Appassionata

Appassionatai fragmentarilyii reunites a smoking hot 18yo Ornella Muti with a strangely face-shaped 20 yo Eleonora Giorgi and Gianluigi Calderone's shockingly inept writing. The general idea is to commercially exploit teenage female sexuality ; it comes at a time youth worship was moving from its purely Nazi nest into the mainstream of Rosoiii symbology.

Paring off the tedium of hamhandedly impossibleiv and generally nonsensical dialoguev, here's a suck by suck :

The blondy friend of the daughtervi forces herself (sexually!) upon an unexpecting and unprepared adult male. Cuz this is how sexuate accuplation works now, a sixty pound girly can totally rape a hundred kilogram dentist. And then she'll foutra le camp as they say in the language of love, leaving the poor guy standing there with his mouth agape. It was all because of anesthetic hysteria, dontcha know.vii

The act unbalances the father (who is conveniently paired with a very weak female). He proceeds to eavesdrop on the phone conversations of his daughter, because that's what sexually frustrated males do, totally, they sit around and fret like women. Yet notwithstanding his very female metabolisation of his own sexual pulsion, the male gives chase upon hearing scandalous things (tm) on a highschooler's phone line (imagine this!!!), breaks (somehow, effortlessly) through the bathroom door, and tears off her blouse. You get to see Muti's... dubiousviii rack in the process, and then they hug incestuously and he takes her to bed, where he tells her about his wife's youth in apparently complete oblivion. She gets pissy and kicks him out.

There's a flight-of-fancy scene where a nude Georgi irritates a dog through sexual exposure. That this isn't how either exposure, dreams or dogs work is no concern to the idiot at the helm.

Finally, to crown this work of nonsense, two teenagers conspire to have the daughter furtively and secretly fuck the father, in a highly contrived, elaborately engineered set-up specifically (and transparently) designed to assuage the adult's own hang-ups. Because totally, that's what the teenager's internal life is entirely for and about, catering to the psychogenic needs of the adult. Didn't you know ?!

To say that nothing in this movie makes any sense whatsoever would be to insult nothing. There is certainly no passion involved to any degree in the whole hot mess, nor really much of anything else.ix

A most regrettable waste of some young hussies' evident disponibility.

———1974, by Gianluigi Calderone, with Ornella Muti, Eleonora Giorgi [↩]Bits and pieces of the original director's cut are lost to time ; the later bowdlerized versions survive in somewhat better shape. [↩]If national-sozialismus can be Nazi for short, why shouldn't Lincoln-Roosevelt socialism be Roso for short ? This paves the way for Stalin bureaucratism being called Stabu and we're done! [↩]The discussion between two supposed dentists as to a point of their trade (anesthetic effects) flows in the manner of Days of our lives, replete with "why the sudden interest" and other such excrements of auctorial overbear. [↩]The only people who talk like these people I ever encountered inhabited bad fanfic rather than planet Earth. [↩]You've seen American Beauty, yes ? Thora Bitch, same idea. [↩]There is some substance to this, in that some anesthetics (notably, not novocaine) will play approximately the role of alcohol, which is to say somewhat downregulate inhibition and repressive cortical nonsense. In badly mangled societies this may result in initiation of sexual congress that wouldn't have otherwise occurred, but it's a long shot and moreover, the whole thing is abused in (bad) fiction exactly in the manner of the "laser pistol", a similarily maybe-conceivable futuristic weapon became a sort of science-fiction standard. There is no reason for this other than her cunt permanently itching (which permanently doesn't show). [↩]She's got ok tits, I guess. For the age, anyway. Most teenagers have weird looking, strangely grown boobs and this one's no exception. [↩]No, not even tittilation. Much higher quality pornography can be had cheaper and in copious amounts otherwise. [↩]

« Il coccodrillo amico dell'uomo

The final gasp : Two for the money »

Category: Trilematograf

Tuesday, 31 October, Year 9 d.Tr.

Antique Retrocinations

First, there was a song by Bob Dylan :

When you're sad and lonely and you haven't got a friend just remember that death is not the end. And all that you held sacred falls down and does not bend, just remember that death is not the end.i Not the end, not the end, just remember that death is not the end.

When you're standing at the cross-roads that you cannot comprehend just remember that death is not the end. And all your dreams have vanished and you don't know what's up the bend, just remember that death is not the end. Not the end, not the end, just remember that death is not the end.

When storm clouds gather round you and heavy rains descend just remember that death is not the end. And there's nowhere there to comfort you with a helping hand to lend, just remember that death is not the end. Not the end, not the end, just remember that death is not the end.

Oh the tree of life is growing where the spirit never dies and the bright light of salvation shines in dark and empty skies. When the cities are on fire when the burning flesh of men just remember that death is not the end. And you search in vain to find just one law abiding citizen just remember that death is not the end. Not the end, not the end, Just remember that death is not the end.

This was then translated into Romanian sometime during the 80sii :

Cind necazuri te doboara si prieteni n-ai sa-i strigi tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici. Si ce slaveai in taina e asa cum nu-ti explici tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici. Nu-i aici, nu, nu-i aici, nu, tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici.

Cind oprit la o rascruce drumul nu stii sa-l prezici tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici. Cind nu mai ai nici vise si nu stii cum sa te ridici tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici. Nu-i aici, nu, nu-i aici, nu. Tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici.

Cind s-aduna norii negri, ploaia cade ca un brici, tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici. Mingiiere n-ai, nu vezi acum miini intinse de amici... tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici. Nu-i aici, nu, nu-i aici, nu. Tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici

Pomul vietii creste mindru unde spiritul e viu. Lumineaza iar salvarea cerul gol si cenusiu. Cind orasele-s in flacari, musunoaie de furnici, tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici. Si cind cauti in zadar un om printr-atitea mii de venetici tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici. Nu-i aici, nu, nu-i aici, nu, tine minte, sfirsitul nu-i aici.

And now let's put it back to English :

When misfortune overwhelms and you've no friends to call upon keep in mind, the end's not here. When what you secretly worshiped in private becomes something you can't begin to even, keep in mind, the end's not yet. Not here, no, not yet, no, keep it in mind, it's still not the end.

When stopped at the crossroads your own way you can't predict, keep in mind, the end's not here. When you've no dreams left and no idea how to stand again, keep in mind, the end's not here. Not here, no, not yet, no, keep it in mind, it's still not the end.

When dark clouds rain straight razors, keep in mind, the end's not here. Solace absent, a friendly hand unknown, keep in mind, the end's not here. Not here, no, not yet, no, keep it in mind, it's still not the end.

The tree of life grows proudly where the spirit's alive, salvation lights up again the empty, gray skies. When towns are aflame, so many anthills, keep it in mind, the end's not here. When you pointlessly seek a human among untold thousands immigrantsiii, remember, the end's not here. Not here, no, not yet, no, keep it in mind, it's still not the end.

Now then. Quite the trip words take through the minds of men, isn't it. Not quite the same trip as artificial "intelligence" provides, is it.

———EVERY. SINGLE. "source" on the internet (which really means, ONE SINGLE piece of idiocy copied mindlessly a billion times) gives this line as "all that you hell sacred falls down and dows not bend". Are you fucking kidding me ?

The Internet makes you stupid. ZERO philology/polilogy as to what the fuck "dows" may be and why exactly "hell" replaced held and so on. Just "the way it is", "consensus", "normalcy" and my undying hope that the "terrorists" rape and then burn alive every last one of you. [↩]By the West-oriented "rockers", which is... well, not exactly a thing of its own. Or if it ever might have been, it certainly never actually came to it. [↩]Venetic literally means, one who has come. Because, you know, the man who goes and the man who comes -- they're not the same one. [↩]

« Google Ycombinates also!

Late to the party. As usual. »

Category: Meta psihoza

Monday, 16 January, Year 9 d.Tr.

And the Sun sets over the Pacific

I went to the beach, and for merits graciously permitted a young harlot to accompany. Aren't I kind ?

She had to go barefoot, which should explain the prints. Aren't I lightfooted ?

