Xenforo : no better than vbulletin ; certainly not all that different

After the trashing delivered to vBulletin software recentlyi, some voices expressed privately their concern that really, xenforo is just as horrible.

Well, truth be told... it's not. It's much worse. For instance :

curl --cookie-jar - -A "Mozilla/5.0 (X11; Ubuntu; Linux i686; rv:20.0) Gecko

/20100101 Firefox/20.0" --data "do=login&url=%2Fusercp.php&vb_login_md5passw

ord=5156390a770193da8ab09ee49ea098a3&vb_login_md5password_utf=5156390a770193

da8ab09ee49ea098a3&s=2103425bcbb7d00c7a53d03d7ddebe95&securitytoken=21af1a47

1268d02b86ee418d42bf02b92a36e851&vb_login_username=julyston&vb_login_passwor

d=" http://www.pbnation.com/login.php?do=login

curl --cookie-jar - -A "Mozilla/5.0 (X11; Ubuntu; Linux i686; rv:20.0) Gecko

/20100101 Firefox/20.0" --data "login=hunignot&register=0&password=gangbang&

remember=1&cookie_check=1&_xfToken=&redirect=https%3A%2F%2Fxenforo.com%2Fcom

munity%2F" "https://xenforo.com/community/login/"

Above, the vBulletin login method, consisting of passing md5 (yes!) redundant (plain and utf8!) hashes of the password. Below, the xenforo method of passing... the paintext password. What's your preference, between md5 - thoroughly cracked a decade ago - and plaintext ?

They both result in the same single cookie being set, of course ; but the revered bbsessionhash as unique session identifier has been renamed to xf_session. That's pretty much it, and the notion that a court somewhere bought into the theory xenforo's anything but copy/pasted vBulletin is so ridiculous as could have come only only out of a court somewhere.

Moving on, enumeration of userspace works on entirely novel lines now :

for i in {129996..1}; do curl -v -o /dev/null "https://xenforo.com/community/members/sublimelinter.$i/" 2>&1 | grep "Loca" >> hurr.txt; done

Because aren't they fucking cool, putting the name in there, it'd almost have worked as a spacing method. Except it doesn't, and consequently

wc -l hurr.txt

7413 hurr.txt

We're only about 8% done spidering it seeing how we're proceeding rather lazily ; but should you receive a link to this article in the coming days explaining xenforo is a piece of shit... believe it. For it is true.

———Did you know that it costs ~an hour's time and ~a dime in electricity to send a quarter million emails to various people, as diverse as small outfitter shops in California or "outreach missions" of whatever obscure cultish neoprotestant nuts ?

But did you know that the CTR of this impromptu "email campaign" is well over 3% ? Or that the cost of "getting traffic" is universally the same across the web ?

Maybe there's a lot you don't know. [↩]

« The Woman in the Window

The great "law enforcement" article »

Category: Meta psihoza

Wednesday, 25 May, Year 8 d.Tr.

Wild Things

Wild Thingsi is yet another re-do of the ancient Diabolique script, all the way down to the very aquatic theme. Still a school, but this time the evil mastermind is a marginal teacher, while the conspiring women teenaged pupilsii. I guess it's better that way, for some people.iii

Obviously this means a significant downplay of the reflexive and reflective elements in the original (already downplayed to all hell to fit both Sharon Stone's limited abilities, and more importantly the limited interests and intellectual capacities of her fanbase) which is then compensated to fill the time with an expansion in the elements. Altogether it is flatter and wider, an extensive outgrowth.

Denise Richards displays her dubious rack.. actually, here you go :

It makes me think that if you're going to go to the trouble of putting plastic in your boobs you might shoot for better results. But then again it also makes me think that this Orgy With Dressed Skank is pretty lame to begin with. Actually... thinking about it, this should probably be re-made into an out-and-out porn film. The script's certainly just about adequate for one.

———1998, by John McNaughton, with Kevin Bacon, Matt Dillon, Denise Richards, Neve Campbell [↩]But still one the cynical, damaged skang while the other the idealistic, virginal retard. Notably enough, this apprently correlates with money in the American mind, showing the subject of Arthur Blair's whine about Samuel Clemens (or if you prefer - George Orwell's complaint about Mark Twain) to have survived the whiner. [↩]Why are gringos so obsessed with teenaged sexuality, by the way ? It really isn't that noteworthy. [↩]

« But what about the slave ?

The Next Generation »

Category: Trilematograf

Thursday, 21 April, Year 8 d.Tr.

Why is that ?

Competitive play in any online game that includes guilds, raids, what have you - in a word, cooperative play - always reduces to a matter of organisation. It's never a matter of skill. It's always a matter of "getting people to be active", running a voice server, red tape and the general annoyance of a regular job. In point of fact, the difference between the cubical job and the cubical game is exactly nil. Whether you're watching spreadsheets in space or watching spreadsheets in space, you're still watching spreadsheets in space.

Why is that ?

Obviously, game "designers" carry a part of the guilt. They're people living in office farms "designing" "games" for people living in office farms, under the supervision of people supervising people living in office farms. The end result will reproduce those mechanics familiar to the office farmed chicken, necessarily. This is a sad fact, and a much more important, much more valid point of concern than boob plate armor or whatever non-topic the irrelevant gaggle of mayogendered Michael Moore wanna-bes are gargling this season. Stop training the kids to be office drones, yo! Games are supposed to celebrate the special unique excellence of those few that are especially excellent! Not of everyone! Not everybody can reach max level, not everybody should ever see or touch the elite content. Most people should never see the final cutscene on their own, because most people should not be capable of that achievement, because the game should cater to the elite human not to the consumer market. For crying out loud already!

But that part is just a part, and it's not even the larger part. Think for a moment, what happens once a game comes out ? Players try out things, discover the optimal gameplay, and then everyone's forced to follow that, at which point the game's pretty much dead, which is to say all the lamers move in en masse to carebear the shit out of their virtual spreadsheets (in space!) and generally be anti-achieving, obnoxious bores to the power of over nine thousand.

Why is that ?

Players can't shut up about things. The second thing a good player does after discovering a gameplay improvement is - post on a forum. The first thing is cream his pants. He's literally sitting there in soiled underwear explaining to everyone capable of clucking on a forum topic how to do things better. The obvious solution to this of course is Eulora, which is to say designing in such a manner that after a thousand of hours of gameplay, the player hasn't actually understood more of the internal mechanics of the game than when he started.

Nevertheless, why is that a problem in the first place ?

It should be obvious to a pubescent human that there's two fonts of power in this world, which is to say, bureaucracy and knowledge (in reverse order). The staff and the ring, if you prefer Medieval terminology cca 1200. And it should be just as obvious to just as pubescent a human that if you fetter one, you necessarily, necessarily boost the other. Power is a zero sum game, if you castrate the mages you thereby empower the office drones, what's so hard to grasp here ? If "information wants to be free" then thereby and necessarily your ass wants to be run by a social worker sent by Mommy-government to change your diapers and adjust your Welbutrin drip. This is a surprise ?

Yet people engage in a completely insane sort of knowledge sharing, blind and uncaring, broadcast randomly to all comers in such a decerebrated manner utterly reminescent of fish spawning that even the notion of value of knowledge dissolves under the volume of the outpour.

Consumers of knowledge are so few and far between that they expect the emitters to package their knowledge in peculiar manners. And the emitters oblige! They use simpler words and emasculate their work product, like a sort of crazed Shakespeare that bowdlerized himself while living! This nonsense is particularly evident from the vantage of Trilema - every now and againi one of these idiots self-importantly announces to the world his inability to comprehend some article or other, with all the firebrand stemming from a firm conviction that this isn't his fault! He needn't be ashamed that he failed to comprehend written text, oh, no. The text, mind you, the god damned text should have been different. I doubt I've heard anything more ridiculous in my entire life.

Consumers of knowledge are so few and far between that they actually expect a prize for having followed some less-than-absolutely-plain bit, five minutes' worth at best. They want a food pellet, like they used to get in school, they've put five minutes' mental effort in they should get at the very least a new car for this!

Why is that ?

Personally, I blame open source. I think it was a terrible, terrible idea. It is directly and inextricably to blame for the disaster perceived today, where ambitious young lads of either gender prefer murky political work, in the form of indolent gossip and community organizing to actual engineering work. To reading code.

It's directly obvious, kids, like all living things, want food. Papica. They don't want work and they sure as fuck don't want labour. What's the path to easiest food with least labour ? Certainly and surely as fuck not knowledge. That's free, because some idiots (which also happened to be communists - go fig!) decided one day it'd be a good idea to blast the entire world with all their brains' content, whether that world as much as asked for it or not! So then what's left ?

If knowledge is free then knowing is not worth doing, which is how there's absolutely no end of hollow craniums posturing about their "background and experience in management experience spawns many years". A five year old monkey throwing darts at a box full of rabbits intended for dermatologic testing would have produced a more useful, better designed, safer pile of crap than Ethereum. But that's not their concern, their concern is to posture, to call inept nonsense that wouldn't on its own merits earn the name of "ximLbnqNpSqiuPUhgHPQ" by lofty if unearned monikers like "The Dao" and generally carry on in that disgraceful manner.

There's fifty of these idiots at the lowest count, all crowded around USG.MIT's utterly ridiculed attempt to matter in the world today. Fifty. At least. None of them has the first inkling of a clue of the subject matter ; each of them has already spent imaginary adolescent fortunes fifty times, and come up with clever names. You know, for "branding". They've all contributed, and their contribution has cost their [metaphorical] parents north of 300 million to date. A goat would have been a preferable replacement for the lot, for what damage can a goat do ? It'll eat ten thousand dollars' worth of hay its entire life, at the most, which is a whole lot the fuck cheaper than a quarter to half a billion.

All you can tell about everyone involved in Tor is that hey, weren't these the idiots that tried to accuse the founder of rape ? All you can tell about "linux contributors" is that... hey, they're a bunch of idiots that try to accuse Linus of rape. All these schmucks do every day is feminine bullshit and the social media version of office politics.

Why is that ?

Well doh, what would you have them do ? There's absolutely no need to read code because, read my lips, anyone could do that. Why would they do it if anyone could do it ? Let anyone do it then, they're busy. They're busy with more important stuff. Hey, have you heard what MP said about niggers ?!?!?!

Open source ? You lose. But why is that ?

And no, I don't mean "why is it that open source === you lose", I mean why is open source even a thing in the first place ? Well... as it happens the answer is simple, and also obvious, and therefore completely unintuitive to the sort of dumbass that tends to fall for this sort of error.

Here's the dumbass reasoning :

Every other item I encounter is an animal of the same species, age, and gender as I.ii

The disjunction between the contents of my head and the reunion of the contents of all the other heads is X

The value of X for me is Y

Ergo, should X be made available to the whole world, the whole world would be richer by Y * headcount.

For all you know 1 may even be correct. It doesn't happen to be correct, but its correctness is entirely irrelevant to the point. For all you know 2 may also be correct. There's no certainty that it would be, which is how we end up blessed with all the genre fiction crap and assorted self-important fanfic ; nevertheless for the sake of discussing this example let's allow it. 3 is probably more or less in range, which is to say whatever the error, we could conceive of a view zoomed out enough to tolerate it.

Nevertheless, 4 doesn't follow. 4 doesn't follow at all. It is the exact typical error of the infantile mind. You know why children under ~5 years of age fall so much ? It's because they conceptualize the world as a static construction. Everything it sees is, to the infantile mind, as unmovable as scenery in a side scroller. Captain Comic isn't going to push a ledge out of the way. Similarly, the toddler doesn't expect any dynamic equilibrium in his environment, and he will step on a precariously balanced chair with the ease he'd step on granite bedrock. He sees it there, so it is there, so it will support him. Or a tank, really, or anything else. That's the other thing, they keep building these towers that fall down because who could have predicted you can't balance a fridge on a pickled olive ? They're just as non-transparent, what magic is this!

The infantile mind doesn't go away. It just withdraws. The knowledgeable derp is still very much a derp, he's not become a man through spending his youth reading and thinking about things. On the contrary, he's stayed a child. He doesn't, on account of the painful bumps nature provides, expect mechanics to work like in a picture - but this doesn't impede him from expecting economics, for instance, to still work this way. Because nature doesn't provide any bumps he can recognize on that scale, and so there's nothing to fix his toddler stupid. Which is the mechanism through which "intelligent" people in the sense of, useful, knowledgeable monkeys, end up with insanely infantile views of large topics, such as socialism. Heck, Louis Armstrong believed dietarianism to be the solution to all ills. It's in that vein.

But in reality, in actual, dynamic, real reality, 4 doesn't even come close to working, and for many reasons. Chief among them - that if the world's knowledge is freely available, the only remaining hierarchy provider will be bureaucracy. No, social hierarchy doesn't go away. Just like how beheading the king doesn't mean monarchy goes away. It just moves on down to an even shittier form. You don't want social hierarchy based on knowledge, because you're at the mental age of four and prefer to pretend equality with everyone instead of humiliating some, oppressing some, respecting others and so on ? Fine! You'll get social hierarchy on the basis of invidious womanly bullshit. Happy nao ?

tl;dr Forget free / open source. It's bad for the environment and worse for you. Information doesn't want to be free - useless bureaucrats want you to make it free so they get a chance to pretend to power.

———Like, every five minutes, especially when something happens. Somehow the derp fails to see the relationship between me and events in a proper causative mold, preferring instead the fantasy where events "just happen", and I, just like him, innocently bystand. Because hey, socialism, that's how it works, all people are equal in their irrelevancy and we all equally own the Sun! Then inexplicably those events keep driving them to Trilema articles and what is this! [↩]Don't laugh, this is exactly how goats think. To a goat's mind, the caretaker is a goat of about the same age, and of the same gender. Because goats are dumb.

Not quite as dumb as computer programmers, but still, on the scale of intelligence, quite well subhuman. [↩]

« Atti impuri all'italiana

No Such lAbs (S.NSA), June 2016 Statement »

Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Sunday, 03 July, Year 8 d.Tr.

Why is IRC so hard ?

So I wake up, and come to

05:58:44 * DarkSonic1338 (4e66be6d@gateway/web/freenode/ip.78.102.*.*) has joined #eulora

06:10:15 <diana_coman> hi DarkSonic1338

06:10:25 <DarkSonic1338> hi

06:10:58 <DarkSonic1338> where can I get an account on eulora?

06:11:13 <diana_coman> ask mircea_popescu for one; did you get yourself registered with deedbot?

06:12:57 <DarkSonic1338> mircea is afk, I think

06:13:08 <DarkSonic1338> I'll wait

06:21:09 * hanbot has quit (Ping timeout: 240 seconds)

06:24:59 * diana_coman has quit (Ping timeout: 258 seconds)

06:39:37 * diana_coman (~diana_com@unaffiliated/diana-coman/x-8319396) has joined #eulora

06:54:51 * diana_coman has quit (Quit: Leaving)

07:18:21 * DarkSonic1338 has quit (Ping timeout: 250 seconds)

08:32:04 * DarkSonic1338 (4e66be6d@gateway/web/freenode/ip.78.102.*.*) has joined #eulora

09:09:17 * DarkSonic1338 has quit (Ping timeout: 250 seconds)

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11:48:50 * Ciechom (5947e16c@gateway/web/freenode/ip.89.71.*.*) has joined #eulora

11:49:14 <Ciechom> hello

11:54:21 * Ciechom has quit (Quit: Page closed)

12:57:49 <mircea_popescu> hola

12:58:08 <mircea_popescu> lol why is irc so hard!

I'll go over the "why come in at 5 in the morning, and be gone by 9" part lightly. It was 11 am in Berlin or somesuch, this is the Internet and who cares I'm on most of the day. 11 am in Berlin, bitch! Fine.

But five minutes thirty-one seconds, really ? If you post a question on whatever experts-sexchange forum, do you generally get an answer within five minutes ? Is it useful ? I've never tried, so I'm asking, does this work anywhere ? From what I hear calling Comcast support on the phone - some people you are actually paying! - does not result in your call being even routedi within five minutes. Heck, you're lucky if a 911 call gets a response in five minutes. How in Final Fantasy MMMDCCCLXXXVIII is this supposed to work ?

Seriously now : leave the page beii, it'll wait for you. And if anyone says anything to you, you get highlighted, which probably blinks something somewhere or bolds something somewhere or something of this nature.

