it in the shape of a soft stool, then ingurgitate the previously evacuated stool for a second pass at digestion, and evacuate hard pellets.
Being as cute as a cute, fluffy bunny has its disadvantages.
« Illustrated Tapenade
The imbecile, philosophy and cinematography »
Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
Monday, 21 November, Year 8 d.Tr.
Aveam niste case...
Aveam niste case
de Constantin Tanasei
Aveam niste case pe care degraba voiam sa le vind,
Am dat un anunt la jurnale, ca sa le pot da mai curind.
Sa nu-mi bat capul cu samsari, am scris "Refuz intermediari"
A doua zi, pe la cinci jumatate, aud in usa batind cineva
Ma scol din pat ca sa vad cine bate, si cind deschid... cine crezi ca era ?
Rozenblat!
I-am spus "in anuntul meu scrie ca nu vreau samsari cu negot",
Si totusi stii ce-obraznicie acuma ma scoli si din somn
Si nici n-am vrut ca sa-l injur, i-am dat doar un picior in cur.
A doua zi, pe la cinci jumatate aud in usa batind cineva
Ma scol din pat ca sa v' cine bate, si cind deschid... pai cine crezi ca era ?
Rozenblat!
Ma-nfurii, la gura fac spume, il iau ca sa-l pun in pamint, il pui si-l intind ca pe-o guma
Si buf cu el de pamint! Si de l-al saptelea etaj l-am aruncat jos pe pavaj! Mwahahaha!
A doua zi, pe la cinci jumatate, aud in usa batind cineva
Ma scol din pat ca sa v' cine bate, si cind deschid... pai cine crezi ca era ?
Pai Rozenblat!
Am dat si-acatiste si miruri, sub mina lui Cuza am mincatii
M-am uns cu tamiie, cu miruri, de Rosenblatt tot n-am scapat.
La urma ca s-o scot la cap, am dat foc casei ca sa scap.
Ei, dracia dracului. Ei, ce credeti c-am patit ?
A doua zi, pe la cinci jumatate, aud in usa batind cineva
Ma scol din pat ca sa v' cine bate, si cind deschid... pai cine crezi ca era ?
Rozenblat!
Coincidentally :
———This man, easily Romania's most notable vaudevillian, and nominally a central character of Romanian culture (so much so that the professional lives of a vast swathe of pompous nobodies spin around a theatre named for him) nevertheless does not exist online. That this here is the only written bit of his to be found on the whole web should inform you as to the importance, utility and quality of an alleged Romanian state, which allegedly exists and allegedly expends a yearly budget well into the billions ; from which it supposedly feeds something purporting to be a Romanian Ministry of Culture. In practice it could just as well be the Romanian Ministry of Funny Walks. Just like the other one. Which other one ? All of them. [↩]This is beyond fucking weird, but the source is really very poor quality and well... it's what the man appears to be saying. [↩]
« The labyrinth of gender
MiniGame (S.MG), May 2016 Statement »
Category: Zsilnic
Sunday, 05 June, Year 8 d.Tr.
Autumnal Argentina
Argentina es un pais por desgracia pobladoi, but rest easy that we shall omit both bipedal and quadripedal livestock from this article.
Pictured above, the "Lago de Regatas". No boat in sight anywhere, of course, which is why I like the name so much I'm going to use it for the entire series.
The leaf cutters are preparing for the Winter, even though it rarely snows here.
Isn't this a great clump ?
Being from Argentina is such a shameful chancre some trees are applying for Japanese citizenship.
At the outer limits of the possibilities of this lens : parrots!
———To form an idea of this : today was Easter Sunday in their rite. There I sit having my coffee & cake in the friendly neighbourhood bar, and there they come, the Easter Sunday glitterati, like Sunday drivers raised to the power of themselves. Family of five, all gathered around the formless blob of a huswife draped in the indistinct couch cushion materials and colors they wear. The adolescent daughter, blessed with none of the qualities of womanhood ; the pubescent boy, and the younger one still ; the extinguished husband. They all have absolutely nothing to say to each other, nor, strictly speaking, anything to do "out". Yet "out" they are, because out they must be! And so they sit, and so they wait, and so it goes.