The other one was in heels. Yes, on the beach. Problem ?

We ended up in Jaco, eventually, but before that we stopped at a little known beach that I'm not going to publicize by name because there are never a whole half dozen people there and I don't mind this situation one bit. Here it is :

Now, this little beach had... little hermit crabs! Like so :

They come out if you bother them, almost all the way in fact, exposing their ridiculous orange globular eyes on their milimeter long stalks, and generally their hairy self.

They'd really much prefer to be left alone, though. If they are, now and again they'll take their peanut-sized shell for a derpy perambulation, because shells totally lumber unwieldily like that on the beach!

Other than minuscule hermit crabs, the elusivei beach also hosts tiny spider crabs!

Can you spot him in there ?

How about this other guy :

Anyway, an easier shot is also available :

Alongside the truly tiny crabs, there's evolutionarily-evidently very tiny sand pipers (at least I think that's what these guys are) :

I must confess this was my first time observing live crabs in their natural habitat. Also my first time at the Pacific coast, for that matter, as it turns out I am still capable of first times.

Then we got to Jaco, which is a "large"ii seaside resort. The locals tend to badmouth it, but that is strictly because the locals aren't very bright, certainly not bright enough to have over the many centuries found their way out of the paper bag of matriarchate. The occasional prostitute one might encounter there now and again terribly threatens the mule & stramule and their firmly glued-on panties and so... Jaco is dirty dontcha know.

But let's get back to what interests us : the little cancers eating the Pacific beach! Can you spot him ?

Ok, let's try an easier one then.

And with that, the Sun's ready to set on the Pacific.

And now that the Sun has set, we're set to start the second part of our journey. The Hotel Del Rey of Jaco is the Frogs Bar with its Cocaliii Casino. The bar itself is a square Spanish style courtyard with a pool in the middle, approximately speaking a scaled up version of my Nicaraguan residence. All around there's modest rooms, inside which the rather unattractive working girls work their charms such as they are.

There's a lot of them, and they're all manifestly subnormal. They huddle around, standing, clad in cheap, not particularily flattering dresses.iv There's actual pantsuits, literally worn by a few girls, among which this utterly not-even-trying thirty somethingv who had no idea why she's there or what she's doing. One look at her made it plainly obvious to me what exactly her value proposition actually is : bitter UStard speaking no languagesvi looks at her and thinks he sees his dumb US-born first wife, Sophia or Patricia or whatever the fuck it was. She cost him a hundred thousand, two hundred thousand, half a million dollars, the intolerable retard. Well, this one'll cost him fifty bucks, and they're really indistinguishable. If he does this one, he brings down his cost basis average to a more psychologically bearable value. She is basically selling half-off retroactive divorce settlements to bitter old men. She has no fucking idea this is what's going on, which is amusing -- the original she's unwittingly copying didn't have anymore of a clue either.

Now and again one or another, vaguely remembering something in the vein of perhaps what this is all about does 4 bars of sort-of dancing. The Romanians are famously bad dancers among my harem, but the Nicaraguanvii retards pretending to prostitution are horrifyingly worse.

While the girls are at the bar buying drinks one of the braver souls approaches me, to inquire if she can do anything for me. She can't, I say plainly, and for the plain reason. I doubt she actually understands the words, but the rejection makes it through and after pointing out that people don't come there but to look for girls, otherwise there's other barsviii, she proffers that "attitude is important too". Her meaning is that she may not be much to look at (which she isn't), but supposedly her attitude's going to compensate for these minor details. Because someone probably told her at some point something along these lines, principally as a byproduct of trying to explain to himself why exactly is he paying some ugly orc to do what she wanted to do on his dime.ix "She's got personality" is a much better explanation than "I'm not even man enough to power a half-decent mouse", don't you find ?

Anyway, the girls come back with the worst coffee I've ever had in this country, with the standard rum, and with no cenicero. Because there's no smoking there, you see. It's open air enough that I can't lay down on the chaise-lounges, which got rained upon and that's ok, nobody has to do anything about it, they'll dry in their own good time and meanwhile the customer can go blow it out his ass. It's however not open air enough so that the guy with the money at the brothel makes his own fucking holes. What, problem ? They have brothels here where you go to pay for them to do what they were going to do anyway, it's a sort of brothel-bus. Considering what it costs...

The stories do continue. For one thing : the place closes at one. For the other thing : they have no proper glasses but use plastic cups, because "they're poor" and also because of the pool. I don't follow the logic, but that doesn't so much matter either because, get this, "the pool closes at 7pm". It's right there, you understand, and none of three dozen unbearable fuckwits pretending unconvincingly to prostitution are IN the water. Because "it's closed". Just like the sour cabagge jar substituting for their brainbox.

So we blow the joint, move over into the casino, which is as sad an affair as you might expect, a coupla dozen old Apple boxes for the morons of a different generation (seriously now, what do you think is the difference between an iPad, a Mac and a pinball machine ?) and a few tables. Roulette, because someone still plays that at a retirement home for the degenerately deathless in Wisconsin somewhere. Blackjack also, and you know, Tute. Which is how you say dumb women in Romanian, and I have come to believe it's for a very good reason.

Then we move on to "Centerfold's", practically speaking the only strip joint in town. The reason for the possessive is never explained, but a poster at the top of the stairs welcomes us to paradise. The paradise consists of comfortable seating, reasonably overpriced liquorx and the same inept "stripping" as on display everywhere else in this sad republic of the tupperware tubs and tublets. Yes they go bare cunt, but no they're not the sort of women you'd particularily want to see naked in the first place and no they don't do anything even vaguely interesting with it in any case. Every gynecologist and most general practitioners in Costa Rica get about a dozen of these "strip shows" each day through the natural course of their profession. If I were interested in that, I'd have just taken medical school, neh ? Then again, I remember being about ten years old when I first figured that this "Paradise" thing sounds a lot more like being put to pasture than anything, possibly the ideal future of say a goat at the most, but otherwise deathly boring.

The only place in Jaco that's not terrible is this sushi joint up on the second floor of the mall that anchors the further side of the town. Other than that... the people don't add anything. Seriously now, if the whole population took a long walk off a short pier there'd be no notable degradation in the quality of Jaco. We had food in an icebox in the trunk of the car, you understand me ?

~ Fin ~

———No kidding, we came back to it after midnight, for a Romeo&Juliet (for me) and shorter, thinner clavo de olor cigarillos for the hos + nudity & assorted proceedings. It took three passes back and forth over a length of about 20 kilometers before we finally found the right hole. [↩]By local standards ; in the rest of the world it'd be a negligibly tiny pocket. [↩]The Romanian reader will no doubt smile. Let him, because indeed, there's a Cocal for the local cocalari. Maybe they all come from here ? [↩]They're not wearing jeans, however, which in this country is already an explosion of style & vehement high couture with delicious pork sausage on the side. [↩]There are lots and lots and lots of 40s and 50s working girls here. Well, "working". The reason is that they're all short and universally waistless on one hand, and very very fucking retarded. If someone's willing to fuck a squat tub with nary enough sense to come out of the rain, what the fuck difference does it make how old she is ? What, that's where he draws the line ? Not bloody likely.

And as to the lack of sense : while I played a few hands of Tute (not like there's anything else to play anyway) the girls watched the comings and goings. All the whores were dumb enough to come in cabs. All of them. And we're talking dozens upon dozens here. Le sigh. [↩]A man walks down the street. It's a street in a strange world. Maybe it's the third world. Maybe it's his first time around. He speaks no languages. He holds no currencies. He is a foreign man. He is surrounded by the sound, the sound of cattle in the marketplace, scatterlings and orphanages. He looks around, around, he sees cheap chinese plaster and cheaper still corrugated sheet metal, and the tubs, the tubs, the little squat tubs with short ugly legs. [↩]They're about 93% Nicas, for whatever reason, such as that the matriarchate there is poor whereas the gringos have rained enough bezzle here for the local cowsies to think themselves "above such things". [↩]Which is patently untrue, incidentally. There aren't other bars in Jaco, it's a terrifying shithole of copy-pasted "bar & grill"s consisting of someone's cramped garage furnished by Down syndrome carpenters in the most uncomfortable manner possible. [↩]If marriage is all about the gal getting the guy to do what he never knew he wanted to do all along, which is to say help her spawn, then local prostitution is definitely very marital. What, you didn't know you wanted to pay some girl to show you what she thinks should be a good time for one such as yourself ? But who wouldn't!!111 [↩]Ten bux or something. [↩]

« The majority of things are build through eggpress

Asphalt Tango, revisited »

Category: La pas prin lume

Monday, 16 October, Year 9 d.Tr.