And see you in game.

———Given this experience (because no, this is by no means the first time), I'm starting to understand why, also. Apparently if they let you wait for six minutes you mostly go away, and there's literally no cheaper CS than the C wandering the fuck away under his own power.

Wanna complain about poor CS phone support ? Turns out that much like superficial, untrustworthy politicians, much like ambitious, irresponsible financiers, much like every other horror in that hell of your own making - you made them this way! All hail modern democracy, that rare jewel of "the people know what they want and deserve to get it long and hard". [↩]Admire the perverse self-propagation of lizard evil : because "modern browser" must always load "modern page" chock-full of that "modern language" of a shitstain, it necessarily follows from "modern best practices" that memory allocation continues unbound over time so if you leave any page open for more than a minute or two your browser will crash.

This has the side effect of people being unable to use kiwirrc, notwithstanding that it doesn't do the same thing which is why I recommended it : their reflexes are built a certain way, the "what's to be expected" and "what's to never ever be thought about" are already defined sets. And of course they can't have a proper client because "everything must happen in the browser", unless of course it's "an app", which necessarily doesn't work, as per the definition of what an app is (no, not up to the app developer - it's baked in the platform).

How does the bitter black fungus keep out the tasty lactic bacteria ? Certainly not directly ; it's a terraforming process you see. Which is why you can't "just want to" : either you permit it or you don't permit it. There's no third option available. [↩]

« Giro girotondo con il sesso e bello il mondo

Overheard in my kitchen »

Category: Zsilnic

Thursday, 11 August, Year 8 d.Tr.

Whore Wife

You'd think watching several schoolboys taking turns on your beloved, faithful, loving wife for three days and nights might be enough to send you to a mental institution. Up until last year, I'd have thought so myself. Turns out however no one really knows how they will feel or how they will react until they are there, in the very moment ; and what they think likely aforehand isn't worth its weight in confederate dollars.

Ever since our honeymoon, my wife and I have always taken the very same vacation, year after year. And I do mean the very same : same motel, on the same date, the same suite in eight out of eleven cases even. I'm sure that sounds monotonous to the point of physical pain and beyond, but it really wasn't all that bad. We had a great time there as newlyweds on our shoestring budget. I was nineteen and entering my third month in a real job, not one of those dead end things you do over the Summer to get some scratch together but something promising an actual career! She was going to be eighteen in six weeks. It was a teenage wedding, and the old folks did wish us well, but neither of us was born with a silver spoon and so... there just wasn't that much money sloshing around back then. Yet we were so happy! Married! At last! Husband and wife! Forever! Looking back through the decades past, there is no greater feeling, our youthful bliss drizzling sparkle and glimmer over all things big or small.

This place had always been quite inexpensive, but not really short on amenities. It had everything we were looking for in a cheap Spring vacation; great beach, great food, quiet, all of it just outside the door. There wasn't anything to dislike, except perhaps the fact that it was becoming more and more popular with the Spring breakers. They're like locusts for those of us looking for down time, and as soon as they invaded Panama City Beach it was only a matter of time before the stragglers of the swarm stumbled upon Ft. Walton.

If you have ever been to Ft. Walton beach back in the late eighties, early nineties, you know exactly what I mean -- how it used to be that great little panhandle beach, visited by none of those "independent" young men whose independence consists of the hope that one day soon the government will give them a lot of money for doing jack shit in an office all day long. You probably also remember not having to worry about getting a good room. A week's stay always broke out to around three hundred bucks and you always had folks your own age to relate to. Over the last years we watched as our little sanctuary slipped into the hands of the mighty hordes.

Yet even after the Spring breakers discovered our little piece of paradise, we continued to go. It was our place; we had too many memories to give it up. We silently agreed that if we were going to keep it our little spot we had to live with it, like it's always the case in life ; and as it turns out they really weren't all that rowdy. At least not rowdy enough to run us off.

The last year however broke the mold in so very many ways. First off we found ourselves literally surrounded by Spring breakers. For some reason this particular year the place turned into a literal magnet for the college hellions.

It took them very little time to discover that we were both educators at a community college in our hometown of Columbus, Ohio. This seemed to interest them immensely, like they were absolutely fascinated by the fact that we were normal, cool, and otherwise regular people able to have a good time. Somewhere in their minds, I'm sure they must have believed that we spent most of our free time finding new ways to flunk them into oblivion, sharpening red pencils or somesuch.

Most boys were standoffish at first, treating us like some sort of unwelcome authority impinging on their vacation, but soon enough they figured out that we were actual human beings. Very soon into the second day, we found that the back porch of our suite was becoming the ultimate hangout for some of them.

This might of course have had something to do with the fact that we always had liquor. A few of the bright young folks they were soon discovered that storing and mingling their drinkables with ours stretched their supply a whole lot further ; but then again what's the big deal. I can remember clearly still a time when an extra quart'd have made all the difference yet there was no way in hell to get it.

Most were the likable sort anyway, so we just went with it. Besides we always overbought when it came to vacation alcohol. Funny thing, my wife and I only drink a few times a year, but you'd have thought us alcoholics by the amount we purchased for those occasions.

Soon enough it became quite apparent that several of the guys, a group hailing from the University of Georgia, were awestruck with my wife, Kitty. Can't say as it was surprising, Kitty's nickname where we teach is "Ultra MILF" though typically her students don't dare admit to it before graduation. It's not as small a matter as some think, over the years we both noticed that male students almost always made far better grades in her class than in anyone else's. A willingness to put in the work, and especially to go that extra inch, makes all the difference in the world.

To me it was obviously a case of them simply trying to gain her approval. Kitty always laughingly told me it was from her revolutionary teaching skills; to which the standard rebuttal came along the lines of "spectacular legs and a black woman's ass is not a skill". Then she'd correct my broken predicate, then I'd correct her collar and then one thing'd lead to another...

She really looks like the San Fernando valley idea of a female "teacher", but how can you hold that against her ? She really loves her job and she's good at it -- neither of which found in any kind of supply with the state education's in.

News of the "super sexy MILF" spread like wildfire, notwithstanding that we don't have any children, and it rapidly thickened porch attendance. Apparently finding ways past the limitations on drinking age is a heck of a lot easier for some of these kids than finding ways past the bra straps of their friends and colleagues, judging by the response. All youthful boasts and thin pretense aside, that there were almost no girls anywhere in sight clearly showed we didn't find ourselves in the eye of the swarm, but somewhere off the center of cool, into one of the rotating arms flung out towards the endless voids of loserdom.

I sometimes wish I were more ignorant of other men gazing at Kitty, but hey. I'm neither naive nor stupid when it comes to what they are staring at; it's not the bikini, it's what's under it. She truly is gorgeous and will be stared at, especially by her male students, and males in general for that matter. I much doubt the fact that she is an educator really makes much difference -- if she were a bottle washer, the testosterone-filled young men at this motel would have been attracted to her.

Coming back from the beach on the evening of our second day there we found some of the University of Georgia kids sitting on our back porch. They had a small table pulled out, playing some kind of drinking game. It appeared the loser had to down a shot, and it further appeared all the winners had left a considerable while ago.

As we passed by towards the door, Kitty threw their way a "Boys, that's a game where even the winner's a loser in the morning." They all laughed, giddy with the attention, and immediately began heckling us to join them in somewhat unsteady terms. I'm not really the type to enter a pissing contest over simple heckling, never have been never will be. But Kitty... Kitty's another matter. She can't help herself, that's her secret, not that it makes for a particularly well hidden one. She's hard-wired for it and doesn't even know it, or doesn't want to admit it, but even when she manages to rein it in the bitten lips, the darting eyes thoroughly give the reining all away.

She didn't even try, this time, but ferociously fired right back. "First of all, most of you lightweights are already buzzed ; and second, I'm not one of your little girly buddies who follows you around and fakes being tipsy after a shot. Oh, Brian, oh, Stan, that one shot made me a little dizzy."

That she said what she said would have been one thing ; that she slid her left shoulder back and then forth just as she was saying "little" however ... that was quite another thing. She's anything but little, and in a bikini it shows on all sides. Even from behind it shows, and as she turned on a dime right after shooting her dart, the guys were stoked.

Can't say as I could blame them -- her posterior is by very far her best asset, not that she's short in all the others. But I've never seen an ass like hers on a white girl before, nor did anyone else. She got it, that's all there is to it. So they uuuh'd and they aaaah'd and then she said something and then they said something else and back and forth the darts, slingshots and arrows flowed.

We must have been there for half an hour, before finally breaking the encounter off, of course with firm promises to soon settle the matter once and for all flowing from all sides. I must say I was trying my damnedest not to laugh throughout, because I knew full well what a lightweight she is in the drinking department. Yet there she was, trying to bluff guys who apparently majored in drinking.

We went in to shower and change into normal clothes. I went in first, and came out first. All the yakking and before all that sun definitely made me thirsty, so I poured myself a large vodka tonic out of their booze "to catch up a little" and we all settled in waiting for Kitty. They must have told me a hundred times all about how they were going to take her to school on drinking, bragging about what power drinkers they were, how many times they had played this, and how much they could hold.

It made an odd impression, coming from the farmed chicken bodies arrayed around my porch. When I was a kid, men looked like men, their bodies developing naturally into their god given shape by sun and wind and heavy loads ; but these kids looked more like a haphazard agglomeration of overcooked pasta. "Hold it" ? Hold what, where ? Muscle lets you hold it, but neither skin nor bone soaks all that well. I actually began wondering if anyone would be coherent by the time she came back out ; with every passing minute I was more and more convinced Kitty had called it about most of them ending up in the floor. They were pounding beer and shots with emphasis, but it was all so fake, so meta. Drinking for telling the story of how you drunk, seriously ? What's even the point in that ?

Just as I was about to call it good and join Kitty back inside, figuring she decided against coming out, she slid the glass door open and beamed.

She wasn't wearing normal clothes. She had instead changed into another bikini. This thing she had on... well for one thing she absolutely never wore before. I had bought it for her a coupla years ago, figuring I might be able to convince her to put it on when we're all alone, but she wouldn't hear of it. There was very little material involved, the bottoms consisted of strings, with a tiny patch in front maybe two inches, and so low cut it finished exactly above the snatch, exposing the pubic hair. She had shaved completely smooth however, something she very rarely does, though I enjoy it every time.

Incredibly enough, the top was the most scandalous part of the ensemble however. Nothing but strings again, with tiny strips of fabric covering the nipple strictly, a couple of inches on the longest side. The material was thin, and would become transparent if it got wet, but even dry you could distinctly make out her engorged nipples with their delicious Montgomery bumps. Her large breasts swayed freely, and altogether the ensemble left nothing to the imagination.

She winked at me, all smiles, and sat herself down opposite. The kids observed a moment of breathless silence, then the first one to manage collecting his jaw from off the floor mouthed "Mr. and Mrs. Arnett, please forgive me, but I have to say this, Kitty, you are positively the sexiest college professor alive."

She quickly giggled, and slapping him on the shoulder said "Don't try to soften me up, buddy boy, you'll be passed out soon and I'm gonna be laughing at you tomorrow. That is if you can eke your way out of bed in the morning after the hangover I'm gonna put on ya."

That had the effect of thunderbolt in an oilfield -- everybody was on fire. I just sat watching, cracking up as they played their drinking game with all the concentrated attention of a moon landing mission, as if doing it precisely right was the deciding factor in whether they'd get some. After several rounds, one of them said "Mr. Arnett, with the utmost respect, sir, I believe your wife is cheating so we might need to raise the stakes."

I simply laughed. "Yes, she does appear to be kicking your asses. What's on our mind?"

He immediately spit out "Strip shots." and then choked. The rest just hooter and hollered.

Kitty was only three shots in, and she cut him off "Oh, aren't we funny. For one thing I'm winning ; for the other thing you lot are overdressed."

I suppose this is where I admit that I'm not just a little aware when other guys look at her. I'm very aware, and I fucking love it. Always have, even since we were kids. We've had a game of our own we've been playing ever since forever, because I always enjoyed her purposeful flirting and told her many times over the years how much it turned me on. So in fairness her coming out the way she did was not exactly inexplicable but on the contrary -- she probably figured the kids for harmless, and knew how much I would cherish the moment for many years to come. She's usually a lot more conservative with these things than me, but still after playing our little game a bunch of times she did finally confess that it kind of turned her on too.

Throughout she always insisted that flirting was the limit though, that the naughtiness of it was quite enough. She'd say the only reason she went along with it was because of how it paid off in our bedroom, but I don't know about that. Still, she always emphasized this, perhaps in no small part because of the one and only time I ever told her about a wild fantasy of mine, a fantasy involving watching her fuck another man. It was a file her brain seemed to refused to process. She later told me that she thought the only reason a man would have such a fantasy would be because consciously or otherwise he just wanted to justify being with another woman, a case of "you fucked another guy, I'm going to fuck another woman." I understood what she was saying, but it really had nothing to do.

So flirting in front of me became our spicy compromise.

The young men magically got ever drunker by every passing moment, a strange sort of drunkendess, very obvious and demonstrative. Most men, and certainly most kids, shut down sooner or later, but these guys just got ever more obviously, complexly drunk. They also kept needling her, insisting that "Strip Shots" separated the chicken-shits from the real players. Somehow they didn't forget about that, drunk as they were.

God love her too, she was so into winning she didn't even see the setup being orchestrated. I knew full well that they were basically pretending, letting her win and carefully timing their moment for that great payoff where she'd be sitting there completely nude.

I can't say I disagreed with the plan, even if the difference between dressed as she was and naked as the day she was born was more a matter of definitions than anything. But the idea of having my wife completely naked, not a single stitch on her, standing on our back porch for all to see was simply intoxicating, and it made me drunker than any of the kids were. Perhaps even drunker than any of them even pretended to be.

It turned me on like all hell. I've seen Kitty bare a million times. Of course I have. But it was never in front of a pack of horny young men, and apparently it makes a difference. A huge difference. I hadn't been that hard in years and years. So I mostly kept my mouth shut, now and again blurting out encouragement like "awe hell, baby, you're cleaning their clocks" or "they'll be the ones sitting there looking silly" and so on.

She playfully put her feet up on the table and tightly wrapped her arms around her legs, almost like trying to completely cover herself. She giggled and teased them about how dressed they are, and how unfair it'd all be. Every guy there had his eyes glued to the crotch of her bikini, as she sat with her feet up and her arms wrapped around her knees. She would then lean back, and it was wildly teasing as her extremely tiny bottoms would ride ever so slightly down and show plainly what might well have been the top of her cleft, while tightly snuggling everything else. Then she'd wrap back onto herself.

She didn't seem to realize it but she was playing right into their ploy. I was definitely inching it along, pumping her up with whatever my mind could find in the frenzy of the moment. Ultimately I figured what the hell; I would love nothing more than to see her slip her bikini off in front of them. I had no clue whether she would go through with it or not, but either way what did I have to lose ? There's no doubt she was in rare form ; but in my judgement not nearly intoxicated enough to actually go through with it. A hard call though, I have been married to her for many years but in the unpredictable condition she was in I didn't know for sure what she would do.

After several more passes back and forth, negotiations ensued, and after lengthy and amply slurred deliberations it was established that everyone will have to take a shot at the same time ; that if any of the boys is slower than her she wins the round and the slowpoke has to take off one article ; that if any of the boys end up completely naked they all have to strip naked, throw all their clothes off the cliff into the ocean, apologize to her on their hands and knees for their impudence and walk back to their place as they are ; that if she loses a round she has to take off one article ; that her shoes -- she wore a pair of splendid, shiny gold heels, too high for any practical use but apparently perfect for drunken revelry -- do not count as an item of clothing and she can't take them off ; that her top is actually one item of clothing, all evidence to the contrary be damned, and counts as such ; that her bottoms is another, which gives her two ; that if she gets completely naked she will have to slow dance with each and every one of them ; that because she's the woman and so she makes the rules (her words) she gets immunity, in the sense that until one of them is stripped to nothing but underwear she doesn't have to take anything off no matter what happens.

At this point I added that, in order for it to be clear who are the kids and who are the adults they should take their shoes and socks off before they start and play the game barefoot. I was trying to discreetely suggest to her the nature of the trap, but she either didn't see it or didn't care to ; and their enthusiastic agreement failed to tip her off. So they piled their sneakers and socks under the table, then everyone pinky-shook on a final recital of the rules, and then within two seconds everything was done. I saw it in my head before I saw it with my eyes : the boys all as one dropped their khakis and shirts before her bulging eyes ; the shot was called, and they had all sucked it dry, each and every last one of them, before she could even lift it to her mouth.

