How to be a pimp - the simple, comprehensible and exhaustive guide

Since people seem to copy and apply my stuff without as much as putting out a trifle of a link on the tit of the misfortunate being discussed (as it'd be expected and in good taste), what occurs to me ? Let's insist in the same vein, by putting at the disposition of the interested public a guide which will allow the last among the scrubs to be a pimp and consequently not have to personally work another day in his life. And when all the scrubs will be pimps, let the suckers wash their head with them theni and deeply regret they didn't link out to me when they should have had -- the moral of the whole story being that "don't fuck with the guy who can blow up the barriers to entry of your bullshitii pseudo-business if you wish to soup tomorrow", but let us not anticipate.

There are three and only three reasons for which women submit to men. One is sex, the second is fear, and the third is stupidity. There are no others. Fart-based theories about feelings (perhaps in the form preferred by the middle-low class, what with "mutual respectiii" ; or even more amusingly in the form favoured by the aspirational class, "joint future & plans" and other hallucinationsiv copied by Vogue Romania after some older editions of Voguev) are exactly that : shit gas. "Sentiments"vi are ulterior outgrowths (which flower generally on the root of sex, but not necessarily). To propose their primacy is to suppose the flower and not the root is what matters. Get fucked, a flower separated from its root will die in a coupla days, a root bereft of its flowers will make others in a coupla weeks.vii

As we've already established she is going to be a whore, it is not practical to imagine you'll subdue her sexually. What the dick will you do to her, she comes home after six hours' drubbing with twenty dudes and you... take her rabidly ? And she'll be so extatic at this treatment she will... streetwalk all over again tomorrow, and all the while, bent over in an alley for various, shorter dicks or longer dicks, competent men or family men, she will be thinking of naught but the monstrous fucking she's in for when she gets back home ? I... don't think so. You may try, but it's not seen.

Practically speaking, there's fear and stupidity left. This time around we'll discuss fear, stupidity to be left for a later article because it's a broad topic.

The thing with fear goes something like this : woman beaten sufficiently and well goes into a passive state in which she is dutiful, obedient and submissive. This quality is otherwise not reserved to womanhoon : man also, beaten sufficiently and well goes into the same exact state. It has naught to do with individuals, it's the barest and simplest physiology of the human psyche, which isn't built for individual well-being nor for satisfying the expectations of life and world imagined by whatever Jessica or Jennifer, but it is built for one, single purpose : survial and reproduction. Which are two purposes. So two unique purposes : survival, reproduction, and buying shit. Three! Three unique purposes!

The only individual variation is how much of a beating is needed the first time. In rare, extremely rare cases you have to beat the individual more than heviii can physically take, so the most you'll manage is to kill it, which makes simply ignoring it the cheaper alternative. But don't imagine exceptionalisms about how "oh noes, I'm that one in a million that's gotta be beaten to death". No chance of that, the sort of braves in their own head generally overcompensate, which is why they think themselves so brave, and in practice crackix first.

So then. After this lengthy preamble, concretely and by steps, the strat :

Kidnap the girl. It dun matter how, lure her who knows where with empty promises of employment like those dorks with the tattoosx, pick her off the street a la voltigexi, get her drunk at who knows what corporatexii party and stick her in the trunk, whatever. If it comes to it you can pick her directly off o puteti lua direct her own wedding, for maximal trollage.xiii

Sequester her. The whole point is solitude. Whether you take her to a cave, a forest, an abandoned house or anywhere else, as long as she can't escape [herself] it's good enough. In extremis simple confiscation of identity papers works in this vein, and now you understand why the pig takes your paperwork : exactly for this reason, you're being re-educated towards whoredom. Congratulations, you're starting to understand how the empire works, this slow moving rape.

First beating. She must be beaten well, for hours, not until she faints but until her tonusxiv drops. With a little experience you'll learn to recognize the moment when any notions of individuation and other maggots in her head flew away and the process of resocialisation in a role more productive (for the pimp) may begin.

Resocialisation. The newborn whore must spend her time only in the company of other whores, and preferably some trustworthy girls you can rely on. She will re-learn her social role (because that's how people live, following scores like mechanical pianos, which can be changed, why not). Keep her on a "beginner" regimen (lotta beating, not much food, inferiority in the group) until she desires for herself and of herself to progress to the status of full whore, a favor which you might generously concede just as soon as she seems honest and ready.

Reminder. The newly minted whore must be beaten periodically to reactivate the mechanisms that subdued her in the first place. Depending on the individual the needed reminder beatings may be more or less intensive and frequent, but do mind the dosage because that's how runaways occur, when they do. Bear in mind it's better to beat her too much than too little.

There you go, that's the whole story. Even if an average streetwalker makes rather little, nevertheless a competent pimp with two or three aides selected from the whore herd can beat properly maybe three a week, and ensure the needed reminder for at least another 10-20, deeming he works eight hours a day like a normal person. If the average stay is six months and the reminder interval three weeks it then follows herds of up to a hundred whores may be kept as a theoretical maximum. Field values are generally under fifty.

Evaluating the daily net production of each to a hundred dollars (which is probably somewhat exaggeratedxv, but whatever) the pimp can dispose of about a hundred thousand dollars a month, to cover security and other costs. This may seem like a lot of money for the kiddos who are intelligent enough to reach competence in this occupation and also sufficiently uneducated to lack more productive alternative fields in which to apply that intelligence. Fortunately this class is rather narrow, practically speaking prostitution through violence is the sexworld equivalent of Internet spam : a minor inconvenience caused by the early travellers of that inexorable path connecting a woman's uterus to the death row.