The pile of middle aged women, pretentious for strictly no reason, smegma firmly petrified under clitoral hood (who'd ever know to look!), cheap bags carried because bags must be had, filled with things to fill bags with, and a confused teensy girly lost among them. I look at her, I idly if loudly wonder what the fuck is she doing among the losers, she starts blinking nervously and keeps at it for the rest of the stay. That she can do. Think to herself that really, she has absolutely no business among these losers, and acting on that thought isn't something she can do. Blinking like a mental case, is. I can scarcely imagine what you'd have to do for a sane female of that age to be caught dead in that group, but hey. Argentina no es un pais pobre, Argentina es un pais estupido.
The group, and I am neither exaggerating nor to any degree embelishing - I have witnesses! - composed of twelve people between the ages of nine and sixty, including a coupla teenaged girlies, that stops in the doorway. They do this, they colonize the motherfucking doorway. The adult women, all four of them, all do the same bizarre sideways glancing over the shoulder, it's obvious that they do this insistently, they practice it often, it's a thing. The waiters come and go, the horde "asks questions", I suppose. It mills about, but not one sits down. Not one gets out of the fucking door. For half an hour this. People navigate their orcish encampment with great difficulty to go in and out. There they stand, holding their ground. They're socializing. They're out!!1 In the fucking doorway, "out".
Eventually I have to go, I look at them, I say "Do you people realize you've been in this fucking doorway for half an hour now ?" They have no inkling of an idea what the fuck I just said. "Get the fuck out of here!" I shake my arms. The girlies run off, apparently this they recognize. I leave them with a "Fucking savages oh my fucking god!" and the firm certainty that they have not groked to any degree just how fucking remote from human society their llama brains actually are.
So let's preserve the matter here : if you are one of the family of assorted goats that spent their Easter Sunday of 2016 in the doorway of that derpy Kirschnerist cafe-bar on Ibera and Freire, do the world a favour and have yourself kidnapped by the human trafficking network most likely to sell you into prostitution-slavery in fucking Ghana. [↩]
« Young Educated Urban Anglophone Male.
La tati ni-i greu, or "The pervy Romanians - etnobotanical study" »
Category: La pas prin lume
Monday, 28 March, Year 8 d.Tr.
Atti impuri all'italiana
Atti impuri all'italianai is an Italian made-for-TV production rather typical of the 1970s in that market, if perhaps on the racy side of the continuum.
It tells the story of three women : Elia (Dagmar Lassander), in the traditional role of the nominated bishop, travelling to his seat (here translated as an educated, feminist doctor sent from Rome to rural Toscana for altogether unclear reasons) ; Rosalba, the damsel of the castle, a fanciulla just about ready to go and finally the soubrette (Cristina Minutelli), nameless in the work as in reality.
The soubrette is widely sexually available, to all comers, without facon whatsoever. The lord of the manor fondles her tits as part of routine coffee serving, and then latter buggers her as part of routine bedmaking. The lord of the manor's son idem - well, the tits part, at least. Her calm, warm, intimate domesticity readily endears her to anyone sane - truly a lordly house could be without roof or walls before it could be without the nameless Cristina.
The damsel is sexually repressed, not by her own gargauni but by the males', specifically her fathers', disinterestedly, to keep up appearances, and her inept boyfriend's, very very zealously. The kid's a "communist", for the sake of you know, being different. Because all weakass derpy boys gotta find an excuse as to why they're weakass derpy boys, and it can't possibly be simply the obvious and direct, palpable insufficiency and inadequacy on their part. Oh, no, it has to be matters arcana of great complexity, such as you know, abstract discussions about economics, ethics and the heavens above. Typical for the period, the deficiente picked the self-help book du jour and is a "communist", exactly like hipster doofuses across an ocean and a quarter century are "vegans". You know, ecofeminist vegans. Problems.
The bishop teaches the book to the locals (in this case, how to be sluttier, which IS the only bible of the later part of the 20th century), and ends up married to the lord, over significant sexual tension with the lord's son and heir. The married couple soon tire of each other, and the film closes with her legs open for the young'un.
It's a film you should probably see, especially if English is your native language, to normalize your notions of normality when it comes to social relations, society and life in general. This is normal. Whatever you think normal is abnormal to a clinically relevant degree. Jus' sayin'.
———1976, by Oscar Brazzi, with Dagmar Lassander (Czech female name - what can I tell you), Stella Carnacina, Cristina Minutelli. [↩]
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Category: Trilematograf
Saturday, 02 July, Year 8 d.Tr.