Kitty was staring in disbelief at half a dozen kids in their underwear. A couple wore boxers, three wore briefs, closely outlining their adolescent package. She gazed at them for the longest time, until one finally offered "that's the bra, Mrs. Arnett, if you please".

Kitty looked at him, a tall boy with a very handsome mane of dark hair, and then murmured "Call me Kitty."

She then stood up and turned around, so as to let him undo her bra strap tied behind her back. He quickly stepped to her, and after undoing her bra he pulled her in, peeled the material off and fondled her breasts, forearms crossed on her chest, elbows pushing her closely into him. Kitty looked at me, in a stranger's arms, his fingers squeezing her left nipple by now engorged to a gargantuan size. She smiled sweetly, and her smile is forever burned into my memory. I smiled right back. I will never forget that moment.

The others hooted and hollered but were barely audible in the background. After what surely was a brief moment even if it felt like an eternity entire, she broke off his embrace, turned towards the rest and said "I guess we best get this over with, huh guys ?"

The place errupted into pandemonium, they were giddy with their triumph, thoroughly intoxicated by it. They mocked her playfully for being the little girl, that shouldn't have gotten herself mixed up with real men. Mouths writing checks asses can't cash were mentioned, though considering her gluteal endowment the proposition was pretty entertaining. Especially in those bikinis, Kitty looked like she could cash the whole Navy yearly budget. Twice.

One of them, a freckled kid with shortish red hair proposed that she'd better give up, apologize for her misdeeds and cut a deal, to make things easy on herself. This stopped them all in their tracks, and silence reigned. Apparently they hadn't considered the humiliatory angle of making her strip without even doing the second round before.

"What would that entail, Sir ?" Kitty asked in an incredibly meek voice, looking at him from under her eyelashes with a smile in the corner of her mouth. That sweet, delicious meek voice I know well, because after that day I had her do it so many countless times...

"You would have to admit you are no match for us" the red haired kid started, to a ton of "Yeah!" interjected from the others, "and admit defeat and take off your panties" the raucous group exploded and then settled down "and then dance with each of us like we agreed."

"But can we do it inside ?" Kitty asked meekly.

"Sure. However, if you don't do a good job dancing you will have to be punished."

"How will I be punished sir ?" she asked, intensely.

"Tickling!" I burst off from the side. Kitty turned towards me, her eyes open wide. She told me later she was expecting me to put an end to it any moment, not to sell her down the river. Because you see, Kitty has one true chink in her armor. It's not her heels like that Greek warrior, but pretty much everything else. Kitty is easily the most ticklish person I ever met, it's crazy.

Everyone thought this a fabulous idea, so without a word Kitty peeled off the remainder of her bathing suit -- in the process exposing to everyone just how exciting the night's festivities had been for her, in the shape of one long, thick strand that glistened in the moonlight. Her panties were entirely soaked through.

Once the tribe made it inside and settled down around the chairs and on the bed, I started fiddling with the alarm radio to find a blues station or something, while the immensity of her situation started dawning on her. Our room was overrun with strange boys, or strange men, or something in between. She couldn't even protest, she was in fact the one who had asked for this as a favour! She looked pretty confused and overwhelmed, but for some reason this translated into a very genuine submissiveness. She faintly inquired with the leader of the group how would she know when she's done a good job dancing ; and when he told her to speak up so everyone can hear she blushed an intense pink and repeated herself barely a shade louder.

They heard her alright, and a sandy blonde kid with buckteeth that had somehow ended up in possession of her panties shot out

"Well Kitty, see how soaked wet your panties are ?"

"Yes" she stammered, blushing deeper.

"That's how you know. When we're wet like that, you did a good job."

"Oh".

The atmosphere was getting incredibly charged, and for the first time that night I wondered if I will finally get to see Kitty being pounded by another man. Or five, as the case may be. Just as "Wicked Game" sprouted out of the radio, a shorter, pudgy kid that was the least loud of the entire lot pushed his way in, asking for the first dance.

Kitty, completely naked except for her heels, embraced the kid, his nose right into the nook of her neck. They took a couple of steps, her breasts swaying gently to the music, her hands clasped on his back. The kid's boxers, somewhat tented before, suddenly relaxed, and his face took up an expression of utter bliss.

"Are you done ?" she asked with a sweet, innocent smile

"Yes Mrs. Arnett." he replied sheepishly.

"Did I do a good job ?" she inquired affably

"Oh yes. Oh yes very good", the boy stammered.

She shot me a smile over the shoulder. Who knew Kitty enjoyed doing a good job so much.

Next up was the tall, muscular guy with black hair. She leaned her head on his chest sweetly, his respectable erection pushing at her belly, above her pubic bone. She slowly lowered her left hand, from his back to his buttocks, rubbing him softly at first, then harder. As her hand slowly made its way in between his cleft, and grabbed hold of his balls through his briefs his eyes rolled out and he tensed then went limp.

"Are your briefs all wet, Sir ?" she inquired playfully.

"Yeah. They are."

"So did I do a good job ?" she purred.

"Excellent job, Kitty."

Chris Isaak wasn't yet done when the third kid, with incredible blue eyes, hair buzzed short, found his way in Kitty's warm embrace. He was also shorter than her, but only by a shade, and otherwise in great shape. His penis, evidently very long, pushed his elastic briefs far away from his body. Kitty straddled it without visible hesitation, forcing it between her thighs and squeezing it hard there. A moment later, as she leaned way out to give him a good view of her great rack, he convulsed and that was it.

That song is only about four minutes long, yet Kitty had gone through three of the five kids and there was still plenty of time! The lawyery red head moved in, but instead of embracing him like the others she spun him around, and grabbed him from behind. He started to protest just as she leaned in to nibble on his ear, which stopped him dead. He was all tense and barely moving. As she whispered in his ear, her hands moved delicately towards his crotch, and she pulled his briefs all the way down, exposing him. She gently cupped his balls so all could see, looking at me the whole time, then grew her grip firmer by degrees. Her other hand moved to his shaft, and stroked him, equally softly at first, and then firmer, without touching the head at all.

Mere moments later the kid shot two strings of seed clear across the room, and dribbled some more, at which point the strangest thing happened. She didn't let go. On the contrary, she moved her hand further and further up the shaft, rubbing his head with every stroke, harder and harder. He ached and bucked but she held him firmly in place, still whispering in his ear.

Eventually he screamed "Yes you did! You did a very good job! You did the best job ever!" She let him go, and he collapsed in a pile, writhing.

The song ended, and in the brief interulde the last kid, a tall, slender fellow approached her smiling.

"You're screwed, Kitty." he declared, neutrally.

"I am ?" she inquired coyly

"These guys are virgins." came the retort, cooly. "I'm not. You can't get it out in a few minuntes. Nobody can."

Just then the music came back on. Do you know Bill Withers ? That song of his which goes something like "I wanna spread the news that if it feels this good being used you just keep on using me until you use me up" ? Great song.

She tried her best, but she couldn't get it. The best laid plans of boys and kittens do often go awry ; she had protected herself splendidly from the obvious threat of the red head, who was probably going to claim she didn't do a good job no matter what she did, but she was entirely unprepared for the sexually mature among the hollering lot.

She looked one step away from getting on her knees and honest to god sucking him off just as the song faded out. The boys all grinned, sheepishly but visibly, their erections starting to recuperate. Slowly, but visibly. Kitty looked at the boy that broke her despondently.

"How did I do, sir ?"

"Actually Kitty", came the friendly retort, "you did pretty great, considering. What do you think ?"

Yet she hung her head in pretended shame. "I think I will have to be punished." she said with a giggle. The giggle was contagious, and everyone agreed she will definitely had to be punished.

As she leaned back on the bed to meet her punishment, she said while inching towards me but without looking at me at all : "My husband will have to hold my wrists back though. Make sure I can't do anything about it."

I grabbed her wrists, her ass was kind-of on the edge of the bed, her feet resting on the ground. Within a moment the entire tribe was piled on top of her on the bed, and she was clenching and bucking spasmodically. They got her soles, which made her display her glistening crack every which way, they did her belly, her breasts, the sides of her body, armpits, everything. I kept giving them directions, which they more or less followed, as to how best defeat every position she'd try to wrap herself into.

Eventually, as she wrapped her knees tightly to her chest I let go of her wrists and grabbed her ankles instead. She turned to look at me as I separated her legs, and nodded at the slender guy. "Put it in right there". He didn't need any further encouragement : his underwear was off and his penis plunged into my well lubricated wife in the blink of an eye. The blink of her eye, as it happened. I briefly let go of her ankles to undo my own pants, and just as her mouth was opening to protest, or inquire, or just pant I lodged my cock right in there. She began sucking it immediately, with a hunger I've rarely seen.

She seemed to concentrate entirely into her mouth, and on my crotch, completely forgetting what was going on at the other end. I grabbed her ankles again, enjoying the backlash in her legs as the other guy fucked her in a steady rhythm.

Moments later I was finished ; and the slender guy pumping her hairless cunt looked at me questioningly. I motioned for him to come over, so he left her with a loud plop -- that's how hard she was squeezing him down -- and put his cock in her mouth. She started sucking him off without skipping a beat, and much later she confessed that she really wanted to taste that cock after it botched her dancing victory.

"Who's next ?" I asked, to muted silence. "Come on," I prodded them, "free cunt here! Who wants a go at my wife's slutty cunt ?" As I said that she pushed the cock in her mouth as far down her throat as it would go, and her left hand slid over and started rubbing her clit through the hood. Moments later she was bucking in the throes of a massive orgasm.

The redhead stepped up. "I'll fuck your wife, Mr. Arnett", he offered, "but on one condition."

"What's that ?"

"I'm not pulling out."

His words drove the other guy to come in her mouth, and got me hard again. "Go right ahead" I muttered, trying to catch my breath. The first, pudgy kid approached her, his tiny, boyish penis standing at attention while the slender, resilient kid stood by the side of the bed, looking around in a daze. Kitty swallowed the little guy greedily, and as I was admiring the view of my beloved wife with a cock in each end while a third was dripping overhead I let out a "Wipe your cock in her hair. Let her feel like the slut she is". He grinned and did it, and moments later, feeling he is approaching, she took the small cock out of her mouth and received its sticky bounty on her face and ear.

She then licked her lips, looking at me wild eyed, just as the red head unloaded inside her. He fell back practically on his ass, his semen oozing out of her. I immediately moved in, hooked her legs up my shoulders and gave her one hell of a trashing, the warm goo of my predecessor sloshing around inside her very dilated vagina. It was glorious.

I fucked the hell out of her, while she sucked off the other boys or they just jacked off all over her. Somewhere in between.

My fantasy was progressing in leaps and bounds. Many times in the past I had fantasized about another man fucking her while I watched, but the timing and right series of events never really fell into place. Oh, how they did when they finally did!

Even though these events transpired in only seconds, I missed nothing. The one thought in the back of my mind was that Kitty could have stopped it at any moment, yet she never did. That actually drove me more erotically insane. The fact that she wasn't merely pretending to be a slut for whatever reason, but actually was, in point of fact and honest to god a slut like any other, like a call girl or a stripper or any streetwalking hooker made me love her like dear life, and I drove into her like into concrete.

I was still fucking her like a maniac when the boys said goodbye. I could hear them scrape up their shoes from under the table while I drove into her ten thousand rpm, and then silence. I probably fucked her for half an hour, maybe more. When I finally came I passed out ; and only came to with the dawn.

She was right there, watching me sleep, playing with my hair. I smiled. She smiled back.

"My god, that was intense!" I blurted out.

"Wasn't it though..." she said pensively.

There was a silence, as the memories of the previous night came flooding in.

"Do you hate me now ?" she asked, like a child.

"No baby. I love you."

"But I'm a slut now." she offered, timidly.

"Yes, you are. You are the wildest slut ever, and you just got gangbanged in a motel room like an ordinary whore by like... six guys."

"Oh, you!" she swatted at me. "You made me do it you know."

"That's right, I did. Did you like it ?"

"Uhmm...." she started then broke into a giggle.

"Tell the truth Kitty. How great is it to be a total slut ?"

"It's fucking great!" she finally let out.

"And now that you're turned out, you're going to be doing a whole lot of this, aren't you."

"If you say so."

"That's right, I do."

She cooed softly "Anything you say, honey. Anything you say."

"There's a catch, though."

"What's that ?"

"Do you have your pills ?"

"Ah don't worry about that. I took one this morning, I didn't skip any."

"Bring them over."

"I'm telling you I took..."

"Just bring them over!" I said, assertively. She huffed and puffed, but took off and came back with the pill case. I opened up all the compartments, poured all the tiny pills in my hand, opened the window with the other hand and flung them out into the landscape.

"What the hell..."

"That's right Kitty. If you're going to be a slut you have to face the consequences." she looked at me with wide open eyes. "All the consequences" I underscored.

"But that means..."

"That's right."

"Will you still love me ?"

"I will still love you, Kitty."

"Even as my belly swells up with another man's baby ?" she probed, incredulously.

"How much of a total slut you are will be our little secret." I reassured her. "Nobody has to know, and we won't tell them."

"Oh Martin..." she cooed, wrapping herself tightly around me. We drifted to sleep.

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Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Wednesday, 12 October, Year 8 d.Tr.

Whore Wife Whores Some More

We were awakened by a tiny rasp on the door, to put it politely. Or we could say that noon being well past, hunger finally woke us up. You know... hunger.

I was as hard as a railroad spike and started moving on top of her, but she kissed me and slid away with a giggle. "Let's see who is at the door."

There she was, timid Kitty, the MILF that generations of kids fantasized about fruitlessly. Stark naked, hair matted by dried old spunk, rushing to open the door to her motel room. What a change one night can bring!

The door flung open, freezing the pudgy kid from last night in place.

"H... uh...hhi... I'm Todd. From last night."

"Why hello there, Todd!" my wife bubbled. "Nice to meet you at last! I've... ahem. I've heard so much about you." She was clearly having a lot of fun with this. "Won't you come in ?"

The kid nodded in a nearly apoplectic state, and slid past her inside.

"Hello Mr. Arnett" he stammered.

"Hi Todd. How goes ?" I inquired, as friendly as you'd like, neighbourly you could even say.

"Great!" he replied enthusiastically. "Just great! The... the reason I came was to check and make sure... the other guys... well they figured maybe you need something or... Is everything okay ?"

"Everything's fine." I reassured him. "In fact, I was just about to fuck my wife. Would you care to watch her bounce ?"

"I... uhh..." he stammered again. Kitty closed the door, and undulated past him, sitting herself square in my lap, taking my cock in readily and without ceremony. I bounced her up and down in my lap for a while, then laid her on her side, one leg straight up and started hammering into her like there was no tomorrow just as Todd moved on from trying to discreetely rub his diminutive endowment with one hand inside his pants and instead just pushed them down.

He slowly and hesitantly made his way over to the edge of the bed where Kitty's head rested, evidently thinking it might be his time to capitalize. He just knelt there holding his cock, unsure of what to do. He probably thought this was his open invitation, but it wasn't. Only half of me was even paying attention to him. I was still completely enthralled with what had taken place the previous night. After witnessing the most erotic thing I thought possible all I could think of was positioning my cock and sliding it back and forth inside her.

I saw Kitty look at him and smile sweetly, then she offered "How about you go fix us some drinks, Todd ?"

"Uh... yes Ma'am." He pulled his pants up with the urgency of a teenager caught jacking it by his mother, and scurried off towards the table.

"Wash your hands first", she called in his wake, and for some reason this completely threw me over the edge. I pumped her full of ten thousand gallons, it felt like, and she took it all, stored it somewhere and smiled at me just as sweetly. "Was that as great for you as it was for me, honey ?"

I'm sure it was better. As Todd returned with the drinks we settled down, and then we assured him, and through him his friends that everything's fine, no major disaster had transpired, people sometimes fuck and that's all there is to it. So early in the morning of the next day, that's really all there was to it. He told us that they all swore some kind of secrecy pact and then he left, somewhat shaken.

We sat in bed a long time nursing our drinks, and then getting another set, just chatting, giggling at silly things, talking about random nonsense. It was very liberating. Just about when the thought of going out to grab a bite to eat was bubbling up, there was another faint rasp on the door.