I hope I was of service, and if not I hope at least you've learned a thing or two from my own experience, so there's less need of new experiments to be applied to fresh flesh. It's a pity to waste the girls.

I hope, but I've no illusions.

———Romanian expression, "wash your head with it!", approximately equivalent to "blow it out your ass", except for things rather than words. [↩]The Romanian "cacastecherita", a word I did not invent but apparently own as far as google is concerned, is composed of three parts. Stecher is how you say socket in Romanian, especially wrt electric couplings. Caca denotes fecal matter, and thereby cacastecher would be the fecal matter socket. This aggregation, which is not by itself meaningful in the English sense (it's not to be encountered on prepared "lists of words") but nevertheless is directly comprehensible in sane languages (because of flexion and composition) then acquires the feminine diminutive : fata, fetita, cacastecher, cacastecherita. So it'd be the "electric shit socket of little girls". To be perfectly clear : when I say English sucks, I don't mean something vague, or difficult to explain. I mean something very concrete and very easy to explain : there is no way for you to say "that electric shit socket of little girls of a business of yours" in one word, neatly and clearly.

And to think you think you have stand-up comedians! [↩]See, clasically, "io te stimo moltissimo". [↩]The original uses English as a cum rag, in the sense of taking the English word "commitment", which does not exist nor is comprehensible in Romanian (strictu sensu it'd be a misspelling of something to do with earlship, as comite is earl in Romanian and -ment "which does something in the vein or of the nature of ~", much like -ship) and putting it in a Romanian gramatical form. This suggests that something has been swallowed undigested and placed in improper context, which is exactly the case. [↩]Found by dazed and confused kiddies in the outhouse and misappropriated for reading instead of the more obvious function. [↩]Originally, "the sentiments of Fish". This is the Romanian convention for mocking a concept (and its proponents) : add "of Fish" to it. On the lowest level it denotes exasperation in the speaker with the uncomprehending but insistent manner of the proponent ; and it picks up from there.

Nor is this the only convention available for this signal. You could say "of life", for instance, as in "Ce masina vietii ii aia!", "What the life's car is that!" to vocative a clunker. You could say "of your mother", a ma-tii, to denote particular effrontery towards the individual rather than the concept such as in "ce omleta ma-tii ii aia!", "what your mother's omelette is that!" if displeased with the cook's work. Or as in you know, "pizda ma-tii", literally your mother's cunt. Aha! Now we start to really understand why I say English is a joke of a language intended for discussing things with one's dogs! Because in real languages, which have fully developed signalling trees, the interpretation of any text becomes a matter of choosing which among a whole set of competing, ambiguous structures of sense to follow! Who could have fucking predicted!

And to think you think you have stand-up comedians! [↩]And here we have ample opportunity to deeply stick the well salted blade in the pre-existing wound : there is no such thing as that woman which simultaneously a) is well fucked and b) cheat. There doesn't exist such wonder today as there hasn't existed such wonder from the invention of the world nor will ever exist. Woman cheats for the dude that fucks her well and that's it. Aside from this, stories and superstitions : if she's cheating on you, you're impotent. And everyone knows. [↩]No, not she. She has more sense than this, and besides some eggs to lay, fuck you. I mean that literally. [↩]Romanian has a reflexive. There's a difference between "crapa" (cracks) and "se crapa", (cracks "itself"). It happens to be relevant here. [↩]This was at the time a reference to some contemporary criminal case. I didn't bother to note it down and by now it's lost in the dusts of history. [↩]Without stopping the horse, however you say this in English. [↩]In Romanian the feminine of coporate, corporatista, denotes a specific sort of girly everyone in the third world well knows : the 20something "receptionist" of a "multinational" (ie, foreign, ie, moneyed) company. Who is pursuing a career. Etcetera.

Kink.com did a special on her, look for Bound Gangbangs volume 12403, Skylar Price takes part in a party. [↩]As you perhaps intuit, once this first step implemented you've earned for yourself that ancient distinction of hostis humani generis as the Latins called it, which is to say public enemies. As a result you might expect things not working well for you on the long term.

In particular in some juristictions (such as the US) which imagine themselves "hard on" (as opposed to hardon) with kidnapping and rape (and therefore efficient when it comes to combatting them), it is advisable to kill the girls rather than let them go, or risk one escaping or being found, given the punishment for murder is just the same, but murder's slightly more difficult to prove seeing as how the object's silenced. As such you might consider implementing a process flow for corpse disposal and not keep a girl around for more than a few months or something. Behold the fabulous advantages of harsh criminal prosecution for the victims of the various infractions!

No, really, think about this : your sixteen year old is abducted on her way home, spends the next week chained to a pipe in a basement being fucked by a bunch of dudes and some dogs. At the end of the week (nine days, whatever), she is to be disposed of. Now then : in world A, where the punishment is six months or a $500 dollar fine, you get her dumped on your front lawn ; in world B, where the punishment for innocently grabbing ass is losing your job and ~everthying else is life in prison (as fucking if), you get to identify the body. Would you, a responsible and loving father, prefer the male state which makes no promises and offers no guarantees, or the female state which makes all the promises you'd like you to make and offers the strict guarantee that once lost, your daughter will only ever show up as a body to identify if she ever shows up again ?