And now for a special Eulora news bulletin

There's going to be an update Wednesday, the fruition of many months of toil in the depths of the very miserable legacy codebase. Changes of immediate interest to players are likely as follows :

The ECu will float ; meaning that all cash holdings will increase tenfold ; and all qualities of all items idem (and of course the output of such items as the Golden Goose, yes). Henceforth, one Satoshi buys 10 ECu.

As hinted in the channel, Electron will receive a large shipment of Coarse Frangible Threads.

Storage will be found at Heina (Electron has a different storage, you can use either/both).

Overweight is bad news.

Removed 9`999 stack limit, knock yourselves out.

Traffic (packets and KB) is now metered, and in the future will be actually charged.

New characters get a fixed name, and can't be deleted any more among other changes in new character generation.

Merchant can be used to produce change now, among many changes on the trade interface (such as -- can trade containers).

Full names for players everywhere.

Tighter server-side movement controls on characters.

Some various crafting edge cases fixed, and added better signalling of item quality throughout the GUI.

Guilds, friends, and item consumption temporarily offline -- if you want to learn skills do it NOW because you won't be able to do it after Wednesday until we put it back in.

As they say, a dozen should be enough for everyone. See you Wednesday (update at the usual time, shouldn't take more than an hourish or so if all goes well).

« Rhinestone

The mother of all unexpected visits »

Category: S.MG

Monday, 11 September, Year 9 d.Tr.

And don't go around upgrading the Testaments, either.

It can't escape the notice of anyone with two neurons to rub together what sort of rank nonsense that so called "new testament" is ; nor will they encounter much difficulty in guessing exactly how it came to be, and why.

After a long while during which the Torah followers played approximately the role of these days' Afghani, bothering the inventors of mapmaking immensely and constituting the only culture to impress the Romans other than by force of armsii, an interest in "Eastern Wisdom" became fashionable amongst the outskirts of a dying empire, as it is always the case.

This newfound manner of vicarious living produced forthwith a whole legion of anonymous implementations of madam Blavatskyiii, dead set on "improving" the original texts. Bowdlerizing does not do the idiocy justice, it's not sufficiently negative a term by very far. This pictogram would be a better illustration of what happened there :

The wrathful god of the Jews grew up, don't you know, in the manner idle old women imagine this "growing up" goes. He's no longer wrathful, nao. He's got a wife and a child, presumably also a dog, makes mortgage payments "like everyone", presumably clips coupons and is on the lookout for vacation deals and life insurance policies. Besides, properly speaking he's mostly retired, letting some schmuck, putatively "his son" do most of the talking. From ordering Jacob to fuck his own son in the ass to permitting Jesus to scour the very hell -- quite a... modernization ? Evolution ? What is the proper word for this "progress" ?

The edulcoratediv nonsense did catch on splendidly among the stupid poor, of course, which in due time became the very predicate of the whole concoction. It was no longer a case of the god of the Torah, who will deliver your enemies to you, and rain frogs and dismembered sons on Pharoh. It was now the god of the Useless Old Woman, getting you likes and upvotes from rats and cockroaches. Who wouldn't prefer the upboat god to the disembowled-xenomorph god ?!

Me, that's who. Little ol' me.

PS. The Coran is a better... rendition, let's call it, of the Torah than the Christian crap could ever hope to be.

———Place where empires go to die ; look it up. [↩]No, the Greeks did not impress the Romans. As far as the latter were concerned, conquering Hellada was akin to conquering the Frisco bay area, "what the fuck is with all these transvestites and why the fuck do they imagine we'll be giving them free money / buy their '''art'''". That's a direct quote. [↩]For the record, the nonsense of "Theosophism" and related gargle is very much Feminism 0.1. It's not just Blavatsky, either, but a whole laundry list of idle, mentally stunted, tedious old women -- Constance Goergina Louise de Bourbel de Montpincon, Maria de Mariategui, Annie Kingsford (early PETA activist, vegan etcetera -- meritedly obscure for a century but rediscovered recently by her kindred sisters), Anna Ballard, Jennie Owen, Annie Besant (weathergirl for both Fabian Society and Marxist Social Democratic Federation ; then adoptive mother of reluctant Messiah/World Teacher), Emma Hardinge Britten, Emma Coulomb (known for the SCUM manifesto of the 19th century), and so following on and on while patience lasts.

This vein of early feminism is not entirely dead even today, by the way. They're poetesses and whatnot, don't you know. [↩]Old meaning, "washed up". [↩]

« S-a furat mireasa

My new bitch yellow ; her mom played da cello. »

Category: Cocietate si Sultura

Saturday, 27 May, Year 9 d.Tr.

An Alan Smithee Film : Burn Hollywood Burn

I ended up watching Burn Hollywood Burni through its inclusion in a "worst films ever made" list of dubious provenance.ii This only goes to show what a fabulous counter-predictor "public opinion" aka fecal matter actually is -- the film is nothing short of fabulous.iii

The documentary style works exceptionally well for the purpose, because it allows luxurious indirect characterisation, a celebration of the comedic as well as enjoyment potential of diversity the likes of which are rarely seen plus ample space to fill every nook and cranny with visual gags. In fact, it would be correct to say that the documentary style is only adequate for this purpose and none other -- whether you allow nature itself to provide the tropical abundance of indirect characterisation, bedazzling variety and avalanche of visual gags as in a "real" documentary or you construct them deliberately as in "news" programming or this exceptional comedy is entirely irrelevant.

The script is the worst part of the film. It's the 90s, so people still seriously think blacks may in principle be as good as whites, ridiculous as the notion may appear in light of human history. Even more comedically golden, the selfsame people imagine that the manner through which blacks may end up actually being as good as whites is through writing "liar" and "scumbag" on the profile of the white men in power but "cool" and "dude" on the profile of a coupla monkeys lost on the set. That'll make it true! Fight the oppressionarchy!!1

Twenty years later, the experience of an inept monkey posturing as a "constitutional law scholar" on the dubious credentials of breaking the law on occasion having taken the country through the worst presidential term in its recorded history has thrown enough cold water on the idiocy to sink the Titanic. It hopefully put the nonsense to bed permanently, but in any case makes it ring hollow right now. Really, da Cussack-American brothers brothers cavalryiv charge sets things right ? Nigga... puhleeze.

The cast is also not up to the task. Ex-Monty Python brainz Idle barely makes the cut. Barely. Richard Jeni is a shockingly unconvincing Rod Steigerv. Ryan O'Neal manages to be even more wooden than Alec Baldwin would have been in the role. Stiff, unexamined, inept privilege is just about all the US has produced in its brief but irrelevant cultural history, how the fuck is it that the USian has yet to be born who can play it for the camera ? A mystery for the ages, I guess, although in the plain statement above suddenly also very self-explanatory. The waitress trying to play Madonna sucks at playing Madonna. On it goes.

The film is great. A better audience, cast, and team of writers would have benefitted it greatly ; but even the spherical chickens involved do not manage to ruin it.

And oh my gawds the Variety insider gags just keep on coming and coming!