We looked at each other, then Kitty yelled "Come in, it's open."

After a moment during which we bouth thought we had just imagined the knock, the door opened, letting in a svelte teenager.

"Cynthia ?!"

She was the daughter of the new owners, or maybe just his daughter from another marriage. Something like that. We were vaguely acquainted for the past few years but never really spoke before. As we watched in beffudlement she ran across the room, kneeled at Kitty's Popular Kneeling Spot, grabbed both her hands and blurted out "Please take me with you. When you leave. Please. I want to come. I want to be like you. I've seen you last night, I want to be just like you. Please take me in." with all the pressing seriousness of a line insistently rehearsed.

"What are you talking about ?" tried Kitty

"I saw you last night. I heard the boys, and so I sneaked behind the corner and saw all you did. All naked like that! And then you went inside, so I peeped through the window here. You did all those boys in one song! Weren't you afraid of them ?"

"Why would anyone be afraid of boys ?!" wondered Kitty outloud. It's not nearly as bad a question as it seems.

"I am!" The girl was overexciting, almost screaming. We tried to calm her down.

"Please. Take me with you. I wanna come with you when you leave."

"But ... don't you have to be in school ?"

"It's all bullshit anyway. All I want is right here. All I want is to be like you."

Kitty was evidently flattered. She had heard this many times from many girls over her teaching career, but apparently never with the conviction, never with the intensity.

"How old are you Cynthia ?"

"I'm seventeen!"

"More like sixteen, isn't it ?"

"Almost seventeen! Please take me. I'll do anything."

"Anything ?!" I wondered out loud. Kitty shot me a quizzical look. "Well... you always wanted a maid..." I offered vaguely.

"Yes. I'll be your maid. I'd love to! I'll do your laundry and clean and everything. Please. Please take me."

"She doesn't even have any tits!"

"Not like yours ma'am, of course. But I have them, look!" Within an instant she was completely naked, her adolescentine body on full display. She did have pretty, perky breasts, not very big but she carried them well. Her skin was very clear, and the gap below her lips cute enough to eat.

"You shaved ?"

"I saw you shaved yourself, ma'am."

"Looks good on you. Come here." Kitty motioned. The soubrette went over and sat herself in between Kitty's legs. They cut a beautiful picture together like that, Cynthia's gazelle thighs stretched apart, her knees hooked over Kitty's.

"Clasp your hands behind my neck" Kitty whispered towards her, then turning to me "What do you think ?"

"She's pretty."

"But a little young still."

"Yeah. A little young."

"Let's see if the engine works, at least", she said, and moved her left hand over Cynthia's cleft. She rubbed her thumb over the girl's clit, softly and slowly at first, then faster and harder. I was watching them, mesmerized. It didn't take a minute, Cynthia bucked wildly and her eyes rolled inside her head.

"Was it good ?"

"Oh yes. Oh. Yes it was."

"Do you do it to yourself ?"

"S... sometimes."

"Are you going to make her a slut then ?" Kitty asked me. "He's the best, I used to be a teacher with a monogamous marriage, now look at me." she said aside, to Cynthia.

I rushed over. Moments later, red with the slaughter of innocence, my cock was depositing the first load our new maid ever received. She sighed deeply. I kissed Kitty, deeply. The girl squeezed me, tightly. Kitty looked into her eyes, intensely. It was an incredible moment.

"Am I going to be pregnant ?"

"Ah... honey... no, I don't think so. You see, we've been trying to have a baby for a long time, but..."

"I'm also taking pills."

"What pills ?"

"You know. Birth control."

"Well then no, you're definitely not getting pregnant."

"Ah."

"Why the hell would a virgin take birth control ?"

"Oh, all my classmates are taking them. Mrs. Bosworth says it's a women's rights issue."

"A women's rights issue, is it now."

"She's a bit of a cuckoolander. Mrs. Bosworth I mean." Cynthia started to laugh, but then turned serious and bit her lip. "You are taking me, aren't you."

"Well Cynthia... that may be more complicated. We'll have to talk to your parents."

"My parents don't care."

"I guess we'll soon find out if they do, won't we."

"If you take me can I be Cyn ?"

"If we take you, you can be anything you wish."

Cyn's parents evidently couldn't care less - once we explained we needed someone to help look around the house now that my wife is pregnant, and that Cynthia would have room and board as well as wages, and we'd enlist her at the local highschool they were positively happy to be relieved of her. It did make us wonder what we're setting ourselves up for, but about all of that later. For now, suffice it to say Cyn lazed around with us for a short while and then snuck out ; while we finally went out for the dinner that had originally started life as a late breakfast.

We sat in silence waiting for our meal. I wasn't going to bring anything up for all the jewels of India plus two casks of premium imported beer. She seemed pensive and a little restless.

"If I even suspect that they told their friends and I somehow get targeted as the easy motel slut, we're out of here." she finally offered.

"Yeah, not like we're married to this place."

"We're married to each other." she said, neutrally. I didn't know where this was headed. Maybe she's just about to lose it and next week will see me trying to explain the past few days to a divorce attorney. A woman, with all my luck. Then we'd start a steamy, lust driven affair, she'd have me kill her husband, then she'd greedily try and change his will, they'd catch us, I'd go to jail... I'd better say something, and quickly.

"Yeah we are. I'm not about to change that. Are you ?"

"Naw", she said softly.

"But you are a slut now." I said, emphasizing the verb.

"Yea." she said even softer. "I'm a slut now."

"I guess we'll just have to make the best of it.", I offered just as the lobster plate was coming in.

After the first few bites, she looked straight into my eye. "Are you going to make me be pregnant ?"

"I dunno babe. I think I just might."

"That'd be..." but she just trailed off, never finishing her sentence.

"You always wanted one, remember ? Besides, what'll we use Cynthia for otherwise ?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find something", she said, mischief in her eye but not a shade of malice. "You clearly enjoyed ruining her."

"Oh, twas but a moment."

"That's how I know you enjoyed it."

"You know it's not so simple as all that."

"What the hell will we tell people ?"

"About what ? We didn't invent au pair you know."

"About the baby."

"We certainly didn't invent pregnancy. I'm sure people saw this happen before."

"But..."

"What. You told anyone about it before ?"

"Not really."

"So then. Maybe we didn't want a kid until today. Or maybe we got lucky. Or maybe it's nobody's god damned business."

"There are paternity tests, you know."

"Oh yeah ? And who's going to ask for one ?"

She looked off in the distance, and we ate through the rest of the meal in pensive silence. Just as we were about to ask for the check, the first man to fuck my wife other than me walked in, with a couple of older people. He said something to them and came over.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Arnett."

"Hello..."

"Charles. Please call me Chuck."

"Will you sit down with us, Chuck ?" coaxed Kitty.

"I'd love to but I'm with family. Just wanted to come over and say hi." then after a pause "I'm so sorry if things got carried away last night. I spoke to Stan and we'd like to keep this on the down low if possible. We've had time to think about it and it almost seemed like we were forcing ourselves on the situation."

"That's what boys are for." I retorted, amiably. "Don't worry about it, Chuck."

"Don't worry about how things happened or what happened. It just happened. It's all ok, and not really anyone's business." Kitty sounded well pleased and genuinely relieved. "Nice touch coming over, by the way. Very respectable." she added, coyly.

Chuck nodded, said goodbye and left. Kitty watched him go.

"At this rate we'll end up learning all their names even", I started playfully. She said nothing, still looking after the young man. "You enjoyed his dick, didn't you slut ?"

"Mhm."

"I'm sure you'll get more of that."

"You think ?"

We bantered more about it, covering all the possibilities, looking at all the angles, mostly for the rememorative pleasure than anything. We ended up betting as to whether Chuck will ever do Kitty again, which I guess with her was hedging but for me it was pure edging.

As we got back to the motel, the clerk passed us a message. Inside the envelope was an invitation to a bar nearby, for 11 that night. Signed : Jeremy, Todd, Chuck, Alex and some sort of hyeroglyphic name we couldn't make out. "Check it out", I said, "we've almost got all of their names now!"

We were obviously going, and after being in the room for a half hour or so, watching Kitty prance around in a wrapped up towel after her quick shower, polishing her toenails on her simply gorgeous tanned cute feet, standing naked putting on her panties, then a stunning black cocktail dress and unbelievably sexy slip-on five-inch heels, I became aroused more than you could imagine. It's one thing to watch your hot wife preen for some sort of social function, where you know other men will oogle her and envy you. It's quite another to watch her prepare to excite the very men she fucked the night before, under your very eyes. Maybe she'll do it again. Will she ? Won't she ?

Once during this time, she leaned over and picked up a bottle of polish she had dropped on her way back to the bathroom, and the beautiful crotch of her baby blue panties was exposed vividly, tightly pressed against her pussy. It was breathtaking, and I leaned in and gave her a kiss. She turned around and winked at me. We were happier than we'd ever been.

Funny thing though, she wasn't even close to ready by 10:30. Knowing this could be a while, I began making us drinks. I purposefully poured hers extremely strong, which she noticed, but did not protest. Just then someone knocked on the door.

The redhead, who we thereby found out to be Jeremy, and the other kid, who apparently learned to write from either chickens or doctors seemed out of breath, as if they had run to the room. Kitty was in the bathroom when they arrived, but they hollered their reciprocal hellos.

Seeing my drink both immediately asked whether they could have one. Apparently they were out back at their place. I told them to pour whatever they wanted. They were both well past feeling any pain already, but nevertheless poured themselves some pretty neat screwdrivers and gulped them down. Then Jeremy mixed a new set, and when done walked to the bathroom and just reached his arm in through the doorway, saying, "Here. Polishing your toenails can be a stressful thing, I've been told. You might need a drink."

They both giggled when she said "What a gentleman. Now go away!". Her tone was playful, not exactly an invitation, but certainly not hostile to any degree. Jeremy evaluated it correctly and peeled himself off the door. I'm guessing once the first wave of sexual relief faded, most of these kids' excitement at the situation actually came from the wide open opportunity to play the adult game of signals for real, "for keeps" as they say. Rescued from the mind-death of his own sexual frustration by Kitty's easy, pantocratic sluttery, the future bright legal mind didn't in the slightest mind that he wasn't invited inside, just like he didn't in the slightest mind that she had foreseen and defeated his mean little plan the night before - something he went as far as to confess to her later. Instead, unconcerned about getting any, getting some, getting as much as he could possibly carry and then some, he was absolutely thrilled that he could figure out what she wanted, and what she meant. Kitty had always been a great teacher, but with this trip I was discovering she might actually be the very best in her generation. It's not a small thing, this, you know, to be married to the absolute best of a kind.

A couple of times Kitty came out and grabbed this or that, making playful faces at us as if to say, "Kiss my butt, you'll wait for as long as I need." And let me tell you, when she pranced out with her beautiful dress three-fourths up her beautifully tanned thighs, with it perfectly hugging her ass, nobody there minded giving her as long as she needed. That's what drinks are for, after all.

She was stunning. There was no shred of doubt in my mind that the two kids were just as turned on by her presence as I was ; and by the memory of having fucked her the night before, also just as I was. The thought of their young cocks in her, on her, drenching her in the past as in the future excited me immensely, and at that precise moment I realised that mine excited them just as immensely - its presence in their mind's eye, taking out of my wife what she owed me, and it, before their very eyes ; as well as its imagined outlines doing the same for years before, making her my wife in the first place.

In my inebriated state I reached a sudden realisation of unity, a benevolent, equanimous unity with all things, with some kids I had never met before and the trees outside I had met every single year around this time for most of my life - at any rate most of my life worth the mention. I sat there, dazed, cherishing this new thing in me, like a tiny diamond, another fabulous gift from Kitty's all-devouring cunt. Truly a creature of boundless blessings, this whore.

I realised then just how much I loved her, not even as a thing, but more like an obliterating thankfullness for her existence ; and with a sudden ache I realised just how much I wanted to see her get fucked.

She, entirely unconcerned with any of this, was now talking on the phone to her mother. They were chit-chatting happily, gabbing away at whatever mundane nonsense that happened at their mouths, with nary a clue and nary a care - or at least so it seemed. At one point she said, "I'm out, bring me another." and then carried on with something about mail catalogues.

The two guys almost fought to see which one could take her another drink first. Without brutality, but with certain intensity, a drunken bout of olympic torchbearing. One spilled half the drink he was carrying just taking it to the bathroom, while the other spilled half his reaching it in the door. Kitty finally hung up and came out. She was as bubbly as can be, looked at the spillage then said "The shower's that way, you two. And drinks are for drinking, not for washing in."

The first sentence stopped them both dead in their tracks. Were they supposed to go take a shower ? By the second they got it, their concentrated expressions, crumpled to that degree only kids "playing" (which is to say trying to do well more earnestly and more seriously than the adults ever will) ever achieve relaxed and melted away into giggles and some long story about how a bird tried to take a bath in a long drink once.

They both started making her a drink again, redundantly. She smiled at me with a wrinkled nose as if to say "here, these are my two lovers, my two children, my two slaves - what do you think ?" I thought we had a lot to talk about, which is how old couples go - the older it gets the more there's to talk about ; unless you don't fuck around, of course.

Jeremy said, "We should actually wait until about midnight, the party doesn't even start until then." and it was immediately obvious to Kitty, to me, and I believe to the other kid that all he meant was "I'd love to fuck her before we go". The next second it was then obvious to him just how obvious he was to us, and he blushed a deep, feminine red. It looked very pretty on him, the hint of childish sexual ambiguity flattered his budding manliness rather than deterring from it. He stammered and hawed, overwhelmed.

Kitty looked at him from under her eyelashes, a look which fixed him in place, suddenly pale. She swayed her hips in a sultry feline walk to him, and with every step his sudden palor intensified, as if all his blood was busy elsewhere, face be damned. She stopped one inch away from his face, put her hands on his hips and asked, in the most neutral of tones, "What did you just say ?"

Jeremy completely lost it. He was rapidly approaching crying. He'd have curled into a ball except for her body blocking his way, somehow in his mind evidently as rigid as alloyed steel, impassable, collosal, protected by a scientifico-magical barrier from the perpetual future of the paperbacks. He gulped, he stammered, he turned all colors. Kitty patiently gave him all the time he needed, gazing into his eyes for long long seconds without spite, without rancor, without lust, without encouragement, without intention even. To think that everything started because they thought themselves capable of playing games with her. They! With her! The humanity.

Eventually he managed to approximately repeat a version of his previous line that was judged close enough, so Kitty disengaged with a cute "That's what I thought." giggled over her shoulder. Jeremy bent over halfway in one exhale, his butt propped against the wall. "I need a drink" he said hoarsely, and Kitty smiled at him from over by the table. She was fixing one. We all burst out laughing, the men I mean, as the tension dissolved the whole thing looked more and more hysterical.

Around midnight, after a bunch of drinks and a bunch more joyous banter we started to leave. As Kitty passed by me for the door, I grabbed her and slowly spun her towards me holding her ass, and kissed her. She returned the kiss for a few seconds but then broke it off saying, "Ok, let's go already." I pulled her to me again and kissed her again while Jeremy walked past us and got the door. She began backing towards the door with a giggling pulling motion, murmuring as we kissed, "Let's go already..."

To nobody's surprise Jeremy leaned his back against the open door, reached over and pulled up the back of her dress. I already had it halfway up her ass, but he pulled it up all the way, over her hips and then slid his hand under the strap of her thong. I watched him do it out of the corner of my eye, and moved my hands to her hips. We stood there for a few seconds as he squeezed her ass cheeks, when she said laughingly "Are we fucking leaving yet?"

We finally left the room, but I continued pulling at her and kissing her as we walked. She grinned as if to tell me, "Not going to happen." As we did, Jeremy would playfully pull up the back of her dress, feeling her up. Just before getting to the foyer leading to the parking lot, I pulled her into a nook that housed an ice machine and some other vending things. Jeremy was right there, hand on her butt. As we were groping her, she said "Not now. Later, okay ?"