Work this out as an exercise : what relative ratios of incidence would you need in order to sell yourself on the idea you prefer B ? 100:1 ? 1.1:1 ? what is it ?

Once you have a number, do compare the incidence ratios across jurisdictions. How often are women kidnapped and fucked liberally in those places where nobody gives a shit, versus in those places where dorks like you make a huge deal out of it ? Oh, right, because cunt is overabundant and nobody can be bothered, I forgot, and besides who could have predicted. [↩]Muscular tonus, the muscular excitation at rest. Look it up. [↩]No, I know you're delusional. Consider for instance Tangerine, it's much closer to reality than your own imagination. [↩]

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Genetics proposes, the environment disposes. »

Category: Lifespiel

Wednesday, 15 March, Year 9 d.Tr.

How the beastforum.com private messaging function became a paid-user-only item

You probably never heard of the largest bestiality forum on the internets, home to nearly 2mn registered users who regularily spew stuff like "since I first knotted with him six months ago my body has been changing I think I am adapting and we are becoming lovers nature wants us together" and so forth.

Nevertheless, beastforum.com exists, and has for many years existed. During those years and up until yesterday the collected population of... well, I suppose furries is the technical term, neh ? have produced a total of 11`324`994 public posts, and a whopping 12`511`460i private messages. That's right, they PM more than they post. Who knew, who could have guessed!

This tendency aggravated in the past 24 hours : while they went from 11`324`994 published posts to 11`362`293 (+299) they also went from 12`511`460 private messages to a whopping 13`154`912 (+643`452). What could have possibly issued over half a million PMs in a day, increasing the total count by something like 5% ? Well...

curl -kii -viii --cookie-jariv - -A "Mozilla/5.0 (X11; Ubuntu; Linux i686; rv:20.0) Gecko/20100101 Firefox/20.0" --interface "eth0:30"v --cookie "_cfduid=d0c2892e05534f0779df2f54dd73bedf71509847835;surfer=Ch4ADVn+cxsVYnzyIZmpAg==;Anti-Robot=51af22c8a0c2eff90a4d8781cee82723b189371evi" --data "referer=&UserName=whatever&PassWord=whatever&CookieDate=1" "https://www.beastforum.com/index.php?act=Login&CODE=01" > hurr.txt

A cat hurr.txt will yield some items of interest : __cfduid (not really used for anything), session_id (basically the actual login token), member_id and pass_hash which are not strictly speaking required but help with long term session life.

You put those into

for i in {1934360vii..1..12viii}; do usrix=$(curl -m 20 -k -A "Mozilla/5.0 (X11; Ubuntu; Linux i686; rv:20.0) Gecko/20100101 Firefox/20.0" --interface "eth0:29" --cookie "__cfduid=01a62af28652383bd3e53d09180e75b7161f8842ead; session_id=bae22d4ff56ab9eb16ac77f470f74b76;member_id=1934360;Anti-Robot=696bd05573b4b04517028db39723b962dd3ac1af;pass_hash=f1e414681cfa28ee6aca32336ba97e91" "https://www.beastforum.com/index.php?act=Msg&CODE=4&MID=$i"); unamex=$(echo "$usr" | grep "entered_name" | awk -F "'" '{print $8;}'); akeyxi=$(echo "$usr" | grep "auth_key" | awk -F "'" '{print $6;}');res=$(curl -m 20 -k -A "Mozilla/5.0 (X11; Ubuntu; Linux i686; rv:20.0) Gecko/20100101 Firefox/20.0" --interface "eth0:29" --cookie "__cfduid=01a62af28652383bd3e53d09180e75b7161f8842ead; session_id=bae22d4ff56ab9eb16ac77f470f74b76;member_id=1934360;Anti-Robot=696bd05573b4b04517028db39723b962dd3ac1af;pass_hash=f1e414681cfa28ee6aca32336ba97e91" --data "act=Msg&CODE=04&MODE=01&OID=&auth_key=$akey&entered_name=$uname&msg_title=Hey+is+this+story+about+you%3F&bbmode=normal&ffont=0&fsize=0&fcolor=0&tagcount=0&helpbox=Hint%3A+Use+Guided+Mode+for+helpful+prompts&Post=trilema.comxii%2F2014%2Fhow-i-was-wrong-cuckolding-or-a-story-about-sigmas%2F%23selection-219.0-219.17%0D%0ASame+name%2C+right.&submit=Send+Message" "https://www.beastforum.com/index.php?" > usr.txt); echo $uname, $i; sleep 1xiii; done

While the script is working it will print out a count and a username ; at any point one can $ cat usr.txt | grep "has been" to see who's last received a message.

Every six hours or so the sender will get banned, by account, which is terrible terrible news because believe it or not beastforum.com permits a single account be created per IP (which makes one think that conceivably there actually are a coupla million English speakers out there into watching horses fuck people etc) except it doesn't at all matter because the lousiest of webproxies is perfectly capable of creating a new account for you.

And so here we are : after banning four different "users" the technologically aptxiv folk running beastforum.com gave in and took the PM function offline altogether (well, technically put it behind the paywallxv, which I suspect might be the same thing). Sorry, furfies looking for group, I guess I fucked this one up for youxvi.