———1997, by Arthur Hitler (as Alan Smithee), with Eric Idle, Naomi Campbell, Slyvester Stallone, Whoopi Goldberg, Jackie Chan plus a bunch of utterly irrelevant bus boys and waitresses not worthy of being given names. I don't mean of having their names given here ; I mean of having been given a name in the first place. "Hey, boy, get here!" is entirely enough appelation for all the possible needs of one Artis Leon Ivey Jr and his ilk. [↩]The opinion is widespread, imdb for instance lists it as 3.5 based on 3`015 user ratings. That's not 3.5 out of 5, it's 3.5 out of 10. [↩]In fairness, it was also the first film in many years where I actually had to slow it down so I could follow. I had to take a ten minute break after the first five minutes so my brain could switch gears. It was a party for the senses, finally my 64 bit bus getting to talk to a world that's wider than 64 bits rather than narrower! [↩]Geddit ? [↩]Have you seen Bogart's last film ? [↩]

« Lethargy, part 6

Feeeelings... tis only feeeee-eeelings! »

Category: Trilematograf

Wednesday, 01 February, Year 9 d.Tr.

America!

asciilifeform: so they switched to 'slow poison'. 'unsexy', slow, 'boring' methods, e.g. mcdonaldization.

As it happens I was out earlier. Here :

I do not believe there exists our could be had better example of Americana. "Nobody likes us, nobody wants us, we have nothing to offer, here we are." That's it, that's the whole thing, sad cancer of a subculture suffocating the world.

And since any discussion of the United Shithole immediately makes one think or real estate scams, here :

Let's take a closer look :

As hanbot correctly pointed out, nature is also selling that propiedad, and apparently also without intermediaries. Looks like the wasps probably have the best bid, unless the rats decided to participate.

« How I fixed phpMiniAdmin (v 1.9.170312)

Time to get out, by the way. »

Category: Cocietate si Sultura

Friday, 19 May, Year 9 d.Tr.

Al-lolz, dot jpg.

If you don't know what this is, I sure as fuck am not about to tell you. Principally because I haven't the slightest idea either.

This to continue that ancient discussion.

Also that same day : we're at some bar, girl calls up call-girl she picked up at the lesbian club (not kidding) to see if she wants to come over. Called call-girl doesn't, as it being Saturday and her supplies low she wants to work & make money. In simple terms : slavegirl > hooker every day, and at least twice on Saturday.

See you next time!

« Phuctor checkpoint

How to take control of your provider, a guide for whores. »

Category: Zsilnic

Sunday, 09 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

Again with the "money laundering" bullshit.

Here's "how the world works" according to the criminal gang that prefers to refer to itself as "the United States Government" and its poltroon "allies" :

1. You have the option to register alli of your property with them. In this context "registration" strictly means "putting it somewhere they can steal it any time they feel like". And they will feel like stealing it whenever it appears conceivable that you might not be acting in furtherance of their policy goals, whatever they may be -- such as by not saying the right words, or not snitching effectually enough on others, or anything else, really. And besides, who doesn't need more money ? Certainly a bankrupt gang of pompous horse's asses could do with a little bit more.

2. Or else you have the option to own unregistered property, which is called "being a criminal" or "being a terrorist" (depending on whether you actually did anything or not really). The only "crime" the criminals know of anymore is simply this -- to have something of yourself, something they don't own before you, something they can't steal away at a moment's notice and without leaving a trace.

None of this steaming pile of rank nonsense is, or can ever be justice, or legal proceeding. It's fundamentally and without remainder the definition of lawlessness, and entirely similar to the pseudolegal regimes in all the pseudo-republics to date, from the Soviet Union to Sulla's Rome.

No "money laundering" proceeding can, or ever were, or ever will be lawful ; nor have I any intention to register my fortune with the thieves. As the old saying goes, "millions for defense, dear sirs, but not a penny in bribes".

Confronted with this, the copacetic acquiescence of the penniless multitudes is entirely indifferent. It is irrelevant in art what the people who own no art, and produce no art think about painted strap or marble bosom. It is irrelevant in the sciences what those who can't add, and those who don't add, think about "higher maths". It is just as irrelevant in both law and equity what a gang of thieves backed by the bovine slobber of a clueless herd loudly clamour.

Yes, they can perhaps reach far enough to hang you. Nevertheless, the story stands today as it stood years ago : either you throw off the yoke, or we shall cut off your heads. It's true that the citizen can be killed by robbers as well as by lictors, but the citizen is well advised to bear in mind the danger from the robber's but temporary ; there will be no saving of today's minions from tomorrow's republic.

———If you're discussing movable property, then mandatory use of so called "banks", which are studiously nothing more than government offices. If you're discussing real estate the pretense put forth is that you can't even own outside of the act registering your property with them. If you're discussing chattels, such as your wife/children/etcetera, the pretense being put forth is that private ownership is not even possible -- all wives belong to the local circuit judge to do as he pleases, and all children belong to whichever "social workers" set their eye on them first. Or last. Or whatever. [↩]

« You will regret having read this

Arachnofobia inductor »

Category: SUA care este

Thursday, 27 July, Year 9 d.Tr.

A study in nature and incompetent twits.

The incompetent twits part first. Here's a, to quote,

THE ART IS IN THE RESIDENCE

There's a striking similarity between the oceanfront residences and the Jeff Koons sculptures we have on site. Both are remarkably contemporary and highly sought after.

Argentine Fucktard Piero Lissoni

They're talking about this atrocity :

Now look at the "highly sought after" and riddle me this : what ballet dancer in the history of ballet as an artform (to contrast it with ballet as an apparent pastime for married hippos) had ankles that ever looked anything like that ?

Take that elephantiasis sufferer out and fucking shoot her already ; and don't even think of giving me the "artistic reinterpretation" schtick. By the time spreading works so well it's taken ankles out of ballet eating's never going to work again. I get it, everyone where you live is a steelmill worker from Pittsburg, and that includes all girls and all ballet dancers and everything else ; and besides, a bunch of farmhands wrapped in bedsheets "should be enough Roman Republic for anyone". And etcetera.

Forget "sought after". Nobody even slightly likes you, at all, nor can be induced to further bear your foul smelling, drooly company one minute longer. Nothing you ever did is any good ; nor important ; nor worth the mention. This speaks of anyone you ever met, and anyone you ever heard of, because you live in a mentally deficient cultural space where sheep shearing is "animal cruelty" and Jeff Dumbass is "art". There's just nothing of you, for you, or with you. Go away.

In closing, cabbage :

« No Such lAbs (S.NSA), January 2017 Statement

MiniGame (S.MG), January 2017 Statement »

Category: Cocietate si Sultura

Sunday, 05 February, Year 9 d.Tr.

A story about Romania that's totally not about anything else.

The Romanian aspirational class, which is to say kidsi in their mid 20s to mid 30s who would like others to believe they have a University degree but in point of fact ate USG dole for a few years under the "student" rubric and ended up with a "degree" in "Criminology" or such nonsense really really don't like the Romanian Orthodox Church.

Far be it from me to defend the clergy, after five decades of soviet-socialist infiltration followed by three decades of us-socialist infiltration there's scarcely one part per million left in there that even vaguely understands what the church is even supposed to be, or what's it about. The last man to properly speaking have had a clue was my late dear friend Valeriu Ananiaii, a decade or so ago. Since his demise I've yet to encounter a monk, priest or bishop capable of cogent discussion of the scriptures in context.

And far be it from me to defend faith, in general or any particular, either. It's not my cup, at all. But it being not my cup doesn't mean I don't understand how each is supposed to go, exactly in the manner I teach the girls how to dress even though I've no use for A-lines or stockings in my own wardrobe.

Finally, far be it from me to defend Romania, it's a shameful pit of idiocy, and always was, and besides, it appears to be coming to a natural end anyway.

Bereft of defenders, so it goes : the scientist-calvinist crowdiii of 2017 doesn't like the traditional pillar of Romanian identity because there's people in there who don't belong. That the people in there who don't belong were specifically planted by scientist-calvinism in order for it to have something to point at later in the attempt to discreditiv the whole by discussing the parts is entirely coincidental and absolutely not how the whole charade works in the first place. And also how this whole logic thing works, right, you can invalidate the notion of a car by taking any given car, replacing its engine with a broken one from a different car entirely, the transmission with a block of wood and slicing three of four tyres. Clearly this proves (in the scientist-calvinist understanding of proof) that... wait for it... that cars are bad! Don't work! Bycicles for everyone!