I made no answer, but grabbed the sides of her panties and slid them down to her knees. At the same time Jeremy lifted her dress up around her hips again. She didn't try to stop us, she just put her arms straight on my shoulders, clasped her hands together far behind my neck and whispered "Are you a bad boy ?" in my ear. I nodded, and she whispered again "If you're a bad boy I'm only going to let him fuck me, not you." I don't know if Jeremy made out what she said to me, but whether he did or he didn't he dropped his pants just as I was undoing the clasp around her neck, liberating her lovely bosom. I bent and mouthed her right areola, my hands on her very arched hips when I felt her wince slightly and I knew he had just penetrated her. The slow, loving swaying immediately following confirmed it for me.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the other man inside her. The fact that it was actually happening all over again filled me with a strange mixture. Excitement was certainly in there, disbelief as well. What a slut I had married! And how I loved her!

Jeremy finished quickly, and as he pulled out and stopped moving her I spun her around, and bent her at the waist. "Now clean him up with your mouth, like a real whore." I gruffed. She did, and as she was doing it I kneeled behind her, and kissed her swollen clit. It was pretty irritated, and it gave her a start. Her cunt was slick, heavy with a thick dew, like she had just been fucked. She had. I kissed and licked her best part with its filling for a while, and when I was done and she finally could stand up she stepped out of her well trashed panties and handed them to the other kid. "Here" she said, "A memento". He smiled broadly and we took off.

Everyone was at the bar, around a booth slightly to the side. They greeted us loudly and excitedly, then wanted to know what took so long, did we not want to come originally ? Did Jeremy have to use his silver tongue to convince us ? "Oh no, not his tongue" replied Kitty, and as she did the other kid slowly lifted his hand holding her panties from under the table. There was some hooting and some hollering, and then Jeremy took the stage to recount, with embelishments and in detail, how he had to fuck her into coming. Dragons were at some point involved, I winked at the other kid who smiled a smile wide enough to make a frog, evidently content with his possession of that secret, among so many others. So many sparkling, brilliant others, all caught and clasped together in the pair of panties, their physical embodiment, held closely in his hand.

Throughout the retelling they'd occasionally high-five each other, and chirped with delight throughout. Now and again they'd solicit confirmation from Kitty, and she always proferred it, with emphasis and corroborating, exagerating detail. Oh yes there were dragons, but not just three, five, and not just spitting fire but also lasers. And shitting tanks and icecream tubs. Haagen-Dazs and some other European brand. The tanks, that is. The tubs were luft & wafer.

It was easily the most outrageous story ever concocted, and this coming from the point of view of someone who ganbangs his wife over drinks. It was inconceivable, and duly avowed by both of them, with no protest from me - thus therefore the truth. Much more a truth, according to the rules of boyhood, than truer stories bereft, for reasons incomprehensible, of the plain affidavit of the girl involved. It was truer than the man on the Moon, for those involved were there present to testify ; and truer than some other kid's dalliance with a classmate they all knew - because she wouldn't confess to it, and certainly not in detail to rival Kitty's. It was the best truth, and beloved for it, and the best time anyone had in a bar. Ever.

Then, as closing time came around, the overarching point in their minds came to the fore. They were leaving the next day, and because they were leaving the next day they'd be happy to drop me off at our place, but they would like to keep Kitty at theirs, to "help them prepare".

I was awestruck. Your wife fucked by another, by other men in your own house, in your own bed, under your own eyes is one thing. Fucking her smooth, slippery cunt right after another man filled her with his seed is one thing. Kneeling and kissing her swollen, scalding slit a moment after another man was done fucking her is one thing. These and others like them are lots of things, but actually sending her off to their place, to be there, by herself... well... that's another thing.

It's another thing. A mindblowing other thing. Just as I was pondering how I wouldn't get to see her tightly wrapped around another cock, soaking it, milking it, bucking in orgasm brought about by it after swaying in the rhythm imposed by it, just as I was spinning on how I wouldn't get to see it happen, hear it happen, how I won't be able to taste it, but instead would have to imagine it all, and imagine it ten thousand times because unlike a thing that happens, a thing imagined has no concieved end, I heard Kitty's melodious voice. "Have you been a bad boy ?"

She was looking at me with her big, smiling eyes. The man with the plan. The Jeremy of the household. Had I been a bad boy ? "Yes, I have". I hung my head in shame.

They were all arrested, breathless. Could it be ? Were they actually going to get the whore to play with as they please, for however many hours left until they leave ? Uninhibited by an actual adult, just among themselves kids, have Kitty for a plaything in private ?

It could be ; and it was going to be. "Ok, listen up." I said sternly. "You want the whore, that's fine, but you'll have to pay for using her."

Their eagerness, their youthful hopefulness suddenly turned dejected. Pay ? They're kids, what pay, they don't have money. Money was invented exactly for this reason, it suddenly dawned on them : so that even though the Kitty's right there, and even though she's ready to go and hubby's been a bad boy, and even though they're ready to go and she's ready to go with them, nevertheless...

"A dollar a shot. And no cheating."

They took a moment to process and then exploded in enthusiastic accountancy. They had a few bucks still.

"But I'm serious about the cheating part." I said, just as sternly. "A dollar a shot, it means what it says, no exceptions. Doesn't matter where you take it. If you take it all by yourself in the bathroom while she's there, you owe a dollar. When you're out you bring her back. Alright ?"

"Yes, sir!" they bellowed in choral unison.

I winked at Kitty, who looked at me with a very definite "Oh yeah, you wanna set me up so they'll fuck me raw ? We'll see about this, mister!" as she realised what the fee structure meant and stood up.

"Are we dropping you off ?"

"Naw, thanks kids. You take your time with her ; I'll be okay."

I walked out, turned around thinking about what was transpiring and started walking at a brisk pace. The air and the walk dispelled most of the spirits from my mind, but the thoughts of what was about to happen could not be dispelled. Not by air, not by walking, not by straight bleach to the skull. Kitty is a whore. I am whoring her out. Literally. A buck a shot, the cheapest it's ever been. Kitty is a cheap whore being gangbanged right now in a motel room somewhere. She'll come back in the morning, filled up in every nook and cranny by layers upon layers of manjuice. She'll take a shower. She'll have a sandwich maybe. She'll go to sleep. She'll wake up in the morning... what then ?

Do it all over again ?

I was going slightly crazy, and suddenly there it was : a dingy old strip club. The perfection of it struck me light white lightning. What could there be better than throwing away the bucks she'll make before she even made them ? Kitty will have to work for these dollars, she'll sweat and tear her ass for them. What better use than to give them away to some girls that didn't even bother stripping all the way ? Just for swaying their skinny butts up on a stage somewhere a coupla of times ?

I went right in, and an hour later went right out, sixty-six dollars lighter in the pocket. I figured it should be about enough. The girls were okay, six of them in all, a couple younger ones trying really hard to do a good job of it, a really dumb one that hadn't the sense to get out of the rain, and the rest old enough to have been defeated and have given up. Twenty-six or something. Throughout the whole time the only thing in my mind was guesswork at how much money Kitty was going to make that night, had made so far, how she'd be making it. While watching the girls trying to follow the music on stage all I could think about was Kitty. I pictured in my mind insistently, repeatedly, the making of every single lousy dollar in the bundle she'd be bringing home, crumpled, sweated. And I'll tell her "That's nice, honey, just about covers the strippers tonight."

As I got back to our room, my mind was starting to shut down from sheer exhaustion. I turned the lights off and just sat on the bed. There was a rasp on the door.

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Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Thursday, 13 October, Year 8 d.Tr.

Who pops the largest pop ?

Previously, Daniel P. Barron held the title, with an eye-popping 81 million ECu (0.8144 BTC) pop on August 7th. What makes his pop particularly sweet is that while it came out of a small Boulder claim, it wasn't just Boulders. No, he found particularly valuable and extremely rare Mysterious Rocks, that carry a significant (if not very well known, they seldom sell) premium which could well put his find in the 400 mn to 1bn ECu range (4 to 10 BTC!).

I promised him then and there (1st comment heh!) that such will not stand. I tried all sorts of things in the intervening four months, from the Chettyi Sticks there mentioned to overcrafting of all kinds, but what finally popped for me was the best thing that could have possibly popped : a cons!

A cons, short for Consideration, is the type of blueprint that produces other blueprints. They're extremely valuable, 100 having gone at auction for 50mnii originally. Since blueprints rarely go for less than 1`000% these days, and since these blueprints make other blueprints, I imagine saying my loot is worth 10x what it says on the tin is probably an understatement.

But the great part is what it actually says on the tin : 108.16 million ECu!

Mircescu outpopping Barron means that the largest pop in Euloran history went from 81.44 to 108.16 million ECu nominally, but in actual value it changed from "four to maybe ten Bitcoin's worth" into "certainly over 10 BTC worth". Like that, with no known upper bound.iii

Todayiv will forever live in the annals of Euloran history as the day Crafting took backv its well deserved status of pre-eminence amongst the occupations of the realm from the evil cluctches of Exploring ; and also as the day large bundlesvi washed their honor that was tarnished by the lowly Small Exploration Bundle.

Not to mention that the intricate colors of house Mircescu fly on proud above all others! Mwahahahaha!

———Last year just about this time, an old jew in an argentinian private hospital was eyeing me carefully.

"You know what this is."

You have got to be kidding me.

"Come on. Pain codeine can't cut through ? You've seen the tomograph. You know." [↩]The change where overcraft wouldn't produce blueprints directly anymore making them instead craftable through a dedicated process was announced on February 9th. Various items were sold as a bundle by S.MG on February 14th, with an opening value of ~6mn ECu (equal to their base value) and were bid up by players as high as 140mn ECu (that's a solid 2089%!). The winner then sold the bundle by parts, with the part that consisted of the blueprint crafting line seed (Apprentice Bouquinist Considerations) going for 50mn. [↩]The question of the upper bound on the value of considerations is very much open, what with their "license to print money" properties. [↩]Well, really, the 21st, when it actually happened. I just didn't have the time to write it up before! [↩]The top pop title had been held by a craft ever since November 11th, 2015, so almost a year, when that uppity boulder basher snatched it! [↩]A cons bundle ordinarily costs over 1 mn ECu in base value. The one I actually clicked was 2.4 mn for instance - which means that the multiplier I caught was something to the tune of 40x. For comparison, a Small Bundle like the one that yielded the previous pop is worth 180 ECu nominally, but people click them as high as maybe 2k ECu - making Daniel's pop easily a 40`000x multiplier.

This is to say that if I had my bundle and his luck we'd be looking at a 108 trillion ECu pop. How about that! [↩]

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Category: Trolloludens

Saturday, 24 December, Year 8 d.Tr.

White racism

Let's quote from an articlei I stumbled upon after writing the reivew for The Wrestler :

Cobain wrote it to be the "ultimate pop song," though its anti-materialistic, anti-establishment lyrical content was anything but. "It was such a cliched riff," Cobain told Rolling Stone in 1994. "It was so close to a Boston riff or 'Louie, Louie.' When I came up with the guitar part, Krist [Novoselic] looked at me and said, 'That is so ridiculous.'"

The song became an uncontrollable cultural phenomenon anyway. It launched Nirvana's album Nevermind to the top of the charts, unseating Michael Jackson and moving so many copies the label couldn't keep up with demand. Every industry sought to capitalize off the grunge aesthetic. "Flannel shirts and torn jeans found their way onto Manhattan fashion runways," Jamie Allen wrote for Salon. "Movies like 'Wayne's World' mocked slackers while taking their money. Commercials used the word "dude" far too often." And major labels started investing in a lot of astronomically shitty "grunge" bands trying to duplicate Nirvana's irresistibly rebellious sound.

To his eternal credit, Cobain saw the influence his music was having on mainstream culture and tried to stem the spread. He began refusing to play "Smells Like Teen Spirit" live, or "purposefully performing it sloppily, just to mess with the audiences he cynically saw as flocking to Nirvana shows just to hear that song while it was flavour of the month," Al Horner wrote for NME.ii

Nirvana's next and final record, In Utero, was far more dissonant and inaccessible than its predecessor, a likely attempt to shake the pop audiences they'd gathered. As former NME writer Keith Cameron put it: "Kurt didn't want to sell records to cunts." But that was fine with the majors, because other bands would.

After Cobain's death, major labels began desperately searching for the "next Nirvana." They minediii the hell out of the Seattle scene looking for another hit band, signing underground acts left and right. Pearl Jam, which Cobain once described as "pioneering a corporate, alternative and cock-rock fusion," became the new grunge. "Knock-off bands," like Candlebox, Stone Temple Pilots and Silverchair, as Kyle Anderson described them in his book Accidental Revolution: The Story of Grunge, "stormed the barricades."

The lameness multiplied as labels worked to promote scores of corporatized rock bands content with writing sterile pop-rock anthems, bands like Nickelback, Godsmack, Staind, Creed and Limp Bizkit, whose lead singer Fred Durst described Cobain as an "inspiration."

"They sold millions," Anderson wroteiv. "But were as empty as the hairmetal bands their forefathers fought so hard to vanquish."

Nirvana's surviving members are well aware of their sins. In an interview with the Guardian, Krist Novoselic claimed: "We had punk-rock values, but we signed those papers," referring to their band's major label deal. He nodded to alternative acts at the time that remained independent, Fugazi and Pavement, saying "I could never face them again."

Dave Grohl, Nirvana's drummer, admitted the same in a previous interview hosted by Spinner. "We fucked up an awesome underground scene 20 years ago," he said, according to Ultimate Guitar. "Maybe we shouldn't fuck up the next one." Grohl placed his comments within a hopeful context. "20 years ago, everything was ruled by these major labels, but there was this really cool underground scene flourishing in its independence," he added.

I would propose the moral is pretty clear. All the piece says, insistently, on a dozen voices plus three choruses, is that it's not ok to be successful.

A hollow simulacra of success of the kind described by Ballas may perhaps be attempted, if the people involved are greedy and altogether morally unsound. Lamers and business majors do that sort of thing. Actually cool people are not supposed to be successful, period and full stop.

Somehow the question as to why exactly is it that they shouldn't be truly successful, and especially so successful as to in fact take control of the "majors" rather than let them continue to exist is not posed. The controversy is painted as "be unsuccessful or else be successful in this stupid way". Failure is signalled as the correct solution of this nonsensical false dilemma, which just happens to be entirely designed to distract from the actual correct solution : to actually - ie not metaphorically - burn the majors, and everything else, to the ground.

Now let's turn the clock forward a quarter century, and let's look at the exact same machinery packaging an entirely similar success :

At the very moment when Donald Trump is making an unprecedented attack on our democracy, millions of people are registering to vote early and volunteer in this campaign.

Hillary Rodham Clinton, in Coconut Creek, Florida, The Banana Republic.

Donald Trump, domestic terrorist : The man who tried to kill democracy - and why we had it coming.

Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

Donald Trump can't be just defeated. He must be humiliated. Donald Trump is running against democracy itself.

Dana Millbank, Chicago Tribune

The Party of Lincoln's nominee returned to the site of his greatest speech to attack the faith in democratic government that Lincoln so carefully fostered.

Yoni Appelbaum, The Atlantic

Donald Trump, the Anti-Democratic Candidate

Benjamin Wallace-Wells, The New Yorker

I will spare you the rest - pretty much every jew with a "mainstream" media account is out in force, and vituperations abound.

Why ?

Why exactly is Kurt Cobain not the anti-democratic musician, that must not just be defeated but humiliated for his sinful attempt to kill democracy ? Why isn't he a domestic terrorist ?

Why is it that when it comes to Nirvana, a strict rejection of the embrace of the public is not merely expected, not merely required, but outright a religious obligation, surrounded by all the verbiage of sin and taboo ?

Back in 1990 the imperative was still to stick it to the majority. Why ? What exactly changed in these intervening 25 years ?

Clinton can explain this to you, if you haven't figured it out on your own. Back in 1990, the majority was still white.

That's all it is. "Our" democracy very strictly looks like an unhappy white man who married a monkey and spawned a coupla whatever those are.

Before, back when "our" democracy meant Reagan got elected, the job of everyone was to stick it to the democracy. Back then it was no good, you see. Back then it was too white.

Now that it's brown enough, "our" democracy is a sort of chest of the covenant, come from heavens beyond the ocean to be forever right and forever perfect and never rightfully attacked.

Why is Trump not an uncontrollable cultural phenomenon ? It tops the charts, doesn't it ? Oh, that's right - the man behind it lacks a "healthy" dose of self-deprecation. Healthy enough to kill him, ideally.

White racism is real. It is another name for self hatred.