PS. Today as in 2014,

Go make up your own traffic figures, it's a worthless pursuit that will teach you a lot about both computers and the human nature ;

———You wonder how I know the precise count ? Ah, that's easy, they leak them everwhere, such as via &MSID=number. [↩]Ignores ssl "certificates" bullshit [↩]Verbose. [↩]Explicitly saves cookies. [↩]Allows you to switch IPs. Nifty, huh. [↩]Their "anti-robot" protection consists of some inept cookie setting via javascript. Like so :

<html>

<body onload="challenge();">

<script>

eval(function(p,a,c,k,e,r){e=function(c){return c.toString(a)};if(!''.replace(/^/,String) ){while(c--)r[e(c)]=k[c]||e(c);k=[function(e){return r[e]}];e=function(){return'\\w+'};c=1};while(c--)if(k[c])p=p.replace(new RegExp('\\b'+e(c)+'\\b','g'),k[c]);return p}('d a(){1.e=\'5=6; 7-8=9; 4=/\';1.b.c=2.3.f+2.3.g;1.h[0].i()}',19,19,'|document|window|location|path|Anti-Robot|696bd05573b4b04517028db39723b962dd3ac1af|max|age|86400|challenge|response|action|function|cookie|pathname|search|forms|submit'.split('|'),0,{}) )

</script>

Evidently no robots can ever read this, you know ?

[↩]Don't wonder how I know the user count, they leak it all sorts of places such as for instance showuser-n.html. [↩]If we're going to use 12 simultaneous sessions of this script (via, for instance, screen ; Ctrl-A c ; you're welcome) it is useful to count by 12s and decrement the start by 1 for each session. [↩]They're kind enough to prepopulate our message sending form with the correct name of the user on the basis of referencing him by his index. We use this property to extract some valuable data for later on (mostly for our own reporting --the akey bit is there mostly to appear elegant, in practice the keys are reused over multiple postings). [↩]We extract the recipient's name to keep track of what's going on. [↩]Similarily extract the mostly worthless "authentication key". [↩]We do not want the url clickable ([URL] wrapping would do the trick) because that'd also get it filtered out.

As it is, you could not believe how many people are befuddled by the incomprehensible item that looks like a link but is not clickable. About an eight of the total or so! Help, wut do ?

Other things you'd probably not believe is the immense count of people willing to respond! I read thousands of malformed epistles before finally giving up, including the sad confessions of large numbers of people who'd never before received a PM but would like to make friends and even one that informed me that there's "a complaint going" about some other post on Trilema! [↩]Not really used for anything, here as a placeholder rather. [↩]Don't they remind you of the Bitlove LLC tech mavens, btw ? [↩]Amusingly, you can sign up using Bitcoin, it's 19.95 EUR for 30 days (if you use a credit card it's only 19.95 USD for some reason). This allows us to do some math together : the economic value of the ~5,395 users redirected so far to Trilema by this procedure would be worth at ~2.5 USD/1k (talk to the traffic brokers) a whooping 13.4875 USD, which would almost make paying for an account a feasible proposition! I wonder if they did the same math when they came up with the solution. [↩]But had you NOT complained about it -- who knows, maybe you'd still have PMs available ? [↩]

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Alexandru Osvald "Pastorel" Teodoreanu »

Category: Meta psihoza

Monday, 06 November, Year 9 d.Tr.

How I found some area of expertise in mathematical cryptography one expects to find here and there ; plus divers spots missed while shaving.

If you've read the cat-v story you're probably thinking something along the lines of "apparently he tends to do one of these every six months or so". What can I say, apparently I do.

It all started quaintly enough in #trilema :

Framedragger btw there are like 770 people sitting and talking on ##crypto, it might not even be 100% hopeless, curious if they would respond well to FUCKGOATS advertising

asciilifeform 'people'

Framedragger usg sybils deliberately working to blackhole asciilifeform's emails!

trinque check it out; he learned the splitting

asciilifeform Framedragger: 'people' in the sense of the randos hanging out, e.g., here, and never saying a word, is the idea.

Not one to theorize, I simply joinedi and the conversation flew thickly thereuponii :

Framedragger just going throw this out there: there's an *auditable* hardware trng available here: http://nosuchlabs.com/ ; anyone interested please do drop by #trilema.

Captain_Beezay Framedragger: why do you call it "true"?

Captain_Beezay also,I'd never touch anything named that,regardless of quality. onerng is out there fyi

Framedragger Captain_Beezay: it doesn't hash or do any other stupid things like that, just gives you entropy; it doesn't whiten.

mircea_popescu link for this onerng thing ?

Captain_Beezay sameiii with onerng,I have it

Captain_Beezay http://onerng.info/

Captain_Beezay and I don't have to tell people I'm comitting beastiality when all I want to tell them is I have a nice hrng

mircea_popescu ah, i recall reviewing onerng cca 2014. there's serious problems with it. such as, micro is under same shielding as rf amp.

sarnold eightyeight: a new hardware token to add to your pile :) http://nosuchlabs.com/

mircea_popescu Captain_Beezay your self-broadcasting needs might be separable and for others separate from the rng issue.

mircea_popescu also, as per the schematic, the AP3105' switching voltage-booster is very likely to induce artefacts into the output. all in all it's a terrible design made by perhaps well intended yet obvious amateurs.

Captain_Beezay mircea_popescu: be it so.there was no need to call it that. I'm sure there will be people that won't mind the name

mircea_popescu anyway, got a contact for the people involved ? help them out with the "We are not aware of any other equivalent device that promotes this essential feature of security for you, the user." claim.

Captain_Beezay mircea_popescu: are you affiliated with nosuchlabs?

mircea_popescu i'm a principal.iv

Riastradh That's...quite the product name.