The discussion is carried in the by-now familiar terminology of "corruption" : the Orthodox church dares propose to deviate capital flows away from the purposes of scientist-calvinism, which is practically speaking money laundering, right ? Also, sex crimes! The folk who don't understand "what benefit do I draw from square roots" and would like to have it explained "how the news relates to them" desire, request, demand! that it be explained (in their own terms) why should the church exist as an agent! What scientist-calvinist sense does it make to even have a Patriarch, how exactly is the agenda of the USG promoted by the Romanian Synod, and what proof is to be had that a coupla girlies approaching vertiginously the end of their useful life as receptionists in US Embassy-financed "PR agencies"v couldn't do a much better job of it ???

And what do you mean, "the church and its elements exist specifically to make USGization impossible" ?! Do you mean you prefer to be colonized by Russia ? What is this "would prefer to not be colonized at all" ?! But everyone knows no such thing is possible! Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

In fairness, all these internal discussions make the poor, recently enfranchised nigglet's head hurt. How about we just agree teh church is bad mkay and go have some chicken mcwings ? They can be any flavour you like, as long as Sysco delivers them.

———Very literally, children. Never killed a man, never raped a girl into womanhood, never tasted death, never had anything of their own, be it a piece of property, an idea, a feeling, a notion, a nothing whatsoever. [↩]An upright fellow who served six months in his 20s for hiding weapons in the monastery attic. No joke. [↩]You know, the "just the facts" douches. [↩]You are aware this is how the stealing of the having been stolen from goes, right ?

Whenever confronted with a stable group, the digestive process of scientist-calivnism goes like so :

Inflate the ranks of agents with a larger group of freshly minted agents chosen so that their average competency is lower than the original's average. Because life is a weighing machine, not a voting machine, you are guaranteed to encounter a selection : only the more competent elements of a system will be agents in that system, in direct proportion to the total energy (ie, wealth) of the system in question. Consequently you will always have at the ready a group of items with lower competency than the group of agents to finance the inflation.

Construct false arguments that happen to be convenient, and which are sufficiently elaborate to pass the superficial muster of the recently promoted agents.

This simple two-stroke engine has worked splendidly in rendering traditional societies, bringing them all the "benefits" of "civilisation" : the indians got reservations, the fabulously wealthy Asian states got "modern democracy", truly everyone is better off for the great, peaceful, benevolent and wise two-stroke approach. What, you mean to say men could support a large family, including a housewife and a soubrette living in a large, comfortable house before ; whereas the atomic fambly gets to never meet again to pay for the tiny apartment after ? Why so there you have it, the stock market is up! Progress!

The scientist part of the scientist-calvinist system kicks in here, whereby supposedly sanity is now stuck arguing with all the recently promoted pseudo-agents as if they were actual agents, and "i don't see" and "that's not how debates work" and so on and so forth. And so there you have it, a bunch of idiots too stupid to be able to appreciate just how stupid they are will defend the "great victories" of socialism-by-whatever-name-it-carries-today from all the evil/terrorist/criminal/enemy-of-the-people assaults of sanity, while loudly proclaiming general nonsense that exactly contradicts their own practice. [↩]Or you know, various other things. [↩]

« A New Leaf

Because that's just how things are! »

Category: SUA care este

Friday, 11 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

A New Leaf

A New Leafi is a little gem of a movie that you absolutely must see.

One reason you absolutely must see it are the decors, and the context around them. This is the story of a man who has a butler, and in that butler's words "you've kept alive traditions that were long dead by the time you were born!". His house looks like a house. Yours does not, and Obama's does not, and I fear Trump's wouldn't pass muster either, notwithstanding they're of the same age and hail from the same times. He has clothes. I don't mean jeans and tshirts, I mean clothes. He has tastes and inclinations and a notion of the self. Need I go on ? Let's just say he's broke and you'll never make enough money to be invited to the salon of some woman Henry Graham condescendingly told off.

The other reason you absolutely must see it is the substance, and the myriad threads connecting it to its fixed, specific, unfakable forms. This is the story of a man who, confronted with a poorly run, inefficient household fires everyone on the spot and using the right words. There's no one in the anemic crop of "CEO"s blathering in this sad language space today that could even vaguely match, you know ?

The most important reason you must see it however is -- relations. The woman submits, naturally, gracefully, and at the peril of her life. Unlike it is always the case in the sordid tales of contemporaneous lumpenscumii, she doesn't get killed for it. She's inept, yes, and rather shy and tiresome and barely perceptible under just a slight dusting of crumbs. But she submits, and he's actually tough enough, and they live happily ever after.

It's such a pleasure to watch an actual film, based on an actual story with actual people in it after all the horrible, kitschy, faux non-humanity on parade with the herpocracy-derpocracy you can't begin to imagine. Yes, they blather through the same story with some regularity, but this is entirely irrelevant, just as they are.

Watch it, you'll see.

———1971, by with and for Elaine May, also starring Walter Matthau. [↩]Seen Loverboy (2011, by and with a bunch of 30 second ad people) ?

Young woman follows the closest thing to a man in her environment, because she should, because she must, because if no one ever trusts anyone the planet will be inherited by fucking fishes.

He's a child, inept, overstrung, too wound up for sanity. He breaks her heart, because her immense, incomprehensible weight overwhelms his fragile osature and he gets scared.

She would whore out for him, because he taught her how to fuck and she likes it and what else is there to do ? He can't summon the gumption to go up to her room, even with certain assurance she's alone.

She'll carry on, of course, without him. What else is there to do ? [↩]

« Did you ever claim to have butterflies in your stomach ?

A story about Romania that's totally not about anything else. »

Category: Trilematograf

Friday, 11 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

A man and a woman...

A man and a woman are standing in a bank.

The bank functions through complex, ridiculous rituals borne out of unabashed self-importance on the fertile soil of a tolerant and happy-go-lucky population.

They use, for no comprehensible reason, a double door with a semaphore as if it were a submarine or an outer space facility and you absolutely must make sure the outer door's locked before the inner door may open. Under the stiff air conditioning there's chairs, and the rent-a-cop that'd be happy to read his fishwrap anywhere else insistently directs people to sit down, in sorted order of arrival. Then, whenever a cashier frees up, the person seated on the leftmost chair on the first line goes up to the window, whereas everyone else stands and moves one chair up closer to banking paradise. The whole charade closely approximates a herd of strange aquatic birds, sitting and standing up and then sitting and then standing up again.

Most of the patrons seem genuinely happy to reseat themselves at intervals. The man and the woman are standing in front of two respectfully empty seats, and on occasion take a step in the general direction of increasing chair glory thus keeping up with the human wave.

Off to a side there's a table, painted in various harsh colors, with four dismatchingi chairs. On one of the chairs a child is mostly perched, and he's playing with something on the table that doesn't look like much.

M : That kiddy table doesn't look like much.

W : Yeah, there should be some garbage trucks. And helicopters.

M : Telicopters. You know, helicopters with TV inside.

W : Oh, yeah. And play dough.

M : Plato ?

W : Play dough.

M : Not sure that's such a good idea. It'd end up everywhere.

W : Yes it would. For that matter so would the helicopters. I mean telicopters.

M : Hm.

W : Maybe they should make like a bubble. Put your kid in there.

M : Or I guess a pit. You know, sunken in the floor. Make it deep enough they're not going anywhere.

W : How do you get your kid back out ?

M : They put one of those cranes on the side, like they have at fairs. Put a quarter in, fish out your kid.

W : You know, those are really hard.

M : I know!

W : You'll have a lot of left over kids at the end of the day.

M : I guess you could open up a restaurant on the side.

You know ?

———Dismatching is what happens when dichromats read a book on "modern" art and start producing ordures in their fashion. You know, for kids. [↩]

« Yitzhak's Trilemma.