Argentina, smaller than Eulora
shinohai Anyone have any work for me before I go off exploring today?
mircea_popescu No, but I been making CFTi overnight and you can buy 5k if you want.
shinohai Price?
mircea_popescu !~calc 5000 * 180 * 1.7 * 1.6
jhvh1 mircea_popescu: 5000 * 180 * 1.7 * 1.6 = 2448000
diana_coman ha, I'll take whatever shinohai leaves from that cft
mircea_popescu Check it out, OPTIONS! He can liek... sell his CFT quota to you lmao.ii
diana_coman Oh, was that his quota? lol
mircea_popescu Well he helped by managing the noob that got the low q grass I was hung on, so...iii
diana_coman Monthly ratios of CFT? oh, my
shinohai I can buy like half of that. I need to get with jurov in a few days and buy moar coppers :/
mircea_popescu I figure he gets a chunk.
diana_coman Sure, as I said: whatever he leaves on the table if anything.
mircea_popescu But I will point out that CFT blueprint stores are dwindling and before long we'll be out.
diana_coman Myeah, the infuriating click on cons that gives slag and craft-table plans and 1 -ONE!- CFT bp
mircea_popescu Ahaha.
mircea_popescu Hey, I'd buy slag.
shinohai Oh wait I don't even have enuf for half ... I have like 195k copper xD
mircea_popescu Lol. Y so poor shinohai !
diana_coman Turns out even exploring requires a budget really.
* diana_coman was kind of surprised to hear that crafting requires a budget as if that was an exception.
mircea_popescu Yeah but iirc he made millions with the tardstalk noob thing.
shinohai I bought ho's and ho's cost monies. Though I was impressed with their longevity.
mircea_popescu Ugh. Turns out I misquoted also. CFT ain't fucking grass.
mircea_popescu !~calc 5000 * 180 * 1.7 * 1.8
jhvh1 mircea_popescu: 5000 * 180 * 1.7 * 1.8 = 2754000
diana_coman !~calc 3000*677*1.73
jhvh1 diana_coman: 3000*677*1.73 = 3513630
mircea_popescu Did you spend 3.5mn for that click ?iv
diana_coman They aren't from a single click, so not exactly easy to follow.
mircea_popescu Ah.
diana_coman I do have the list with all the clicks so far input and output. But it ain't over yet anyway.
mircea_popescu Yeah, we need a fat lady.
diana_coman lol
diana_coman !~calc 2000*3780*1.86
jhvh1 diana_coman: 2000*3780*1.86 = 14061600
diana_coman o.O
diana_coman Those are coarse cordage bps.
mircea_popescu I'd buy.
diana_coman Ok, let me fish them out then, both cc and slag. Ready.
diana_coman Thanks!
mircea_popescu Danke.
mircea_popescu thinks that all of today he won't actually spend 100 bux in Argentina shops, be it for food, taking girls out, coffee, drinks etc.
diana_coman Hey, Eulora is no Argentina! Btw, any tinkerer sentiments > 250q?
mircea_popescu Sadly, no.
diana_coman Oh well, will oc then some more of those slag+shiny shards+whatever I can, lol.
You don't understand this, because you are too young to remember it happening and too dumb to read, but we did this once before.
There was a time when land was the only valuable thing, according to the elites of that time, and its production in grains and ores, cattle and serfs was divvied up accordingly. Then "virtual realities" were superimposed over the "actual reality"v and a new elite sprung up out of the fact that a whole knight's feevi would not produce in a whole year enough to pay for a chunk of lace, or a chest of spices, or a particularly selected stone.
Today, this very morning, a whole country scarcely produced anything that'd interest me enough to even consider buying ; while Eulora sprung up a 1`558.94 pesos chunk of virtual blueprints like that, totally out of left field, as an incidental part of a conversation about something else.
That's 70 empanadas, or 130 subway fares, or hours with the local whores. Except I can't eat that much meat, nor do I subway that many times in one morning, nor does anyone sane have much use for the local whores - they're about as grossly incompetent as the Buenos Aires nightlife is absent.
Countries, as a concept, are headed exactly the same way duchies as a concept went. We're too powerful, too rich and most importantly too smart to care. The erstwhile elites of a meanwhile deceased world are more than welcome to stand on the bylines and watch us completely ignore their needs, wants and expectations.
Extinction for Argentina. Long live Eulora.
———Coarse Frangible Thread, a muchly needed ingredient for miners. It's used to dig up Small claims, which is most of them. [↩]That's exactly what this is, guy has a CALL on 5k CFT at 489.6 ECu ea, which can be traded, much like any other negotiable instrument, or to quote Ed Harris,
I was saying yeah, a guy could take... like anything else it seems to me that is negotiable a guy could sell'em.