Riastradh Do you have a USB vendor and product id assigned for vendor NOSUCHLABS product FUCKGOATS?

mircea_popescu nope.

Ganymed :)

mircea_popescu also not going to happen, the republic is rather unfriendly to fiat pretense of the sort.

Captain_Beezay mircea_popescu: did you publish your onerng review?

Riastradh Guess I can't write a native NetBSD device driver for itv, then, like I did for my Finnish arachnoid alternative last week (which, admittedly, is not terribly auditable).

mircea_popescu Captain_Beezay back in 2014, http://btcbase.org/log/2014-10-28#900086

asciilifeform Riastradh: FUCKGOATS is an rs232 device. works equally well with, e.g., msdos, as with bsd. and with pdp11 as well as with pentium.

mircea_popescu speaking of which, is there a log website for this channel ? or how do i search past conversations ?

Riastradh Yes, but I can't detect that it is a FUCKGOATS device and automatically feed it to the entropy pool. It will look just like any other serial device, requiring operator intervention to know to use a userland program to connect to the serial interface and feed data from that to /dev/random.

asciilifeform that's actually deliberate.

asciilifeform it is meant to be used ~instead of~ whatever crock of shit your kernel came with.

mircea_popescu Riastradh you get something for that.

mircea_popescu eg the fact that someone else snooping around can't distinguish it from a keyboard.

asciilifeform well, from modem.

sarnold "boy this modem sure spits out a bunch of random gibberish"

mircea_popescu from line device, anyways.

Captain_Beezay has a serious problem with the name,anything that wants to be used professionally needs to have a sfw non-profane name.

Riastradh mircea_popescu: To get logs for the channel, send your resume to jobs@nsa.gov, go through a long security clearance process, &c., and then you will know what to do.

mircea_popescu Captain_Beezay the idea is to wholesale replace your notion of "professional", so that it is no longer socially acceptable to go around saying "sfw".

Riastradh asciilifeform: Not sure what you're getting at here with `crock of shit your kernel came with'.

mircea_popescu Riastradh it is a more important question than meets the eye. the fact that trilema has fully searchable logs significantly improves the quality of discussion going on and at the same time the quality of throughts thought by the participants.

Captain_Beezay mircea_popescu: No,the author is just being an inconsiderate self centered jerkvi

mircea_popescu aha.

Riastradh mircea_popescu: Your profundity is duly noted. I suggest you redirect your commentary on what constitutes professionalism to a channel more suited to the topic, say ##ideologies.

mircea_popescu remind me why i care what you suggest ; explain what exactly "noted" is supposed to mean here, you don't have a public log ; it's not directly clear what you're talking about anyway, i wasn't discussing what constitutes professionalism.

* Captain_Beezay missed the line about mircea_popescu saying he was the principal. sorry for the rudeness

Captain_Beezay mircea_popescu: I just don't appreciate others pushing their ideology on me using their technical achievements.

mircea_popescu Captain_Beezay i dun care about rudeness either way, but i like it when people make sense. otherwise, the whole point of technology is to push ideology on others.

mircea_popescu that's what it does.

Captain_Beezay you have the right to name it anything you want

Framedragger Riastradh: re. 'crock of shit', i think what was meant was that there is implicit trust in the kernel's csprng (with additional dubious operations done, including but not limited to whitening)

Captain_Beezay I will oppose acceptance of any such product as well.

Riastradh mircea_popescu: That's all very nice. Now please take your ideological proselytism back to a channel where it's on-topic.

Framedragger you people do realise that *you* raised the 'ideology' topic, right?

sarnold Framedragger: you trust the kernel for -everything-

sarnold Framedragger: in the same way that you trust the cpu for -everything-

Framedragger what, no, that's a classical slippery slope falacy.

Framedragger there is no need to trust the kernel to be the source of your randomness.

Captain_Beezay mircea_popescu: technology is a tool,how we use it is according to our own beliefsvii

Framedragger so x86 chips are broken and contain complex backdoor'y firmware. i should install malware, then?

Captain_Beezay a tool shouldn't tell me what to think or what to believe.

Riastradh Framedragger: Really not interested in arguing whether commentary around `the idea is to wholesale replace your notion of "professional"' is ideological proselytism. It's off-topic here.

asciilifeform incidentally FUCKGOATS works fine with machines having no kernel, and no os in the customary sense. for instance, fpga that fills sd card with random, for onetimepad.

mircea_popescu Riastradh do you find this "hurr durr" "now please take your hurr durr somewhere else" approach works in general ?

mircea_popescu Captain_Beezay "a tool" can't really work unless it comes with an ideology. that's what differentiates the tool from the piece of art.

sarnold mircea_popescu: in general people are more polite :)

mircea_popescu there is that.

Riastradh My patience is running pretty thin, and it's normally quite thick. If you folks have anything to discuss about crypto, feel free to bring it up; otherwise take it back to #trilema or whatever your usual haunt is.

mircea_popescu Riastradh i'd quote log lines if you have a log. as it is : "there's serious problems with it. such as, micro is under same shielding as rf amp." and "also, as per the schematic, the AP3105' switching voltage-booster is very likely to induce artefacts into the output." re the onerng thing.

sarnold asciilifeform: that's a fine point, and serial makes it way easier to use than usb too

mircea_popescu sarnold the problem with soldering an usb down is also that usb is a pretty opaque cliquish thing one might find himself willing to jettison in this lifetime.

asciilifeform incidentally, in case it were not obvious, mircea_popescu and asciilifeform are the co-authors of the linked device. and asciilifeform naively thought that a chan called 'crypto' might contain folks interested in the particulars of a (public design!) inexpensive nonwhitened rng.

sarnold asciilifeform: I think the mistake was mircea_popescu getting sucked into a debate about the name by Captain_Beezay. hehe. :)

sarnold asciilifeform: where a simple "that's name, name your own device whatever you want" would have sufficed. :)

mircea_popescu mno, apparently $random-nobodyviii with user-settable levels of "patience" is very interested in hijacking a technical discussion to talk about his feelings.