———By one Tom Barnes in something called Music.Mic. There's no serious reason to believe either of these actually exist, in no small part because the piece is actually researched, and the sources linked. [↩]Bullshit, a 2014 article I have to go spelunking for ? Fuck "NME" with a Xerox machine, whatever the fuck it is, and who the fuck is this Al Whorer anyway. [↩]Reference given as Rock'n America: A Social and Cultural History. Deena Weinstein. University of Toronto Press. [↩]Accidental Revolution: The Story of Grunge. Kyle Anderson. Macmillan. [↩]

« Romanul. 1929.

Poor women... »

Category: SUA care este

Wednesday, 26 October, Year 8 d.Tr.

What to do when spammers spam you ? Why... offer them work, of course! Capitalism saves lives. Touch the screen now! Heal!

Honey, it's not nice to lie. You're not USA based in any sense, your

"office" lives at Plot-22 & 23,3rd Floor,Block-D DLF IT Park, Phase - I,

Manimajra, Chandigarh, Manimajra 160101, Chandigarh.

I understand you're poor and want money, but you gotta understand money is

earned, not wanted. Here's a link to explain how earning it works for you :

http://trilema.com/2014/ill-pay-for-your-tits/

and here's an example of a successful slut making bank :

http://trilema.com/forum-logs-for-25-dec-2015#1966901

So, drop the wordy pretense, it's both unladylike and unbecoming of poor

Indians. Also drop the sari, magic marker the tit and earn that 0.1 BTC

that puts to shame the whole rest of your day, if not week.

All the best,

Mircea Popescu

On Mon, January 11, 2016 12:07 pm, Linda White wrote:

> Hi,

>

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>

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> come to a conclusion that the site is currently losing out on a lot of

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> online marketing solutions. We have a comprehensive SEO audit report that

> we would like to share with you free of charge. This report will help you

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> methodologies and how we can help you realize the true potential of your

> site, just reply to this email with a contact details (phone, Skype) and

> one of our consultants will get in touch with you.

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> Business Development Executive

> Hand Phone: +1-310-933-6106

> Global Offices: San Francisco | Los Angeles | India

I know, I exaggerate with this charity business at times. I know, you generally prefer to ignore the poor shits.

What can I say, I'm more generous than my times.i

———No, your excuse as to why generosity "is bad" doesn't stick, and is plenty transparent. I know why you wish to pretend your mean nature is "right" and my generous nature "wrong", and so does anyone coming across the division (which is why my continued existence is so threatening to your aspirations to continued hypocrisy in the first place). [↩]

« The big day.

And now the story has an ending. »

Category: Meta psihoza

Monday, 11 January, Year 8 d.Tr.

What is the Leyla Black ?

Intro :

pete_dushenski "Then in Davos I joined people like Kevin Spacey, and Jimmy Wales (the founder of Wikipedia) on a panel talking about cyber-security. The general sense in the room is that a distributed, encrypted database like the blockchain could be key to creating a more secure computing environment and a more secure world."

Sunday, 31 January, Year 8 d.Tr.

Werner Koch lies.

This article will examine a (deliberately) false claim made by Werner Koch (who is by no means at his first infraction), as conveyed in the logs :

PeterL: gnupg.org/faq/gnupg-faq.html

Thursday, 06 October, Year 8 d.Tr.

Werner Koch, confirmed USG stooge

We find from qntra that Werner Koch has been deliberately subverting the cryptographic strength of his braindamaged implementation of RSA for its entire existence. Finally caught, two decades later, he characteristically is neither willing to admit, nor desist from the practice.

At issue is the offensive habit of "whitening"i, which in this case has covered up at the minimum the loss of 20 bytes for every 580, and maximally the loss of all bytes past the 580th. Certainly worthy of all derision are the rhetorical gymnastics Werner Koch is willing to engage in :

This bug does not affect the default generation of keys because running gpg for key creation creates at most 2 keys from the pool: For a single 4096 bit RSA key 512 byte of random are required and thus for the second key (encryption subkey), 20 bytes could be predicted from the the first key. However, the security of an OpenPGP key depends on the primary key (which was generated first) and thus the 20 predictable bytes should not be a problem. For the default key length of 2048 bit nothing will be predictable.

Translated to human language, the squirmings of the worm read something very much like

This bug does not affect key generation because it affects key generation ; also my boss told me to tell you to use 2048 bit keys and also neener you about how you know, no matter what you do it still doesn't matter. Maybe you end up believing that nonsense, and so don't come with torches and tar to boil both him and me, like we deserve.

This isn't the first time Werner Koch was caught spewing nonsense for his "Equation Group" patrons, either. Back in May 2015 he was one of the main proponents of the (meanwhile discredited) "cosmic rays" explanation for the Phuctor finds ; which he pushed diligently along with the rest of the USG talking points on the topic - including the pretense that the set is small (which it turned out not to be), known in advance (which it turned out not to be), homogenuous in origin (which, similarly, it turned out not to be) and harmless (which it ... turned out not to beii, obviously).

Always remember : a USG stooge is very similar to a syphylitic whore - whatever she may say ; whatever she may do ; the spirochetes are there waiting to infect you.

Update Applying a trivial sanity check (after an original idea by Stan), you get the ultimate beauty of all time : Turns out that the perceived artefacts were a function of log_hexdump vs log_mpidump implementation and not relevant to the discussion.

———Universally and without exception a bad idea - it is the cryptographical equivalent of spraying on perfume instead of taking the bath. Strictly the only end whitening achieves is hiding the poor quality of entropy from the operator, it does absolutely nothing to hide it from the enemy. [↩]See item VIII in the Phuctor FAQ. [↩]

« Too poor for trees, too dumb to know it...

The text ; and the piddly recantion »

Category: Rautati si Mizerii

Thursday, 18 August, Year 8 d.Tr.

Were I...

Let's continue with the impossible task of translating the Romanian section of Trilema. Today, Daca eram :

Were I a cop I'd have taken no risk, all criminals'd subscribe with me as their fisc.i

Were I a fireman and were the fire in your house, I'd chase your kids aroundii and then shit on the dinner table.

Were I a gynecologist I'd have amply expanded your wife, starting as early as she could walk... it's healthy to consult, generally speaking no harm can come of it.

Were I a priest I'd have been dangerous, taking confessions off naked female parishioners ; and rubbingiii them victoriously and equidistantly : both high and low.iv

Were I a surgeon I'd forget inside you my old grandfather clock, some pliersv and a bread knife

Were I a diamond owner, brother... I'd have made a window shop dedicating to cutting broken windows.

Were I a trust fund kid I wouldn't be alive today, but smile at you from a morgue exhibition, preserved in ice.

Were I a cannibal and had I caught you with an ugly broad, I'd have fucked your mouthvi, fuck the fucking crooked hagvii.

Were I a rural postman, I'd have run off to the dope dealers in the city, while you died of hunger I'd be smoking grass and hashish.

Were I an undertaker I'd have undertook you directly in the ocean, and then knock on the widow's window, smiling, with my cock.

Were I a pharmacist and you buying downers, I'd have tricked you into stuffing yourself full of anabolics.

Were I a septic tank pump guy, I'd be teleporting pressurized shit, calamity-izingviii eventually the whole world.

Were I a waiter and you upset at my table you'd have been eating for desertix phlegmx on the side, in style.

Were I a driver I'd have had you as a victim in my police record. Fuck your motherxi, you'd have left me unemployed.

Were I a thief and we met on the street, I'd have discreetly grabbed your lungs and kidneys, leaving you in a pile.

Were I a pilot and the engine died, I'd have taken your whorexii in flight. Fuck me, what, I'ma die ?!

Were I a grammar school teacher, your little girl'd have eaten naught but baguettes with buttermilk.xiii

Were I a plumber I'd have tricked you into holding on to a pipe while I fucked your pregnant wife in the bunghole.

Were I a jerkoff I'd have written naught but bad verse, while rubbing it sadly and vacantly against my ribcage.

Were I a shitty blogger I'd have shown you a picture and let you guess what it is until you went crazy.xiv

Asta este poza.

As I'm not a shitty blogger, I'm gonna tell you that's a rosemary flowerxv. Ever seen one before ?

———Look it up! [↩]In Romanian this "chase" is steeped in sexual intent. [↩]In Romanian, to rub is to fuck, except if in the reflexive it's to jack off. [↩]Ie, in the mouth and in the cunt.

Speaking of which, picture this scene : slavegirl at gynecologist in Romania. The guy's an Arab, and very insistently attentive not to offend the gal. His Romanian's approximative, her Romanian's approximative, so they settle on her native English which is, to him, even more approximative. Then he inquires something to the effect of her being prepared to be examined "downstairs", which she takes to mean that the festivities will be in another room and stands up to leave, which he takes as having terribly offended her sensibility to such a degree she's leaving - he really only meant the snatch periphrastically to the degree of including a flight of stairs. Fun times. [↩]In Romanian, the common multiuse pliers are called "patent" for some reason, possibly because they at some point carried the mention "patent pending" or such. [↩]The one thing street whores wish to know is whether you want it short (ie, cocksucking) or not ; a blowjob is usually both cheap and accessible, a sort of hello in the underworld.

If you're wondering : it's not a sort of hello in the spheres you inhabit because you're sexually inadequate and for no other reason. Quoth Nell :

I'm going back to the frozen north, where the pricks are hard and strong. Back to the land of the all-night stand-where the nights are six months long.

[↩]"A crooked" in the feminine simply denotes an ugly woman. Don't you just love grammatical gender ? Hm ? [↩]Romanian is a proper language. This means any noun can be verbed and any verb can be nouned. Consequently calamity readily becomes "to calamitate", with a continuous tense and everything else. [↩]Technically, 2nd course is the steak because all Romanian meals start with soup. Hors d'oeuvres are not counted as a course - much like "parter" is not counted as a floor. [↩]In Romanian the word denotes individual globs rather than the matter collectively. [↩]Literally : may you stick my penis into your mother. [↩]Parasuta, ie, parachute. Of course. [↩]Romanian schools have this pastry and milk specialties for kiddies thing. [↩]This references a tradition on Trilema, of the various "teste de cultura". Such as : Test de cultura vizuala ; Test de cultura vizuala 2 ; Test de cultura vizuala 3 ; Test de cultura vizuala 4 ; Test de cultura vizuala 5 ; Test de cultura geografica [NSFW] ; Test de cultura vizuala 6 ; Test de cultura vizuala - VII ; Test de cultura artistica ; Test de inteligenta ; Test de cultura vizuala 9 (nsfw) ; Test de cultura vizuala 7 ; Test de cultura vizuala 8 ; Test de cultura textuala 1 (cred) ; Test de cultura vizuala 10 (cred) ; Test de cultura vizuala XII ; Test de cultura vizuala 13, sau fapte de-ale gurii ; Test de cultuva rizuala 14 ; Test de cultura si civilizatie anglo-sex. Oneoneone. ; Test de cultura botanica ; Test de Americana ; Test de cultura poliginica online ; Test de cultura poliginica online, editia II ; Test de cultura sociala ; Test de cultura vizuala 15 (sau XV) ; Test de stupiditate ; Test de cultura vizuala 16 ; Test de cultura textuala ; Test de inteligenta : Care dintre aceste mere nu belongheaza ? ; Test de perspicacitate vizuala ; Test de cultura botanica II ; Test de cultura botanica III ; Test de curvidentificare vizuala ; Test de cultura mutuala ; Test de cultura termodinamica.

Go me. [↩]No it isn't, it's just some random flower growing through the bush. [↩]

« To be happy.

Tangerine »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Wednesday, 20 July, Year 8 d.Tr.

Welcome to Baluba Island.

"... and so as you can see in this slide, the evolution of the synergy dynamic..."

Kyle's phone buzzed slightly, and Kyle expertly slid it under the speaker's line of sight.

"Honey ?"

To tap an answer or not to tap an answer. Kyle thought it over. The less typing the better, they might notice he's not paying attention. The more typing the better, Stephanie had been edgy all week.

"I know you're at work, I just wanted to let you know I'm booking a two week vacation. We'll talk at home."

Kyle fought a desperate battle with his own perplexion, trying fruitlessly to keep it to himself.

"Yes, Kyle ?"

Damn.

"Ahh... ummm..."

"Yeah ?"

"No I just mean, about the synergy..."

* * *

"But we've been talking about taking a vacation for months!"

"Yes, but did you have to drop it on me in the middle of the Technological Updatation Meeting ?"

"I had to tell you about it sometime!"

"How about you know, like now."

"But I am telling you now honey. We've both been so tense lately, you said yourself you need a vacation."

"Yes but..."

"So we're going to Baluba for two weeks and that's that."

"Where ?"

"The island of Baluba."

"What the hell is that ?!"

"An island! It's a tropical paradise island."

"Frankly, it sounds made up."

"It's not fucking made up, it's a real island. Jenny went last year and she had only good things to say."

"Which one is Jenny ?"

"You know, Jenny, I was at her baby shower last week. Jenny. With the curled hair, Jenny!"

"Oh, the one with the..."

"Yes!"

"I dunno honey... how are we going to pay for..."

"Don't you worry about a thing. Mom and Dad finally sold that plot from Uncle Theodore, and they're giving both me and Kath five grand."

"I'm going to go on vacation on your parents' dime ?"

"No! You're going to go on vacation with your wife! What the..."

"Ok, ok honey I didn't mean it like that. It's just..."

"It's just nothing, look, we have to live a little. Preferably while we're young."

"I guess you're right honey..."

"You'll see we'll have a great time."

"I'm sure we will."

With practiced familiarity, the two cuddle in their usual position and soon enough they're both asleep.

Except, of course, for Stephanie. Her eyes dart everywhichway in the darkness. And except for Kyle, staring unmovedly at a point on the distant wall he can't even see.

But otherwise they're both fast asleep.

* * *

"Well... I need something to wear!"

"Yes but isn't that too short ?"

"Don't be silly, it's supposed to go over a bathing suit. Besides, that's what they wear these days. You don't like it ?"

"Oh, it's great. Just..."

She smiles slyly and closes the short distance between them.

"There's only one problem honey" she purrs, rubbing herself against him.

"What ?"

"I stopped taking my pills, you know..."

"When ?!"

"When I told you we're going."

"But what if I had..."

"Ah don't worry, I'd have told you then."

"But..."

"I know, I know... but they make me so god damned irritable. It's unbearable, god only knows how it must be for you."

"I love you very much."

"I love you too honey. And I just wanted to you know, enjoy this trip."

"Sure, but..."

"Yeah. That's the problem."

"So what do we do ?"

"Condoms ?"

"Oh Steph..."

"Yeah honey, I know, I know."

"By the time I get one, by the time the wrapper's off..."

"I know. But maybe we can do something about that, you know ? They say it's all stress related and..."

"Great, we go on vacation, I have to use condoms like some teenager."

"No, no, this is just for until we leave. By then I'll be out of my fertile time, don't worry about it."

"I guess..."

"You'll just have to save it for me honey. Can you do that ?"

"Well..."

"If I catch you jacking off you'll have to clean out the office room!"

"What ?!"

"Yep. Everything. All the papers, dust everywhere, do the floors, everything."

"Are you crazy ?"

"And if I don't catch you, you have to confess to me before bed."

"Now just a minute..."

"It'll be more fun this way!"

"I dunno..."

"O really ? Why are you all tented up if you dunno ? Relax, honey..."

"God damn it."

"You'll see how great it is."

"Ok Steph, I know we've talked about this before, but..."

"About what ?"

"You know..."

"Tell me!"

"About..."

"Yes ?"

"About how uh. About how you could one day decide to not let me have any."

"Remember how hot it was ?"

"Yes! But then we were fucking!"

"Don't worry honey. It's just a phase. I told you..."

"Until Baluba ?"

"Until Baluba."

* * *

"Ma'am, would you like a blanket ?"

"Two please".

The stewardess passed her the blanket packages and quietly moved on. The lights were dim, and most of the passengers in the half-full plane asleep already. The cabin was almost entirely occupied by couples just as them. No business men, no college kids, a few older people here and there. What's to be expected for a tranquil resort, neither a business destination not a famous spring break party spot ?

"Take your shoes off honey. That's good. And your socks."

"What ? Why ?"

"So you're barefoot."

"But..."

"No buts. Off they come. There you go."

"Can I have the slippers ?"

"Oh, no. No slippers."

"Why not ?!"

"I want you barefoot."

"But... why ?"