[↩]Complicated crafting considerations I won't get into. [↩]She's evidently (to me) pricing Slag blueprints, 3k of them. [↩]You know, the "always wins in the end" except it always ends up losing variety of "actual reality".
The "reality as I choose to misrepresent it so as to coddle my laziness and comfort my stupidity", that sort of "real world".
As an exercise, compare and contrast this nonsense with "Apple could buy Russia", a bit of equally nonsensical nonsense that the same sort of nitwits hold. They're contradictory, aren't they ? Either "real reality" always wins in the end or else the bezzle could buy the factory, these can't both stand. If real reality always wins in the end then Russian peacekeeping missions and drone strikes in Washington DC are as unavoidable as the next Solar eclipse. If however Apple could buy Russia, then Eulora will buy Apple. Which of these do you subscribe to ?
The answer being neither, it should therefore be obvious that the two bits of nonsense I put in contrast for your benefit are only there to hide the true structure behind what you pretend to believe. The whole charade about "real reality" and "Apple value" and whatnot is simply stating that you personally matter and will continue to matter, forever, as you are. That's the whole thing there, "reality catches up" in the sense of "my version of reality will prevail over all others" and also "Apple could buy" in the sense of... "my version of reality will prevail over all others". This is how your image of Putin can at the same time not understand how the world works and decide who gets elected.
Which is why we discuss the retards in terms of coddling their laziness and assuaging their stupidity - because that's what they're doing. [↩]This is a land size measurement. It works not in the systematic manner you expect measurements to work, but in a very Unicode-like manner : it includes its own encoding scheme, resulting in knight's fees that were larger or smaller depending on how many weirs they contained, and other considerations. Which yes, means that they changed with time - they did, and the apportionment of that change was throughout the medieval period the principal source of conflict and driver of war.
Yes, all because Unicode. That's how it works. [↩]
« Unicode is fucking stupid - the definitive article.
Qntra (S.QNTR) November 2016 Statement »
Category: Zsilnic
Tuesday, 29 November, Year 8 d.Tr.
And other things...
It's not just Pizdi and Pili. It's also bees, and birds, and flowers. Passion flowers!
And a river!
Plus unidentified, if very shy and rather tiny birdy. Anyone know what it is ?
Not nearly as shy, but rather strutting-inclined yellow guy.
And his friend.
This is an ordinary gas station :
And this is the carbon hatch :
You ~did~ mean carbon, right ? You're not just a random idiot randomly parroting whatever nonsense you hear most, are you ? Carbon it is, yes ?
Apple could buy Russia. I know because of some pixels, and also because King.com bought a Kiosco in suburban Buenos Aires.
Or wait... maybe... nah! That's terrorist talk!
Two girls for fifty pesos, take your pick out of a dozen or so. About what a cup of coffee costs.
Let's explain this wonder.
A man left his home in Central Asia and came to Argentina, leaving behind a woman, some children and other things (which gives our title).
A local middle aged twerp of that kind noticed the man, and that changed things for her.
Much like the rural beauty who meets an actual civilised person suddenly realises in a rather visceral, almost painful manner the shortcomings of the local rubes ; much like someone who used to think their walls "white" by default over consecutive decades accidentally has someone wearing an actually white collar on the premises and suddenly is shocked by the dirty drab gray of everything, this local twerp realised the other local twerps aren't men, as she had thought before. But twerps.
Nevertheless, her "education", which is to say, the ample collection of gargauni & barzaunii swarming around her brainbox prevented her from the correct reactionii.
Yet the correct impulse is there, and it won't just go away. So our "civilised" idiot goes to all the trouble of printing (and laminating) rambling attempts at schoolyard poetry to communicate the very simple fact : she now understands the hole that man left behind.
Of course she understands it : right between her legs.
The conclusion can only be one.
———Both of these denote loud flying insects in the direct, and stupidity of the pretentious type in the (usually female) socially marginal mind. [↩]Illustrated here :
[↩]
« Pizdi
The life and times of one Phil Daian, aspiring nigger & apprentice cocksucker »
Category: La pas prin lume
Wednesday, 22 June, Year 8 d.Tr.
And now the story has an ending.
Five years ago, I wrote an article, in Romanian, for Romanians, about someone you perhaps know. I will translate it below.
If all you're good for in this life...