Captain_Beezay mircea_popescu: in other words,I'd much rather be talking crypto or rng right now than ideology. I'd rather buy your work and use it,but if you made it for only people that have no problem being vulgar and profane and/or won't respect the preference of others to not speak about beastiality or in a profane way in a professional setting then it's certainly not

Captain_Beezay for me and I'll discourage anyone from using it based on that non-technical merit alone.

asciilifeform the name, apparently, is working quite well. exposes folks who have... issues

mircea_popescu Captain_Beezay but by all means, go right ahead.

mircea_popescu the discussion is you saying "onerng exists" me explaining i see some problems, and now you discussing technology rather than anything else, please do.ix

Riastradh Design of RNGs for crypto is on-topic, though physical phenomona that lead to them is at the edge of the topic of this channel -- not because it's irrelevant but because it lies outside the area of expertise in mathematical cryptography one expects to find here.x

Captain_Beezay mircea_popescu: I can't even mention your rng without being profane,you have excluded me from it by calling it that. even if I liked your work I'd have to violate my beliefs in order to speak about it,very unfair. but I respect your right to name your work anything.

mircea_popescu you can just call it "FG" or for that matter anything else you wish. stetxi rosa pristina etc.

mircea_popescu but anyway, since we're here : dieharder seems to spin over samples. this is (at least to my eyes) very strange behaviour, as it introduces artefacts in the extended "sample" it considers. anyone know either the author so i can ask him why or else can explain why ?

mircea_popescu (other, of course, than the obvious "pre FG entropy samples were tiny and thus it was needed and besides they were so terribad it made little difference anyway.")

sarnold "spin over"?

Captain_Beezay mircea_popescu: forget about my little opinion,what if someone willing to audit your work or help you out doesn't because of something as silly as that. but I'll step away and allow other discussions

mircea_popescu sarnold yes. loop, if you prefer. processed kn bytes for a sample n bytes long.

sarnold mircea_popescu: that .. seems insane.

mircea_popescu it's in the code though.

mircea_popescu boyfawkes do you happen to know a girlfawkesy btw ?

Riastradh mircea_popescu: Why don't you email the author and find out?

mircea_popescu i have emailed ; haven't found out yet.

eightyeight sarnold: cool it's auditable, but .... ugh

eightyeight "[A] digital computer per se is uniquely unsuited to the task of producing entropy, in much the same way that a blast furnace is uniquely unsuitable for refrigeration."

eightyeight le sighxii

CiPHPer by the way, this is a thing: https://www.gofundme.com/security-audit-for-sodiumcompat

CiPHPer I think I mentioned it in ##security

eightyeight his "Is there such a thing as better or worse entropy ?" paragraph is equally as painful to read

eightyeight he clearly doesn't understand the differences between shannon entropy and entropy as defined by the 2nd law of thermodynamics

Pilfers refer

Framedragger eightyeight: if you were to read a couple more paras down, it's addressed

mircea_popescu eightyeight what are the differences, for my curiosity ?xiii

eightyeight Framedragger: ah. indeed.

eightyeight Framedragger: it is unfortunate that the author (you?) is not admitting that there can exist "malicious entropy"

eightyeight and feeding such entropy into a system compromises itxiv)

eightyeight (which is sort of the reason the hardware and firmware is auditable, as to prove it's not malicious)

Framedragger eightyeight: (it's a product of asciilifeform and mircea_popescu; writing's probably asciilifeform's)

mircea_popescu no, the part where i liberally confuse shannon and thermodynamic entropy is mine.

Framedragger ha :)

eightyeight where can i read the source code to the firmware?

mircea_popescu eightyeight first five links on the site are the v tree, the compiled binary and two schematics

eightyeight the .vpatch files?

mircea_popescu yes. it uses the V.

mircea_popescu (V being a strong cryptographic versioning system)

mircea_popescu !~later tell ciphper hmm, key apparently belongs to one michael alexander arthur cordingley. other than being born in athens ohio nov 12 1983, who's he ?

mircea_popescu oh, no bots either is it. sigh.xv

mircea_popescu anyway. i know for a fact the key didn't exist six months ago because phuctor doesn't know it. what exactly is signing stuff like that with a new key supposed to accomplish.

andytoshi how parallelizable is shor's algo? if i want to break 100 discrete logs is this much faster to do in batch than to do them separately?

mircea_popescu andytoshi the whole point of it is being parallelizable yes ?

andytoshi mircea_popescu: right, "parallelizable" is not what i mean, what i mean is are there batch speedups

andytoshi like, for pollard-rho, a clasical algorithm, you can break 100 discrete logs in much less than 100 times as long as it takes 1

asciilifeform andytoshi: idea for shor's was to 'parallelize' by running on parallel universes.

asciilifeform (supposing anyone knew how.)

andytoshi asciilifeform: that's really not how shor's algorithm, or any quantum computation, works

mircea_popescu the item not existing, this is entirely speculative, but in the theoretical theory of it you'd take the same local time to do 1 or n.

asciilifeform angels/pinhead.