"Think about how humiliating this is. You're the only man here with no shoes of any kind. Imagine how all the other men are looking at you."

"Oh Steph..."

"You're basically almost like a savage. Like a slave, you know, in the old days, being taken to work. Maybe you never even worn shoes in your entire life. Maybe you'll never wear them again."

"What ?"

"Yep. I'm putting these away right now. What will you do if I don't give them back to you ?"

"You won't ?"

"Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll make you walk barefoot out of the plane, where they all can see."

"Oh my god."

"Maybe you'll have to go barefoot through the airport, imagine all the looks people will give you. And then out into the street, and into the cab... and at the hotel, you know ?"

"Mmmmm..."

"Are you hard baby ?"

"Yeah..."

"Take your pants off, let's see."

"Uh... ok but... can I have the blanket ?"

"Oh no, not yet. First you give me your pants, then you can have the blanket."

Kyle fought with his pants frantically, and within seconds they were in Stephanie's hands. She folded them neatly, taking her time, pretending to ignore the frantic expression of her husband.

"Steeeeph!"

"Yes honey ?"

"You said I could have the blanket."

"Ah right. Sure. Your boxers please."

"What ?! That wasn't the deal!"

"What deal ?"

"You said, I can have the blanket after I give you the pants."

"Well yes, I did. And after you gave me your boxers it will still be after you gave me your pants, won't it ?"

"God damned it..."

"Take your time honey."

"If I give you the boxers too, will you give me the blanket right then ?"

"Maybe, baby."

"What do you mean maybe ?!"

"I mean that if you give me those boxers right this second, I might give you the blanket right then. Or I might give it to you later. You know, when I feel like it. Or maybe I won't give it to you at all. But on the other hand, if you don't give me your boxers right this second, maybe I'll make you stand up to take them off. Or maybe I'll make you go leave them in the lavatories and walk the glory walk back here. Or..."

Kyle escaped his underpants even more frantically than he had escaped his pants, minutes earlier.

"Here you go."

"Nicely done! My my, aren't we an excited boy. Would you like a blanket now ?"

Kyle looked down at his recently liberated six inch erection then back up at his smiling wife.

"I... I don't know."

"It's great, isn't it ? All naked and vulnerable like this..."

"Uh-huh."

"Tell you what. I want you to thank me."

"Thank you, Stephanie."

"No, not like that. I want you to thank me explicitly."

"Thank you Stephanie for making me take off my shoes so I'm the only barefoot guy here and making me take off everything so I'm all naked and vulnerable."

"That's a good boy, Kyle!"

"And thank you for maybe making me go barefoot all the way through the aisle when we land and to the airport so everyone can see..."

Kyle was barely audible at all, his breath quick and shallow

"... and thank you for maybe making me go barefoot in the hotel too, and telling the receptionist not to give me the keys because I'm not really a man, just like a slave from long ago and thank you for making me take off my boxers and for maybe making me go all the way to the bathroom to do it so I have to come back naked so everyone can see..."

"You're very welcome, honey."

Steph smiled and covered her now-trembling husband with the airline-provided blanket.

"Do you want to cum, honey ?"

"Y...yeah... I... I dunno. Yeah. Maybe."

"It feels good, doesn't it."

"So... so good!"

"But would you like me to stroke it a little ? Even if you don't cum ?"

"Yyyyeeeah."

Stephanie slid her hand under her husband's blanket and caressed his inflamed penis with experienced hands. She held it firmly, her fingers right under the flared head, stroking it ever so slowly, almost imperceptibly. Kyle appeared to have dozed off, but she could distinctly feel his focused attention right in the fist of her hand.

They enjoyed their intimacy on the solid basis of newfound domestic bliss for a moment that felt like an eternity - a satisfying, fulfilling, complete eternity, and then she whispered in his ear

"There's one problem though."

"Hm ?"

"I could give you a blowjob, of course. But I'm not going to do that."

"Ok."

"So what's left is that either you come, and get your sploodge all over the blanket and my hand..."

"Uhhh"

"In which case you will have to come through the airport naked..."

"Uh!"

"But only after you explain to the airline lady what happened and apologize to her. Provided of course they don't arrest you."

"Oh no!"

"Or else you don't come, and when we're there you get to wear pants like a good boy."

"Yeah!"

"But also this."

"What is ... oh no! Steph!"

"Yep, that's right. To wear pants when you're getting off the plane you have to be in jail, honey. Baluba rules."

"How do you know that ?"

"Oh, everyone knows. Jenny told me all about it."

"Really ?"

"Sure. Look around."

For the first time since the beginning of his bliss, Kyle looked around. All the men he could see were asleep under their blankets, women towering above them, some whispering in their ear.

"You are not alone, honey."

"Oh."

"So when you'll be walking to the gate, and then through the airport, they'll know exactly what it's all about."

"And the cab driver ?"

"Definitely."

"Oh my."

Stephanie stopped her hand movements, and looked Kyle straight in the eye.

"So which is it going to be, honey ?"

"I... I would like to... try."

"You wanna try for the cock cage ?"

"Y... yeah. Yeah please. Let me try for the cock cage p...please."

"Ok. There's about six hours left, so pace yourself. Ok honey ?"

"Yyyes."

"Do you need to pee ?"

"Nnno. You had me go before boarding."

"Ah that's right, I did."

"H... how long... did you have this planned ?"

"Oh you know... since I told you we're going."

* * *

"Are you asleep honey ?"

"Nnn...ohhh".

"Ok, time for your lockdown. We're almost there."

"Oh!"

"You've been such a good boy. I'm very proud of you."

Kyle beamed. For the first time in many weeks, maybe for the first time that year Kyle beamed. It wasn't a simple smile, it was a smile so bright and genuine, exuding such round, complete happiness and utter satisfaction that his face literally glowed for a second.

"Now this is going to sting a little. Here we go. Let me take that blanket off."

"Uhhh. What is it ?"

"Just a little vapo-rub."

"Oh! It's a lot."

"Yeah I guess you're right. It's a lot of vapo-rub."

"But... ohhhhhh."

"Does it burn ?"

"Yeah. Oh! It burns!"

"Sorry about that. You needed something to make your guy all tiny for the cage."

"That much ?"

"Nah, not really. Just a little would have been enough. But I wanted to give you a lot."

"Ohh."

"Yeah baby. Feel that burn."

Stephanie heaped large blobs of the minty jelly all over and around Kyle's rapidly retracting penis, covering the glans, the shaft, the little crevices around the frenulum in a thick blanket of liquid fire.

"Now let's get your balls well covered also, hang on."

"Oh my god it burns."

"Yeah baby. And it will burn for a while. Now scoot down on the chair, I want to get your asshole too."

Stephanie squeezed the tube decidedly, producing the largest blob yet. Her index and middle finger could barely carry the immense glob. She rubbed it abundently all around Kyle's exposed asshole and perineum.

"Now hold on to something and don't scream, honey. Some of it is going inside."

Kyle's eyes nearly popped out of his skull as Steph's fingers entered his anus, rubbing the biting napalm all around his inside.

"There, not going in, just getting your little anal ring well spiced up on all sides." she cooed at him while doing it. Kyle's penis was now barely visible, more of a large clitoris than anything. She clipped the cage in place. It was a two inch solid metal tube restricting the penis from head to root, with a solid metal ring around his ballsac anchoring it solidly in place. She clicked the small lock. It made a very definitive, tiny sound. There was no getting out now, short of a blowtorch.

"Oh my god it burns!"

"That's right, baby. Now put these on."

"What are they ?!"

"It's called lederhosen."

"What the hell is that!"

"They're a traditional thing from like Germany. They're associated with virility and brawn in popular culture."

"What ?! They look gay."

"You don't like the pants I got you ?!"

"No, it's not that, it's just..."

"Yeah ?"

"I mean..."

"What do you mean ?"

"Do I have to wear them ?"

"Yes."

Kyle reached for the virility garment.

"See, it has a front flap."

"I see."

"And these are the suspenders. Aren't they fabulous ?"

"I dunno honey..."

* * *

Sitting outside in the warm Baluba sun, Kyle had just a brief moment to contemplate how incredibly spiky plastic carpeting feels on bare feet, before a large black man with an ear-to-ear smile approached them.

"Hello pretty lady."

"Why hello there! My name is Stephanie. I'm a sulkeke, and this is my cisika, Kyle."

"Then allow me to welcome you to here our island of Baluba! May your stay be a happy and blessed one!"

"Thank you. Thank you very much!"

"At what hotel is sulkeke Stephanie staying ? The Imperial ? The Majestic ?"

"The Princess."

"Oh, the Princess. What a fine choice indeed. May I offer the humble services of my cab, and myself which I am Mustafa, to travel you there ?"

"Why certainly, kind Mustafa." retorted Stephanie, half giggling, trying her best to immitate the booming pomp of the cab driver to his manifest approval.

After lugging the luggage in the boot that Mustafa serviably opened for him, seated safely in the back seat Kyle attempted to get his bearings.

"What did you say to him ?"

"The hotel name ?"

"No before that. Ukulele or something."

"Oh. Just some local words."

"What do they mean ?"

"You know, foreign tourists."

"Both ?"

"Well, one for male, one for female."

"They seemed awful different..."

"It's a complicated language."

Minutes later they were barreling down a recently built highway towards town, and a few more minutes later they were pulling into the parkway of a cosy little boutique hotel.

While the driver Stephanie and the hotel employee in charge of cabs - apparently in Baluba the hotel pays for your cabfare from the airport - chatted happily, Kyle dragged their luggage into the hotel lobby and made towards the reception desk.

"I have a reservation..." he started, but then hesitantly tapered off. The receptionist was reading a newspaper, entirely uninterested in him.

"Hello ?"

"Yes ?" answered the man, finally deigning to raise his eyes and notice Kyle.

"I have a re..."

"Are you by yourself ?" came the retort, curtly.

"No... I am with my wife... I mean you know, seleke."

"Sulkeke ?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Then be a good boy and go stand with the luggage until your mistress has time for you."

"She's not my mistress! She's my wife!" started Kyle emphatically. But then, confronted with the receptionist's cold disinterest he just wandered off and stood around their little pile of luggage he had just carried inside. Eventually Stephanie came in, waved at Kyle and went over to the reception desk. The receptionist was suddenly very amiable and handed her the keys after some brief formality just as Kyle was bouncing over.

"That man is not very friendly", he whispered just as Stephanie was turning.

"That's nice, dear. Now run along outside and tell Mustafa we're in room 521, then run upstairs with the bags. Wait for me there when you're done, I'll be right with you."

Kyle looked at her in disbelief, but then nodded and proceeded towards the parkway.

* * *

"Where were you! I've been waiting for you for half an hour!" he blurted, standing up just as Stephanie entered room 521.

"Now listen to me Kyle. That's no way to talk, or behave. We're here to relax and have a good time, and you have to do your part."

"Ah... yes you're right Stephanie. Sorry about that. I'll definitely make an effort."

"Great!"

"Check this out, by the way. Have you seen a stranger bed ?"

Kyle had a point. The only bed in the room, a very comfortable-looking king size, was significantly higher than beds usually are - about three feet or so altogether, with tick shiny brass bars surrounding it.

"Oh, the bed huh ? Are you ready to step out of your cock cage for a moment, is that it ?" she asked giving him a sly look.

"Definitely!"

"Well I'm not." Kyle looked at her dumbfounded. "Not yet at any rate."

"Oh ?"

"First, there are some rules we have to go through."

"What do you mean, rules ? You came up with rules ?"

"Well, yes and no. They're house rules, so to speak. First of all, you may not go anywhere without me. You can't leave the hotel room without me. If I'm not with you, you must wait here for me. And if we become separated at any point or for whatever reason, you must come here and wait for me until I come get you. You understand this ?"

"Wow."

"Yeah. It gets better. Here, let's put your tag on."

Stephanie wrapped a thickish plastic collar around Kyle's neck without any opposition.

"It says your serial number right here. It also has a RFID chip, like in supermarkets, you know ? It has blinking leds so you can always be seen in the dark. But I can turn them off with this remote. And look, it makes it beep, also."

"Oh my god!"

"Yeah, you're my little special cisika and we wouldn't want you to get lost or anything."

"Get lost ?"

"Yes. There's the second day scare. You'll see."

"What do those words mean ?"

"Which words ?"

"Sluteke and ciska."

"It's sulkeke, and cisika."

"Okay."

"Repeat after me. Sul-ke-ke."

"Sulkeke."

"And - ci-si-ka."

"Cisika."

"That's right."

"But what does it mean ?"

"Cisika ? It just means a good boy. Like yourself, Kyle."

"And sulkeke is an incredibly hot and sexy woman that's married to a cisika ?"

"Quite exactly!"

"There's more to it than just this, isn't there ?"

"Of course."

"Will you tell me ?"

"But Kyle... would you want to ruin the surprise ?"

"There's going to be a surprise ?"

"Oh, honey. So. Very. Many. Surprises."

"This trip has been nothing but one huge surprise."

"I know, right ? I had no idea you can actually hold back for six whole hours!"

"Me neither, honestly."

"There's more to it than just that, isn't there ?"

Kyle looked into the face of his wife, that same everyday face he was so used to before, that was so incredibly fascinating now. He could get lost into her eyes forever. Eventually he snapped out of it, sharp realisation coiling his innards.

"Yes, honey. Yes there is. There's a whole lot more to it than just that. It was the best time I ever had in my entire life!" he exploded with childish honesty and unbridled enthusiasm.

"Aren't you glad we came on this trip ?"

"Yes I am. And I love you very, very much."

"I love you too, honey!"

"Oh, about that."

"Uh oh."

Stephanie nearly broke out laughing. They giggled together for a little bit. Uh-oh was right, wasn't it.

"Let's finish up with the rules. So, you may not leave, and if by yourself you must come here and stay here."

"Check."

"You are not to talk to anyone. If someone wants to talk to you, point them to me or show them your tag if I'm not around. You are to speak when spoken to by people I allow and then only. Got it ?"

"Got it."

"Now about the bed... come, let me show you something."

Stephanie pushed a button on her remote, and a magnetic lock released, allowing her to open a three feet section of the previously solid brass railing.

"Now crawl in there."

Much to Kyle's surprise, there was ample crawl space under the bed. There were also various cuffs connected with solid chains to the brass structure. It didn't look good.

"Now turn around on your back."

To Kyle's complete and unmitigated awe, the entire bottom of the bed was covered in lcd pannels. One push from Stephanie's remote brought them all to life : cameras from dozens of different angles, all trained on the bed.

"If you click the button on any panel, it makes that camera zoom to the entire bed, check it out."

Indeed it did. Kyle was at difficulty collecting his words, or for that matter his thoughts.

"What... what is this for ?"

"So you can watch me, baby."

"So I can watch you ?! Watch you doing what ?!"

"So you can watch me making our baby, honey."

Kyle just lay there, on the floor of his vacation prison, dumbstruck. So he can watch her making their baby. What a thought.

"This thing isn't ever coming off, is it ?"

"What thing, honey ?"

"My... my penis... cage."

"Of course it will. For one thing you have to take it off and wash properly ever so often."

"Yes, but I mean..."

"You mean for sex ?"

"Yeah..."

"Oh baby, here's the thing. Your penis is very small." Kyle sighed. "I know, I know, you've always known this, and always wondered what I thought about it, but never knew how to bring it up and so on. Well - no need to worry about it any longer. It is very small. I know it, you know it, you know I know it, we've said it, the cat is out of the bag. You have a very small penis."

"But... it... it's not really that small."

"It is."

"Oh."

"It also isn't the end of the world. Everything has its advantages and its disadvantages, right ?"

"I guess."

"So, if you had a really large penis, it wouldn't even fit into that thimble you're swinging around in over there. It most definitely wouldn't look good. But with a very small penis like yours, the cock cage looks quite fetching."

"Uh..."

"Really, your dicklet looks a lot better with the full metal jacket than without, don't you think so ?"

"Kinda... yeah."

"Besides, there are many other ways to enjoy each other, besides the one thing you're not very adequately equipped for, you know ?"

"Like what ?"

"Let's do this : I'll let you out of your room, you go to the bathroom, shower, wash your feet well, draw a nice bath for me, and then I'll give you an example."

"Will it involve taking the cage off too ?"

"Sure."