Let me tell you of the CTO of Polimedia srl, by name Martha McCuller. Some of you had even the opportunity to meet her personally, if I recall she honored with her presence even some sort of meet of the online kids of Banat.
Well, in her younger days, but not all that long ago, maybe a decade, not even, Marti McCuller was one of the usability experts of the webs (a nascent preoccupation in those days). People were discovering in amazement that if you try and navigate a webpage by the keyboard it can be that you have to tab through even a hundred bits of crap between any two worthwhile items, until St. Carpal eats your soul. Or that it's perhaps a good idea to use tags for images, especially for the benefit of those trying to comprehend your page through a screen reader. Or other such basic items.
We could say that she brought her contribution to the emergence of W3C standards, as we can say that her company at the time, Agassa Net Technologies, was a market leader in that segment, at a time when the USG had just decided that all its own sites were to respect some standards (Section 508). I've not going to tell you who wrote them, so as to not piss you off. But I will tell you that she was the consultant both GAO and Cognos chose for their projects to redesign for usability, as well as other smaller deeds. This while also working on a search engine (Google wasn't really there yet).
Does it sound good ? Perhaps it does, but allow me to point out that this in fact constitutes a later preoccupation, a sort of second career. Because before starting to Internet, Marti worked for the US Army, writing battle manuals. A, and among other things coordinated a research project dealing with geolocation systems for rockets. Do you know who was there present the first time some computers followed the position of a flying object on a precompiled map ? Well... long live your GPS.
This being a sort of desk job, honorable retirement from active service, because for about four years more than thirty years ago, the very same Martha was taking part in the Cold War, on their side. She's one of those Americans great-grandfather kept expecting to show up already, and they kept not showing up. A little mix-up with the Russians, what can you do. But while we had blue eyed Katja and Natasha lo that they had hazel eyed Marti.
Sounds a little fabulous, over all, is it ? Alright. The reason I've recounted all of these, matters that in the end regard her and perhaps maybe me, but rather improbably you, has to do with the title.
Because before joining the army, Martha was... a truck driver. For years on years a blondy kid drove around a beastly semi, the 30 ton kind. And before that she was a lifeguard. And before that, she tended bar. And before that she was a subsistence hunter, or however you would call that activity, because the family lived in Alaska and went hunting and gathering. So looky the 14 yo child with the gun on her back, gleefully off to hunt elk, in the frozen wastes of the North, all covered in skins and furs.
You know what of it ? If you ask her, she says she liked it. The hunting, and the sea, and the bar and driving trucks. This on one side. And on the other side, if all you're good for in this life is driving trucks, it may just be the case you deserve your meth. But on the even otherer side, it's quite possible we can't afford that all truck drivers out there deserve their meth.
I don't know, I'm just saying.
This story, which I'd have much preferred endless, ended today. In her last hour she was in the chatroom of the game that she, more than me, brought forth from a dream into reality.
The woman is nothing short of a legend, to me. I will remember her always, with the warm satisfaction that she called me her best friend. The world is a little smaller today, the sky a little duller as the sun set tonight.
But so it goes.
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Category: Lifespiel
Wednesday, 13 January, Year 8 d.Tr.
Anchorman : The Legend of Ron Burgundy
Anchorman : The Legend of Ron Burgundyi is very much an over the top satire in the vein of Lloyd Bridges' work in the 90s.
The niche used for fodder here is the periphery of 70s [visual!] media, typified by the local (San Diego) TV station, with all its attendant nonsense : the remnant 1950s sexism, the endless pretense in all directions, what with the ratings, what with the hair, what with the work, what with the... you name it, they pretended it. On paper it's a perfect fit for complete deconstruction and individual, itemized, prolonged acid bath. In practice, it's so fundamental to ESLii culture that no serious attempt can be entertained with the output remaining meaningful to the population. I don't even mean they'd be offended by a proper trashing of their heart and soul, I'm outright saying they couldn't even comprehend it. Psychologic defenses come in layers you see, the stuff that enrages the taxpayer is always marginal and relatively unimportant. The things that actually matter, those they just... "don't understand". At all. No matter what. Makes unhappenings all that easier, which is the very point.
In this charged context Anchorman works ok, I laughed, it's funny, Will Ferrell got it and poor misfortunate Christina Applegate does much better next to him than she managed next to that psychotic idiot Ed Helms. She's exactly perfect for the role, because she telegraphs the willing slut in a deux piece with every fibre of her being, all she's saying the whole time is "Please make it through this hour with the parents so you can fuck my brains out for the rest of the night in the alley behind the garage afterwards. Please. Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. O no put down the punch dish. Oh my god please!"