Riastradh andytoshi: I don't think Shor's algorithm factors nicely into an expensive generic precomputation followed by a cheap per-target attack. But since it would run so fast, I also don't think that's likely to matter.

Riastradh andytoshi: Why do you ask?

andytoshi Riastradh: because if you can break a lot of discrete logs (like 2^30) then wagner's generalized birthday attack becomes applicable in situations that it otherwise wouldn't be

andytoshi in particular if i give you an unlimited stream of uniformly random EC points, assuming DL is hard you won't be able to find a subset of them that sums to zero. but if you can break the DL of each point, then you can do this efficiently using wagner's algorithm

sarnold but isn't shor's algorithm itself closer to 2^16? or less?

andytoshi o.O is it really that low? for a 256-bit group?

Riastradh andytoshi: The cost of Shor's algorithm is roughly quadratic in the number of bits in the group in question.

mircea_popescu there's two parts. the fourier transform is supposed to be fast ; the exponentiation is supposedly slow.

andytoshi and the exponentiation is classical right?

mircea_popescu doesn't have to be

mircea_popescu but afaik that's the state of the art atm.

andytoshi i guess there's an implicit assumption that classical computers will have way higher clock speends that quantum computersxvi

mircea_popescu anyway, it bears pointing out that allegedly the largest factored number had about five digits ; more documented examples involve the factoring of number 15.

andytoshi heh, yeah, i'm not worried today, but i'm trying to design systems now with "how badly will a QC wreck this" mindset

mircea_popescu heck, if you could get 1k "qbits" together you could prolly write the exponentiation as a fourrier transform.

andytoshi usually "QC will break everyone's privacy" is ok, but "QC will allow silent printing of bitcoins" is not

mircea_popescu qc does not allow silent printing of bitcoins as it is.xvii

andytoshi and when i'm actually concerned about quantum computers, i won't even be ok with privacy loss :)

andytoshi understood. but with confidential transactions it would

andytoshi we understand how to do unconditionally sound CT now ... i'm thinking about unconditionally sound confidential assets, which is a bit harder

mircea_popescu this is altogether dubious. as far as bitcoin works today, in order to spend you must reference an extant transaction. no qc will help you make people's copies of the blockchain contain an inexistent transaction.

mircea_popescu spending other's bitcoins is a differenty problem from printing bitcoins on your own, and "silently" is yet another layer on that.

andytoshi yes, fine, i know. i'm not talking about the actual bitcoin system

bascule andytoshi: there are remarkably few problems where the ability to break 1 vs n discrete logs is helpful. I think I'm working on one of them... it's not exactly an area where that's something you want to formulate a defense around

mircea_popescu ah ok.

andytoshi bascule: yeah, i think this is the first time i've ever encountered this being a useful distinction

andytoshi well, actually bitcoin (the real bitcoin :P) is kinda an example because there are a lot of public keys floating around that have money associated to them, and breaking any one of them lets you steal

andytoshi (though not silently, and not in an inflating way)

mircea_popescu the bitcoin key scheme is a little more complex though. not just ec.

andytoshi yeah, agreed. most keys are not exposed like this because they aren't EC group keys

andytoshi it's only those that have been used before, and the underlying EC key exposed

bascule andytoshi: that's a multitarget attack... but that's a boring example of the property I'm talking about

mircea_popescu in principle the address is a ripemd of a sha of the public key. but yes, you can also find the public key by finding previous txn spent from that address.

bascule sure each key you break provides incremental value

bascule that's different from "you have to break N discrete logs to break X"

andytoshi bascule: ah, true! i guess then my current problem is the first one i've encountered where "you have to break N discrete logs to break X" actually applies..

bascule because in the case of "you have to break N discrete logs" the question becomes "how big should N be?"

andytoshi well, in my case N is "big enough that Wagner's algorithm is tractable given all the discrete logs"

mircea_popescu this entire discussion vaguely reminds me of a well known naggum piecew

mircea_popescu http://www.xach.com/naggum/articles/3233532779857997@naggum.net.txt to be specific.

bascule mircea_popescu: haha the YAGNI argument

bascule funny thing about YAGNI

bascule the acronym swings both ways

mircea_popescu not really how it reads to me.

mircea_popescu long before it becomes a discussion as to whether yagni or yangni, one has to be seated at the table, and that requires passing the more pressing fogotpxviii caudine forks.

mircea_popescu dennis hopper does a great statement of that, if you've seen seek and destroy.

bascule mircea_popescu: I can't tell what that person is arguing

mircea_popescu who ?

bascule but it sounds like "you aren't going to need it"

bascule o_O

bascule I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count

mircea_popescu the matter isn't whether you are or aren't going to need it. before we get to that, we're stuck with "are you even going to be there".

mircea_popescu that's what he's arguing : that you aren't even going to be there, to need anything or not need it.

bascule in 20/20 hindsight, this looks so very very quaint

bascule "The only applications I know of that require multiple

bascule gigabytes of memory (and then tens of gigabytes) are those that require

bascule multiple terabytes of disk space"

bascule (let me introduce you to zkSNARKs)xix

mircea_popescu you are aware that you're producing a circular argument, yes ?

bascule the gigantic paragraph of shit in the middle of the email is riddled with statements like that

bascule are you fucking kidding me?