* * *

Kyle scraped the street grime off his feet until it was all gone, then drew Stephanie's bath and called for her. As she came in, dressed in sexy lingerie and a see through, vaporous dressing gown above he was struck. She was beautiful, by very far more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. A princess, a goddess, perfect in every way.

She held a key in her hand, and Kyle felt pure, unadulterated excitement wash all over his body. The key! The key!

As she sunk into the water she produced a red contraption.

"Do you know what this is ?"

"N...uh. No."

"It's a prostate scraper. I'm going to hold it by this, and this part will go inside of you, and rub your prostate."

"Uh."

She undid his lock, and freed his modest manhood.

"Ohhh."

"Now come over and lie on me. That's right baby. Do not touch your wee wee, put your hands on my shoulders. That's right. Now open up."

"Oh!"

Stephanie delicately cupped and rubbed his still minthy balls with one hand, while slowly and methodically rubbing the rubber toy against his insides. Kyle lasted for less than a minute before spurting into the water.

"Ohhh!"

"Yeah ?"

"Oh Stephanie. That was... that was..."

"Mmm ?"

"Wonderful! Oh my god. That was so good. Thank you honey. Thank you. Thank you."

"But wait, honey. You're not done yet. You will have to go again."

"Oh ?!"

"Yeah. Definitely. At least three times."

"Oh! Please, yes, please please. Do it to me again."

"Sure baby. But it has to start slow at first, hang on."

Soon thereafter, Kyle was spurting again, bucking and kicking like electrocuted.

"You are so cute."

"Oh Stephanie. How many times can we do this ?"

"As many as you want, baby. At least three, but, after that as many as you want."

"Oh honey I love you so much!"

"Just say when you can't take it any longer and I'll lock you back up."

"Mmmmm-hmmmm."

Kyle managed seven times over the course of about an hour and a half, even if the last three produced absolutely no discernible output, just spasms. Coincidentally this is also how many times Stephanie and Kyle did it that whole year.

"You see baby, the cisika life isn't all bad."

"This is never coming off, is it."

"Well certainly not now."

"No, I mean, ever. You won't take it off even when we're back home, are you."

"I don't think I will, no."

"Promise me."

"See ? I knew you wouldn't want to have it off anyway."

"And what if I did ?"

"Maybe it would have made a difference."

"Really ?"

"No. Now go to bed, baby."

"You mean bed-bed or cisika-bed ?"

"Cisika-bed. You're well spent and I need my beauty sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."

"Yes Mistress."

"Has quite a ring to it, huh ? Say it again."

"Yes Mistress. I love you Mistress."

"Lovely. And put those earplugs on, they have educational material that will help you a lot. Best thing to listen to it while you sleep."

« Superficial UsTardian Onanism (SUTO)

Industria Argentina, or my life among the tribal savages. »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Thursday, 08 September, Year 8 d.Tr.

Wargames

Wargamesi is an excellent film.

One of the strangest things about it is the incomprehensible duality of the script. On one hand, the teenager themes are superbly written in general, but especially so for the girl. What Ally Sheedy says, does and thinks as Jennifer is exactly, to a very fine point, what the teenaged middle class Jennifer would say, do and think. Such a fine reconstitution of reality in art is always satisfying, and always a point of justifiable pride for the creator. Her name would even be Jennifer, come to think of it.

On the other hand, the military themes are horribly, ghastly fucked up. None of the dialogue works, none of those people would say or do what they're depicted to say and do (there doesn't seem to be all that much thinking involved at all). That whole part looks like some B movie gave it to them.

Yet notwithstanding Lasker & Parkes' apparent intimate familiarity with teenager subculture framed by an apparent unfamiliarity with military subculture, the narrative tension builds. Viscerally, credibly. Engrossingly. Take the key scene, where the Imperial expert is trying to figure out the Republican kid, with the result that they each spook the otherii thus echoing the larger but equal problems the film aims to discuss. There's exactly nothing different in how military escalation works in practice.

The brief appearance by John Wood is cinematographically successful, what with his strange, crazy or just alien face lit by background lighting, what with his incredibly soft, incredibly reasonable "do the world a favour and don't act like one" open, plain, clear and unassailable invitation to corruption. It certainly seems like one of the best moments of US cinema.

The machine even is elegantly rescued in the only way available : it did manage to get the codes, but it decided, by itself and on its own, to not use them. Humanizing the AI might be silly, but when the alternative is villifying technology it suddenly becomes the perfect move. Because contrary to what white knights are taught as part of their castration ceremonies, perfection is not actually the absence of all things their myopia might identify as defects but something else. Something entirely, substantially else.

Much to his credit, John Badham tries his darndest to get as much tit as possible out there. Sheedy is never really naked, but then again given her age, the little actually seen is entirely successful and - more importantly - entirely adequate. That the teenaged whiz kid would feel her adolescentine blouses as a case of life and death, much like swimming, of instance, is perfectly understandable and makes perfect sense.

The treatment of technology in its practical aspects is also very good, and certainly much above the Hollywood stock in trade. Yes there's a spuriously blinkenlicthen-clad sarcophagus with logos painted on it etc, but that part gets readily excused as "the military" nonsense. The way in which subversion of computing system works in the practice of the film however is very exactly and very correctly reflective of reality - some guy who wrote the code left himself a backdoor, some strange quirk of personality allows human community to flower over the widest chasms, all that good stuff from a subculture whose history wasn't exactly written yet back in 1983.

You must see this thing - in the very unlikely case you haven't already.

———1983, by John Badham, with Matthew Broderick, Ally Sheedy, John Wood. [↩]The Imperial points out that he knows the Republican had reservations for a flight to Paris for two, which is true. It is also a faux pas of colossal proportions, in that the reservations were idle horseplay trying to impress a girl, but the Republican perceives (perhaps wrongly) he won't be able to convince the Imperial of this, so he reacts defensively (by asking for a lawyer) which the Imperial interprets as an evident sign of his worst fears being concretely correct.

It is because of this, incidentally, that you can't have good, wholesome, ethical, noble, principled squares doing serious negotiations but instead are stuck forever relying on the fundamentally corrupt, untrustworthy, tainted debauch : the predictable idiot is going to fuck everything up with the best of intentions, which is in any and all worlds a worse outcome than being at the mercy of the whims of the actually capable. As people wiser than you long ago observed, coruptia nu va putea fi niciodata eliminata. [↩]

« The Butt Injectors

If a family by the name Broderick had a son an' they named him Roderick could he in turn, without concern, eschew naming his daughter Limerick ? »

Category: Trilematograf

Wednesday, 19 October, Year 8 d.Tr.

Views through a lens

Quoth the curious :

BingoBoingo speaking of coolies mod6, asciilifeform et al: anyone ever use a hexbit drill chuck to make holes using an impact driver?

Quoth MP :

Moving on,

You have no idea what that is ? Why, let's zoom in!

That's right. La Salette Highest College. Because "Argentina no es un pais pobre, es un pais muy rico en recursos naturales y humanos, never forget. And Buenos Aires has a night life, notwithstanding it lacks any clubs. And other myths of the "soberania nacional" fart flavour.

Oh, you're too old to get into this infantile Pokemon Go "enchanced reality" nonsense ? Fine. But are you ready to receive your quest ?

Your quest is to find nine parrots!

They absolutely love those tree balls whatever they are.

And in closing :

Yeah, that's right : the orphaned products of a dead line, surviving through the surrender of their everything in exchange for toleration under the roof and at the table of a virile lord actually have a union in Buenos Aires. As if the capitalistic notions of labour for hire are in any way involved in that resocialization process. As if anyone would ever hire a maid that thinks herself an independent employee. As if, as fucking if.

« Tangerine

Petty private satisfactions »

Category: Zsilnic

Friday, 22 July, Year 8 d.Tr.

Views from a place.

This was an absolutely fabulously wonderfully excellent steak, the sort that I go to special places for in the special place of steak mastery also known as Buenos Aires. I obtained it by stopping in a random cafe and asking for bife al chorizo, which is a thing. Yum!

One doesn't really grok just how utterly ruined for human habitation the Northern hemisphere finds itself until one sees the ubiquitous butterflies here, in the city. Which catalizes the realisation that yes, he used to see them there, also - in childhood. But not really hence, no. Then one remembers that butterflies are some of the insects most sensitive to pollution, and as that same one lays on his back contemplating the sky, strangely evocative of the same childhood... one suddenly realises it's because its shade of blue is not the least bit gray.

You're fucked, you know. And your children, should they exist, will have three heads. And you'll think nothing of it, and neither will they. Thrice.

Huge, soft, white flowers, the largest I've ever seen, and such a strange buttery color...

The four are Fidel Castroni, Louis Armstrong, Julio Cortazar and a TV derp whose name I forget. Cona something or the other.

"It's only funny until someone loses a nipple!"

———Castron is "bowl" in Romanian, and much funnier than the original. So there. [↩]

« Gangs of New York

E pericoloso sporgersi »

Category: Zsilnic

Tuesday, 15 March, Year 8 d.Tr.

Vasile, c'est tout.

« Multivariate calculus for experts

Double Indemnity »

Category: Zsilnic

Tuesday, 10 May, Year 8 d.Tr.

Valmont

Valmonti is a much better film than its better known mass market competitorii. For one thing, the costumes and scenography are outright exquisite, and respectful of historic detail and historical coherence rather than the usual "some midwestern college kids put sheets on their heads and are now romans & countrymen" Hollywood fare. More importantly, the general conception as well as the various details follow sense rather than hallucination - you can see how a nobleman of that time would be saying those things and doing those things. It holds together quite well intellectually, which is an extremely rare feat.

Annette Benning plays female insanity to utter perfection, and this role clearly proves she was muchly underrated during her lifeiii. She is much, much better than Glenn Close in the mass market bastardization, not merely because her role is a lot better written, but also because she is in point of fact a much better actress. Bonus points for the debunking of the UStard treatment of familiar rape - where Close screams like a crazed boar, Benning merely lies in bed wet. Films aren't, after all, about showing you what you wish to see, leaving aside how they're not about showing you what a horde of ruminants wishes you to see.

Fairuza Balk as a delicious ingenue aged 12 works a lot better than Fairuza Balk as a sex crazed she-monster in American History X. While some could think 16 yo Uma Crookedtoeman makes a better virginal maiden, those some would be very much mistaken - for one thing, what exactly does Malkovich do to her ? Think back, what, specifically, do you see him doing ? So then...

Meg Tilly is pretty good on the grounds of not having to speak too much - obviously Michelle Pfeiffer was much better but then again they had to write that entire contrivance of a role for her, talk about wasted talent. The film actually works a lot better with Meg Tilly kept silent, much like a car works better without an attached xylophone, no matter how good the instrument may be in a more adequate context.

Colin Firth is incredibly bad. Very very bad and filthy miserable. I do not think ever such a bad actor was given a role, or an actor ever played his role this badly, the man belongs in a suspenders commercial or something of that nature. Please no more films with Colin Firth in them.

Altogether worth seeing - if you have to pick one of Valmont or Dangerous Liaisons I'd say pick this one. Or else do what I did - see both, understand a little more about the necessary failure definitionally contained in the american dream.

———1989, by Milos Forman, with Annette Bening, Meg Tilly, Fairuza Balk and unfortunately Colin Firth. [↩]Dangerous Liaisons. [↩]Not that it'd be the first time. [↩]

« Turkish Delight

Eulora auction, February the 28th »

Category: Trilematograf

Sunday, 21 February, Year 8 d.Tr.

Vacation

Vacationi is very much an Americana product : salty, glutamate-rich, delicious pink goop covering some very dark, not all that deep secrets.

The humour's done right, after a fashion, in the sense that yes it's all coming out of left field. Like for instance that time when they found the "true" hot springs, and figured out hydrogen sulfide is very good for you and all those minerals suck teh toxins right out of one's body, right in an open air cesspool. Obviously this isn't how it actually works, none of it, but the shock was there, viscerally, and so we were amused and entertained. Can't say we weren't. Organically amused ; functionally entertained. As lifeless a mechanism as one could ever conceive - congrats, you've found America. It... worksii, after a fashion.

Yet under all this seemingly satisfactory packaging lurks the dark truth of the matter. The nominal hero of this movie is a deeply incompent male, exuberantly whiny, militantly ignorantiii and plenty stubborn. The woman even challenges him about it, in no uncertain terms : "you suck", she says, "you've got nothing", she says, "and you can't even admit it". She's right. He can't. This belated confrontation of his very narrow limits finally sends the hero (of a travel story!) on a venture to find himself, three quarters in. This is how long it took to finally get him to move his ass out of his wife's bed/mother's skirts. That trip comes to an abrupt end two minutes!!11 later. That's how long he has. After which it's all suddenly fixed and better and whatever.

The sad truth of the matter is that the ustard male inverses the story of his revered antecessors. If a century ago the youth, inept like all youths, stubborn like all youths, took a whole two minutes to start on his journey of exploration and then proceeded to actually journey for an hour and a half, the manchild of "modern democracy" takes about an hour to finally, grudgingly, angrily proceed to travel for a whole two minutes before the story rapidly folds as if this horror of horrors, the fucking trip, is so scary it can't even be contemplated, just a glimpse suffices and should be immediately forgotten.

Ironically enough, Christina Applegate is still living in Married With Children. There's even a "family fight" here, just like back in the good days, late 80s, before the Internet was a thing, back when America perhaps still had a chance. She is, just like her mother then, deeply devoted to a loser for no discernible reason, easygoing and free, altogether a rather pleasant sortiv. She confronts her own historyv without much ado once one of them bitchez disrespects which ain't right, gets trampled by said history and that's that, moves on - for any definition of "moving on" that reduces to "comes to terms with her marriage captivity as well as the captor".

But at least we laughed, I guess.

———2015, by some TV derps, with Christina Applegate. [↩]Used to, at any rate. [↩]Kid asks him to explain what a rimjob is. This is obviously a trap - any teenager asking you to explain obscure sexual terminology is DEFINITELY in the know about it - that's what the Internet is for, after all.

Nevertheless, the derp proceeds to... guess. That's right, on the strength of his confessed 3-person sexual experience (which he had to work hard for), he feels confident enough to venture a guess. What, would it be possible that the entire world doth not lie reflected in the best possible parochy of all parochies, where he happens to live ? He, much like a certain sort of imbecile that's pretty much all literate America these days, imagines himself equipped enough to do all the heavy lifting involved here.

By way of verification, he proffers "what could it mean, right". That's what he's got. That's what it means to be militantly ignorant - he "figures it out". What could it possibly mean, after all! Is he not human ? Is not all humanity captured, captive inside his minor horizon ? Isn't he equal to each and all and pars pro toto as human as we could ever get ? So then! [↩]Although laughing at how she does nothing useful around the house went out of fashion - doing nothing useful around the house did not. Because how would it. [↩]Amusingly enough, the very scandalous "Debbie Do Anything", that (like any healthy, well bred European girl) would show her tits to anyone who asked, the fabled and famed sorority slut turns out to have had sex with... thirty people. That's the ustardian limit of "inconceivably many".

It brought a chuckle, of course, given the abundance of girls with which we've had sex with that many girls as a pair, but no, the "what's the maximum number of simultaneous partners" isn't a conceivable point of consideration in ustarism ; nor is the simple judgement that if you're neither ugly nor annoying, and go out every Saturday night while in the age range (ie, 15 to 30 let's say for numeric simplicity) and then get picked up and laid you're looking at 15 * 52 = 780 partners before meeting Dante's own Silvia Selvaggia. And if you don't go out you're a bore, and if you do go out but don't get picked up you're either ugly, fat, obnoxious or all three together. Seriously, you spent three hours being hit on about once a minute and in those 180 come-ons you found nothing of interest ? Your filter works so well it rejects more than 99% of all proponents ? Just how well does this filter work then ?

The absolute minimum for even county-level slut championship is three digits ; and we're not discussing state or college level here, let alone the all-time, record setting champ that seems to be intimated. Debbie Do Anything is required to fuck thirty people in one sitting as a qualifying warm-up, and before you ask yes I knew girls that did that sort of thing - the designated whore of a gaming coven or hunting party, as well as the official party favour is exactly this. And no, it leaves no traces. For all you know she could be your mother - and if you're from Europe and your mother's hot, she probably is!

Speaking of which : how hot was your grandmother, back in the day ? [↩]

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House of Strangers »

Category: Trilematograf

Thursday, 19 May, Year 8 d.Tr.