It's exactly right for the film, and its take on "sexism" (mostly in the vein of "I can't believe you said that. Man... you're cockblocking yourself with both hands!") is certainly reminiscent of saner times as well as functionally comprehensibleiii model. She's a B actress, it's true, but she's a fine B actress, as fine as they come.
What else are you going to watch on the airplane ?
———2004, by Adam McKay with Will Ferrell, Christina Applegate [↩]English as a Single Language [↩]What do you think sexism is, a) a vast, far-reaching right wing conspiracy or b) the collective behaviours of sexually frustrated, socially inexperienced males blessed with a strong sexual urge and poor sexual ability ? [↩]
« An immodest proposal
The conundrums of the contemporaneous financier »
Category: Trilematograf
Sunday, 27 November, Year 8 d.Tr.
An immodest proposal
Let's take a walk through alternative futures, for I feel like a reformist rather than a revolutionary for once. Therefore :
Step 1. At the age of 18, all children irrespective of any considerations will take an exam, similar to the French Bacalaureat or the German Abitur. Once complete the children are sorted by score, and the bottom thirdi is sold by open outcry (the males are neutered first). That's right, then and there, you want a crying teenager, you buy zher. Or xher. Or whatev-er. The rest go on to become whatever they become, there's suddenly a lot of space for people to breathe once the retards were taken out of the way.
Step 2. The state will maintain a fund for buying 18yo females for the puporse of populating the breeder farms - which, evidently, are these compounds where the girls are kept chained to the bed and impregnated on a regular scheduleii. Think cattle farm and you're practically there.iii This fund will not be furnished by taxation, as evidently the state is not going to enjoy any sort of magical powers of thievery. Instead, it will be furnished by the willing contributions of the citizenryiv, and each year will expend twice the interest accumulated since the previous year divided by the total number of females coming up to the block to bid on any female, thus ensuring a minimal price level for the hens so they don't go to terrible waste. Because yes, the boys can (and hopefully will) sell for a dime, or a slightly bent bottlecap. And yes, the snuff production companies / gladiator schools / Clintons etc will be buying this perv fodder by the pail. All the better.
Step 3. Schooling, of sufficient quality to satisfy the examination will be provided, for free to all comers. It will however be incumbent on the comers to satisfy the requirements of the teachers. Any requirements of the teachers - which means that yes, if your German teacher requires you to suck his cock or do his shopping to be allowed to sit in his class, you suck his cock or do his shopping. The teachers have literally the power of life and death over the kids, which is exactly as it should be not to mention absolutely required for any sort of practically functional education. I suspect this saner arrangement will make the problem of teachers' pay go awayv, and make it rather easy to pick and choose among excellent candidates to staff even the most remote school. I'm sorry, you said "ghetto" school ? What fucking ghetto school, you should see the well behaved angels this system produces!
Yes, evidently this system produces and perpetuates inequality - the orphanage raised children of female cowsvi having perhaps fewer chances to escape the breeding bed than the porphyrogenitae offspring of the very top layers of society. So ?
Fuck 'em, and I mean that literally - if you feel bad for them buy them, and if you don't feel bad enough to buy them shut up and dance.
But in any case - this is very much what I mean when I say I am firmly against universal franchise. It certainly is not an idle hurr durr, let's theoretically talk theoretical things - I have very practical things in mind when I say it.
———None of that absolute mark bullshit, giving the teachers the power to make a call. No - just score them, we'll sort them later, the minimum that year is self-finding. [↩]Everyone else enjoys reproduction rights. [↩]And yes they will be euthanised at the end of their second year without calf, no questions asked. [↩]I guess if the public budget runs a surplus that year, the state can decide to deposit any portion thereof in the cheap whore buying fund. [↩]Ever heard that "he who can, does, he who can't teaches others" ? It's a fundamental problem in all societies, this. How to motivate they who know to entertain they who don't ? Evidently "intellectual property" and "teacher's unions" don't work, so evidently time to try something else. [↩]Who by the way don't have a name. At 18 the top two thirds get to choose their own name ; and the bottom third gets a number. The number of the bed they will live the rest of their days in. [↩]
« Adnotated weird
Anchorman : The Legend of Ron Burgundy »
Category: Cocietate si Sultura
Saturday, 26 November, Year 8 d.Tr.