Items from my newspaper »

Category: Zsilnic

Tuesday, 25 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

A Face in the Crowd

A Face in the Crowdi is a hysterical biopic of the herdemocracy pantsuit horde taking a long, hard look at itself, not liking what it sees one bit, but not one bit I tell you, and then in characteristic fashion shying away into the closet to pretend there in the safety of the slightly musky, tight surroundings that it's better than it. Who's better ? Herdemocracy pantsuit. Better than what ? Herdemocracy pantsuit! How's that supposed to work ? Don't worry about it, they'll write a book to punch you for them.

For the actual human mind, uninvolved in the myopic "convictions" of the subhuman horde, the item is amusing because guess what ? Sixty years ago it was the Republican party that was trying to swell the voter rolls with uneducated, inept bumpkins ready to swallow the manipulation hook. Back in 1957 it was the Republican party line that "I don't think people know what they need, but I do". These things alternate, you see, first one end of the nonsense stick dips into the pond, then the other, then the first again, then the second and so on. You don't hear about the great Republican drives in the Jewish press, but the electoral history of the US doesn't just consist of Lincoln giving every liberated slave forty acres and a mule followed by the Majorette Movement followed by Obama marching on Washington for "Civil Rights". These inflationary events were interspersed with quantitative easings of Irishmen, and Southerners, and assorted "silent majorities" into mainstream politics.

Anyway, you should probably watch this film because, whether they know it (or most likely not), it fully depicts the libertard imaginary & imagological perception of Trump. They expect Trump to Andy Griffith. They don't know why they expect this, they just do. Even the ones that haven't actually seen the thing -- they've seen their peers, and their elders, who've seen it, and unverbally communicated it, or enough of it for our purpose here at any rate.

The "left" took one hard look at itself in Donald Trump, and really didn't like what it saw. This is the essential core of libertard disarray today, and, amusingly, it is best summarized by pointing to an ancient, obscure film six decades old.

What can you do ?

———1975, by Elia Kazan, with Andy Griffith and that hottie from The Long, Hot Summer (Lee Remick). [↩]

« Tute

The Mangocratic Oath »

Category: Trilematograf

Monday, 21 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

"3 idiots", in preference of saying "Indians are cognitively impaired for reason of genetic inferiority"

Slavegirl in charge of illegally downloading cars (you wouldn't download a movie, would you ?!) idly proposed trying out Bollywood shit sometime ? I approved the notion, and for my sins find myself today at the other end of a latrine walk.

The first element of this latrine walk, Kuch Kuch Hota Haii is roughly speaking a manele videoclip that ran long (and got turned down by the Eurovision competition). If you don't know what manele is, just watch this thing, it'll come to you.

In any case, the problem isn't that the production of these original gypos is alien, and therefore frightening. It's not frightening in the slightest. It's so fucking dumb it readily allays any fears anyone might have nursed anywhere as to the Indians being possible competition. Indians aren't possible competition, to anything.

The second element of this latrine walk, Lagaanii, is very much a case of

Sergiu Nicolaescu prezinta filmul Sergiu Nicolaescu, dupa viata marelui Sergiu Nicolaescu. In rolurile principale, Sergiu Nicolaescu si Sergiu Nicolaescu, regia Sergiu Nicolaescu dupa o poveste atit autentica cit si originala de Sergiu Nicolaescu.

A thinly veiled retcon of the uncomfortable past in the ever so familiar (from the practice of inferior peoples) sense of "Bad Colonial Power Exploiting The Good Locals". Conveniently omitted, the circumstance that if it weren't for the "white man's burden" British delusion, today's India would have been exactly equal Sudan.

The final element of this latrine walk, 3 Idiotsiii, India's most popular film to date, is the saddest compensatory fiction of the anal child "being a hero", specifically in the two-pronged sense of "being actually right in a much righter way than everyone else" and of "saving all the days". When cognitively normal humans approach such a thing, the result is Tom Green's Freddy Got Fingered. When cognitively impaired (and severely, at that) alleged-humans approach such a thing, the result is this piece of crap.

India has too many cases of suicide, don't you know, and this is -- we're invited to believe -- eminently not a problem of the insufficient biosacs themselves, but of the system. Please vote Obama Hope & Change You Can Believe In and install the latest Pantsuitzilla version 749.30 to fix this problem!!1

Indian academia doesn't study "the new technology", we're explained, but simply fritters its time learning by rote ancient textbooks from the mechanicist time of the British empire. Sooo inadequate, #metoo! La ce imi serveste mie radicalurile ?!?!

And you see, the very heroic hero here to save us all (who conveniently doesn't seem to notice that everyone there is, inexplicablyiv, fucking white) "never gives up on his weakest students". Unlike the properly behaved "old guard", who pushes idiots to suicide (as he damn well should!) the saviour saves everyone.

I could continue in this vein, but the effort's wasted. Like all socialist fiction, 3 Idiots manages to strongly make the opposite point of its sponsors' agenda : even in the most absurdly stacked fiction, the anal child still fails to deliver anything or convince anyone. Boo hoo.

Always remember : suicide is the correct solution for some people. As things stand currently, the entire population of the Indian subcontinent makes for exceptional candidates.v

———1998, by Karan Johar, with Shah Rukh Khan, Kajol, Rani Mukerji (who was hot 20 years ago!). [↩]2001, by Aamir Khan, with Aamir Khan [↩]2009, by Rajkumar Hirani, with Aamir Kahn (Mary Sue level over 9`000) and some other dorks. [↩]You could readily imagine they shot in the Czech Republic, these schmucks. [↩]Especially should they turn out to be idiotic enough to actually buy the deskilling package the USG is trying to sell them, through this and other similar programmes.

Because yes, who paid for this thing being made and why they paid is directly evident -- they even left a breadcrumb, "emigrating to the US to suck it dry is bad mkay" is included verbatim in the "hero"'s monologue. So is the proposition that they should quit engineering to focus on being relationship experts. Insistently, this last bit. [↩]

« Various multitudes

Hey, remember when the Internet didn't suck ? »

Category: Trilematograf

Thursday, 07 December, Year 9 d.Tr.

1950s Cretinetti : I soliti ignoti & Il vedovo

I soliti ignotii tells the usual Italian story of "the lower classes". As is the case with say La Terra Trema, or Ladri de biciclette, or generally speaking any work dedicating itself to that squarely forgettable, entirely unworthy subject, the only thing that transpires is just how idiotic those "poveracci" actually are. Bumbling, ineffectual, pretending at the wrong times to a honorability they lack and minding expediency above else exactly when they shouldn't, constantly bestowing upon each other a recognition that's so scandalously inappropriate it actually works as a toxin... the universal intention of the works is something or the other "about the human condition" but their only possible effect is exactly contrary to that intention -- All one can think watching the poor and therefore stupid at work is "who the hell let the monkeys in".

Yes, I get it, Mastroianni's mug makes you think of a nostalgic monkey, and "who knows, maybe they're also people, also human beings ... ???". They aren't. For one thing, he's paid for exactly this effect ; real items in the vein he depicts will differ from the depiction in specific ways you may train yourself to ignore at your peril (which peril specifically is poor Elvira Almiraghi's fate). For the other thing : the poor aren't human beings, what the fuck is so hard about this concept ? Sure, you think they maybe "aspire to humanity", in the manner a certain nude damsel thought bugs are animals. Good for them, let them aspire ; bother me when they're done "aspiring". (Bother yourself when they're done aspiring also, lest you end up falling into the cisterna stercum as the necessary mechanical result of trying to pull out the unripe fruits of Goddess Shit Earth.)

Il vedovoii is a very strange story indeed, made all the more eerie by how actually natural and true to life it is!

Il vedovo is the story of a man who has an intelligent and wealthy wife, that is well connected with the exact sort of people he worships. He could use help in all these categories, as he's not that smartiii, nor rich, nor well connected -- and yet, he manages to derive no benefit from his close connection to this woman.

Il vedovo is also the story of a man who has a loyal, enthusiastic young mistress, one who towers a good head and shoulders above his wife and is an absolute, surefire attractor for the exact sort of men he wants to meet. Yet he derives no benefit from his close connection to this girl, on the contrary, it ends up harming himiv.

Have you ever heard of someone with a rich wife and a loyal mistress ? But wait, there's more! Il vedovo is also the story of a man whose wife and mistress actually like each other. I'm not making this shit up, they meet on their own power (at the wife's funeral) and become very close friends -- so says the girl, not the woman! There's no artifice here, they're not selling anyone anything, they just clicked, what! And yet... the by now familiar refrain, yes ? It's true -- the idiot derives no benefit from this happenstance either.

The fellow, affectionatelly dubbed Cretinetti by his wife, has a major fucking problem. He is derealized, you see, deeply, utterly divorced from reality, entirely captive in a world of words. Does it sound familiar ? Because it should sound familiar. Cretinetti, the redditard-before-Reddit, finds himself captive in a world devoid of any real anchoring, a world composed entirely of words. He says things ; others say other things ; he says more things. This is his whole world. He is not merely unconcerned with the closeness of those words to the realities they describe ; he is plainly unaware there is even such a thing, a reality behind the words, a substance behind all things capable of validating or invalidating speech.

This purely literary character is caught, unfairly, inequitably and no doubt regrettably, in the actual world, wherein it is not enough to say in order to be. He muchly reminds me of my blessfully far-removed idiotic cousin, one Radu Mulberry, a physicist-poet-airplanepilot-actor-consort"royal" who can't quite grasp why nobody buys any of the words. He did say the words! He said "he has full confidence in X", why does X fail to materialize ? He has said the words! What more could be needed ?! Someone said he's intelligent, what do you mean by asking "who" ? Aren't they all the same ? Words ? Someone told him so and so is a good deal, when he asked whether it's a good deal they told him it's a good deal, why is his wife pissy at his wasting thirty million "lui, quello che le metteno davanti, firma" ? Maybe she doesn't love him ?

As you perhaps expect, Cretinetti's problem is that whenever reality contradicts his verbiage he withdraws from contact. He isn't begging his wife to train him into sanity because he doesn't understand there's more to existence than verbiage ; but even without that he fails to enjoy a devoted marriage because his wife is very anchored and this makes her unpalatable. Insufferable, to be truthful.

His mistress is loyal, yes, but he lacks any manner of enjoying this loyalty. He's stuck exchanging word for word with her while shying away from her mother, who isn't nearly as young, and consequently isn't nearly as sciocchina as her young daughter (the wife doesn't make her a fault of it -- after all she fell herself for the same thing).

And their friendship, instead of a boon, is positively frightening, as much a threat as salt to snails. Behind it, he suspects a manifestation of evil. Of pure, unmitigated pandemonium -- the only category into which his feeble intellect is capable of translating for his far-reaching needs the subiacent bedrock of reality. They conspire against him, you see, it's not that they both encountered on the same rock the same outlines and in that shared, common recognition of reality they found friendship. No, it can't be about the rock, reality can't enter into it because it doesn't exist, you see. It's about him, it has to be, they are conspiring against him.

Cretinetti suffers from exactly the same mental issues of the poor. He's readily a socialist, because just like poor people everywhere he's poor himself. Should a man lose the whole world, what possible benefit could the empire of words be to him ?

Yes, poverty and dementia are practically the same thing, and yes by any practical definition of clinical insanity the soliti Cretinetti would be committed. It is severe derealization getting in the way of the patient's daily life after all! The only problem is that there being so very many of these, the older definition of disease (based on averages and divergences) tends to get in the way. Maybe, says Cretinetti, maybe it's him that's sane and everyone else not-entirely-derealized-yet is insane ?

It's a theory ; and while the free food lasts, also somewhat of a practice. Now do me a favour, do poor, nearly killed Elvira a favour, and don't marry any cretinetti. Thank you.

———1958, by Mario Monicelli, with a young Marcello Mastroianni (34), an even younger Claudia Cardinale (20), a credible Rossana Rory, Toto (Antonio de Curtis Gagliardi Griffo Focas Comneno [de Bizancio]) and a bunch of nobodies. [↩]1959, by Dino Risi, with Alberto Sordi, Franca Valeri and a perfectly edible Leonora Ruffo [↩]The man is, technically speaking, intelligent. He is not as intelligent as he likes to think, of course, but as far as the measures of the human herd are concerned he certainly comes above average in that department. [↩]She slaps whatever big deal industrialist, whatever. [↩]

« Giancarlo Giannini : Settebellezze & Sessomatto

Il coccodrillo amico dell'uomo »

Category: Trilematograf

Sunday, 29 October, Year 9 d.Tr.

Young Educated Urban Anglophone Male.

The ever-tireless Bingo found me this lulzy item deep down in the sewers. Isn't it glorious in its misery ?

So, jrzang89, who in all probability was born in '89, and otherwise "has been a redditor" for 4 years, in the process accumulating 8`003 "link karma" and 7`355 "comment karma"i does possess the English language sufficiently to employ constructions such as "only if X would I Y" correctly, but does not possess his wits enough to observe the self-parodic nature of his message. The benefits he has derived from his collegiate experience have been strictly formal, and of no further substance.ii

What sort of school should have his parents sent him to, so that he'd notice the link between "derpy socialist has been an influence in my thinking" and "I'm a completely useless fucktard, ready for the German oven", I wonder.

Do you wonder ?

Dear fathers, genuinely concerned about the future of your offspring : do not allow themiii to go to a US college. If you do, they will acquire the form of a person and the substance of stacked shit. They'll know enough of how women work to whine about "medical conditions" and sprout an endless string of "credible" excuses. They'll be polite at the table, "sensitive" and altogether Prince Alberts ready to go into another man's urethra. No more.

Instead, deliver them bound and naked to the slave trade. Perhaps they'll be killed. If they are, it's certainly the best for all those involved. Perhaps they won't be killed. If they aren't killed, they may or may not exhibit the skin of a slave ; but they will certainly cover with it the personality of a human being.

Your forefathers did this great service to the scum of Africa. It is time now for men abroad to do this service to the scum your poorly trained wives spewed. Take solace in the knowledge such is the way of the world ; and think that rope is cheap, yet its curative powers far exceed anything the medical profession has to offer.

Now you understand "what possessed those Africans to sell their own children into slavery". It's simple, really : for some stock, slavery is the absolute best thing that can happen.

———Do not disparage these accomplishments, worthless as they may be. I can promise you the schmuck held no job for four years, had no fixed domicile for that interval other than his misfortunate parents' address, and let's not even get into the private sphere. [↩]The debt he has incurred in that adventure, however, is strictly substantial - so informal, in fact, as to be undischargable even through bankruptcy proceedings. They say that all capitalism is built, like any engine is built, on such disparity. Which way the college engine does its work, towards Jr. Zang or towards the USG Department of Scamming Middle Class Kids, is anyone's guess. [↩]Not a matter of giving them money to do this. Do not allow it. [↩]

« You ever read Henry the Fifth ?

Autumnal Argentina »

Category: Politica si Prostie

Sunday, 27 March, Year 8 d.Tr.

You ever read Henry the Fifth ?

I wager you haven't. Let's read together.

WILLIAMS

We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?

KING HENRY

A friend.

WILLIAMS

Under what captain serve you?

KING HENRY

Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.

WILLIAMS

A good old commander and a most kind gentleman. I pray you, what thinks he of our estate?

KING HENRY

Even as men wreck'd upon a sand, that look to be wash'd off the next tide.

BATES

He hath not told his thought to the King?

KING HENRY

No; nor it is not meet he should. For though I speak it to you, I think the King is but a man as I am. The violet smells to him as it doth to me; the element shows to him as it doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions. His ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing. Therefore, when he sees reason of fears as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are; yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army.i

BATES

He may show what outward courage he will; but I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.ii

KING HENRY

By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the King: I think he would not wish himself anywhere but where he is.iii

BATES

Then I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved.

KING HENRY

I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone, howsoever you speak this to feel other men's minds. Methinks I could not die anywhere so contented as in the King's company, his cause being just and his quarrel honourable.

WILLIAMS

That's more than we know.iv

BATES

Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough, if we know we are the King's subjects. If his cause be wrong, our obedience to the King wipes the crime of it out of us.

WILLIAMS

But if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs and arms and heads, chopp'd off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day and cry all, "We died at such a place"; some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of anything, when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the King that led them to it; who to disobey were against all proportion of subjection.v

KING HENRY

So, if a son that is by his father sent about merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him; or if a servant, under his master's command transporting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die in many irreconcil'd iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant's damnation. But this is not so. The King is not bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers.vi Some peradventure have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjuryvii; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of Peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the law and outrun native punishment, though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God. War is his beadleviii, war is his vengeance; so that here men are punish'd for before-breach of the King's laws in now the King's quarrel. Where they feared the death, they have borne life away; and where they would be safe, they perish. Then if they die unprovided, no more is the King guilty of their damnation than he was before guilty of those impieties for the which they are now visited. Every subject's duty is the King's; but every subject's soul is his own.ix Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience; and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him that escapes, it were not sin to think that, making God so free an offer, He let him outlive that day to see His greatness and to teach others how they should prepare.x

WILLIAMS

'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head, the King is not to answer for it.

BATES

I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.

KING HENRY

I myself heard the King say he would not be ransom'd.

WILLIAMS

Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our throats are cut, he may be ransom'd, and we ne'er the wiser.xi

KING HENRY

If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.

WILLIAMS

You pay him then. That's a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and a private displeasure can do against a monarch! You may as well go about to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word after! Come, 'tis a foolish saying.xii

KING HENRY

Your reproof is something too round. I should be angry with you, if the time were convenient.xiii

WILLIAMS

Let it be a quarrel between us if you live.

KING HENRY

I embrace it.

WILLIAMS

How shall I know thee again?

KING HENRY

Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet; then, if ever thou dar'st acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.

WILLIAMS

Here's my glove; give me another of thine.

KING HENRY

There.

WILLIAMS

This will I also wear in my cap. If ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, "This is my glove," by this hand I will take thee a box on the ear.

KING HENRY

If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.

WILLIAMS

Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.

KING HENRY

Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the King's company.

WILLIAMS

Keep thy word; fare thee well.

BATES

Be friends, you English fools, be friends. We have French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.

[Exeunt soldiers.]

I doubt anyone ever wasted his time reading Shakespeare. There's so precious little worth reading in this doggerel of a language...

———In other words, that while a king has the same resources as any other man, the same two hands, the same one head, what he must do with them is much more than what the common man must do with his.

The same two legs must carry him a longer distance in a shorter time, somehow - because he doesn't just provide for the satisfaction of one woman and her offspring but of many women and countless offspring. The same violet's scent must somehow imbibe him of much more sweetness, to satisfy the draw of both private individual and public institution, entwined in his one person.

And yet the moral isn't that all kings are better men - just that most men are paltry kings. [↩]Id est, better some well bound if certain inconvenience than the dubious fate unknown. This is how poverty works - that the poor pay to be insured against rain, and if it rains sausages the insurer gets to keep them. [↩]The difference between king and subject is that the king will do as he pleases, whereas the subject will do as commanded. It's one thing for the subject's dream to go wherever it may go, inconsequential as it is. But if the king ever finds himself wishing he were somewhere else than where he went, abdication's imperative. [↩]And never will they know, for lack of faculty with which to know. Which is why "seeing loyalty" still is no kind of loyalty, but nude interest. [↩]As you can see, they had women bawing from under a soldier's helmet even in King Henry's camp at Agincourt. One should rightly suppose that even if a gender were extirpated from the species through cosmic cataclism, some mere cuttings of the other will suffice to create it anew. A rib, a fingertip, a nothing much at all. They're there. [↩]Think well about this. Everyone to himself would appear a standard for the world, yet almost no-one is. And he who is will know it in this sign, and in no other sign : that he is king. [↩]To take the virgin is almost a duty - and has to be, as maidens make scarcely palatable quarry. To lie to her however is quite shameful, as it isn't to lie to a well worn wench, which may be mere repartee and wordplay. This because the child specifically lacks the experience that'd allow her to judge and weigh them seals.

You don't want to lie. Not to the young. [↩]A beadle is the obnoxious woman shaking the coin chest in church. Her :

[↩]Pointedly not the opposite, pointedly not "every subject's need is the king's, yet every subject's will his own" as clamored deliberately and with intent to harm by that obscene, pollutive mockery pretending itself "constitutional" monarchy, entirely an exercise in base defilement, "alt-thin" obesity, "otherwise beautiful" ugly, "alternatively able" limp and lame abomination, "just as good" plastic ersatz of the genuine article. [↩]The argument for which an obscure Frenchman is held famous by his ignorant countrymen appeared plain as day in the supposedly ill-read Shakespeare a century prior. What now ? Hold your philosophy cheap for not having been there on Crispin's day ? [↩]The problem is deeper than it may appear. To quote a Trilema commenter,

If you are on the far right of the bell curve, the farther to the left of you you observe, the more transparent the persons are to you. It should actually be easy to pick out the REAL sociopaths around the mediocre middle for you with some training (which is valuable). But now turn this around.

To those in the middle and lower, those at the right end of the bell curve might as well be sociopaths, they are not equipped to find out as they are significantly worse at pattern recognition and problem solving, and no one is playing with ALL his cards revealed except the totally mentally retarded.

Add to this that the capacity to control or subdue innate empathy is generally higher the more intelligence increases, and we see that the majority of humans will never really know whether their masters are "evil" or just know better.

It is the incontrovertible if inconvenient fact of the matter that it is not for the subject to judge his master, not for the slavegirl to judge her owner, not for the liege to weigh the sovereign, and generally speaking no matter how it may squirm, loyalty stays blind or goes away. [↩]Also no small matter. The concept of trust works downwards from the primum movens, not back up towards it. The courts exist to pass sentence, but their authority flows from the king, and no sentence of theirs can attach to him. [↩]The king has a point - that the only way this matter can be resolved is by putting it in the field. [↩]

« The two cent class

Young Educated Urban Anglophone Male. »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Sunday, 27 March, Year 8 d.Tr.

You are not a person ; and you don't get a vote.

Exhibit A :

Exhibit B :

The addresses that go with those dozens of pages vomited by "the community" in a matter of hours ? Here you go (excluding non-Bitcoin compliant addresses such as crud starting with 3 etc) :

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Yeah, that's right, over three hundred. More than the headcount it took to hold Thermopylae. Yet what are these maggots holding ? Here's some comments to go with that bulk, maybe they cast some light on that question.

donations welcome

plezzzz Smiley

Grin Grin Grin

Awesome dude Cool

i dont even dream about hitting it but well, i hope it will work

count me in thank you so much fantastic giveaway

thanks man!

- Taking donations for cocaine research

All this for a shot, a vanishingly small chance at "winning" less than 1% of a heist, or ~nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Recall Here's what you don't know or understand about Facebook : everything.

Recall Soft consensus, aka fecal matter.

Recall It's not just that the "social media" clicks aren't worth squat. It's that the very people behind those clicks are not actually worth squat.

Recall You are grossly unequipped to interact straight with the refuse of Western society.

Recall a whole lot of things. This is why "the community" gets no say in Bitcoin direction : "the community" is exactly and strictly a collection of fecal matter, and I do mean you. Personally. Individually.

Don't bother me with nonsense about how "you aren't like that". If you're not in the WoT, you are exactly like that.

« MiniGame (S.MG), July 2016 Statement

Eulora Forward Looking Statement, August 2016 »

Category: Bitcoin

Wednesday, 03 August, Year 8 d.Tr.

xkcd

Quite the argument, huh.

Randall Munroe is fashionable because he is exactly as clueless yet pretentious as you are ; even if you like to imagine that it's because he's as hip and edgy and "gets it" just like you do.

You don't like him because he's right, you like him because he's wrong in the way you like to pretend is right.

Don't let the door hit you on your way out. This world is neither yours nor has any place in it for you, or for anything like you.

« E pericoloso sporgersi

The chick incident »

Category: Meta psihoza

Tuesday, 15 March, Year 8 d.Tr.