bascule this email may be "I can't imagine a future where more than 1 out of 1000 humans will actually have a need for electrical power"

mircea_popescu simply relabelling the imaginary work to be done from "reversing 20k wide matrix" to "blablaznarks" does not improve the standing of the child trying to fiddle with father's tools.

mircea_popescu so no, today as then, the only items actually needing gbs of memory also need tbs of disk space.

bascule the only conclusion I can draw from this email is this person is a moron

mircea_popescu yes, but the conclusions you draw tend to speak about you rather than about the world.

mircea_popescu let me know when you actually run an application that uses gbs of memory, i might have a better impression of them things then.xx

sarnold bascule: eh I thought they were fun stories of how hard it used to be collect a byte of data

sarnold bascule: nowadays we have more bytes of data than we can shake a stick at

mircea_popescu and we have to shake a lot of sticks at them to get actual data out of the deluge, too ;/

Such are my days and times. How about yours ?

———Turns out I had been there cca July 2014, but very little has changed in the intervening three years' experience :

mircea_popescu any advice on how to deal with people proposing specific measures to "harden" various crypto against "quantum computing" ?

mcpherrin mircea_popescu: there's plenty of papers on post-quantum cryptography.

mircea_popescu i know ;/

Hopefully they find a new pin-up dollie soon enough, this one's getting full. [↩]To save myself the effort later,

cat crypto.log | grep -Pv "\*\t" | cut -f4- -d " " | sed 's%>%</b>%' | sed 's/</<b>/' > crtpyo.txt

-P turns on perl-style notation which then requires the \ before the *. [↩]This is not actually true. The site he links specifically says

Entropy is collected from an avalanche diode circuit and optionally an RF circuit, whitened and presented over a USB/Serial connection.

[↩]Old name for significant owners with some involvement in conducting the day-to-day affairs of a company. This is not the same as officers (such as say the CEO) -- with regards to the principals, the officers fullfill the agent portion of the principal-agent relationship. [↩]It's very dubious what this driver would do, but then again I'm no NetBSD expert. In any case, the implication that I stand to lose something in this race is lulzy in itself. [↩]

A This doesn't fit with my worldview.

B. The idea is to make your worldview untenable.

A. No, the guy is just a jerk.

Fancy that wonder. [↩]I expect he also imagines he needs "just the facts". [↩]The question is still open. Mylord phf knows the guy, but that says little about how both github and pkgsrc stand empty on that name. [↩]You might be totally shocked by the fact that no, the fellow really had nothing else to say after all. [↩]And we shall soon get a load of this expertise. I hope you have your Ito calculus at the ready. [↩]No, this is not a mistake. There is such a thing as flexion in Latin, even if you don't much encounter it in English. [↩]If anyone feels inclined to delve, please do. Le sigh what ? [↩]This mystery was eventually unraveled. Spoiler : it turns out they all drank from the same waterhole and someone dropped a little methylene blue in it so now they piss unphysiological colors.

The >9000 irony crit being that alf's site is actually linked in there. [↩]This is not so unlike claiming that there exists a "malicious level", and building your tower to be level with such a level will crumble it. I suppose this is how the whole "global warming" pseudoscience was concocted at the micro level : they threw out the "malicious data". It's a rather powerful concept as far as folly goes. (The notion is not novel, by the way -- the classical Japanese had it, something with spirits flying. [↩]This sigh is actually quite substantial. How is one supposed to get any work done without the bots ? And without the knowledge of the bots being there to bridge the various gaps of circumstance, how is one to motivate himself to even do the work ?

TMSR. No small matter, because anything else makes you dumber. [↩]I hope you're taking down all this mathematical expertise. Yes ? [↩]You knew it was coming to this. [↩]Fuck Or Get Off The Pig. [↩]You know, "whole idea behind zcash / here's an Ethereum blabla". He has no idea who he's talking to, obviously, and this is okay. Why is it okay ? Because people tend to be more polite!

I'm sure they are, and I shit in their stupid mother's gaping cunts. [↩]Because obviously. [↩]

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Category: Meta psihoza

Friday, 28 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

How I fixed phpMiniAdmin (v 1.9.170312)

Motto : I'ma ignore this nonsense

coming from a fella who doesn't program.

Recently I found myself in need of a web db interface ; don't ask why or how and I won't have to tell you.

Turns out such a thing actually exists : phpMiniAdmin by OSAlabs aka Oleg Savchuki is a 40kb, single-file interface so you don't have to type all your selects by hand all the time until you fall over.ii Here you have it : phpminiadmin v1.9.170312 (edited). Supposedly this is the latest version.

The above item is not, however, the file you can download from the author directly. Why not ? Well, because after a cursory read through (turns out it doesn't actually take half an hour to read through 40kb of php, provided of course one doesn't program) and dumping it on the afflicted server, it turned out it... didn't work!

Specifically -- in the original v 1.9.170312, pressing "Go" did nothing useful, but instead simply dumped one to a generic screen, as if he had tried to execute an empty string. Why the hell was it doing that ?

Turns out finding out why the hell it did that doesn't actually take one ten minutesiii : line 497 (of 1`278 total, if you care) read simply

<input type="submit" name="GoSQL" value="Go" class="sbtn">

instead of the obviously preferable

<input type="submit" name="GoSQL" value="Go" class="sbtn" onclick="$('q').value=window.btoa($('qraw').value);">

Consequently, when you clicked Go it simply tried to execute a null string as a query, no matter what you put in the box. But thanks to the magic of not programming, it doesn't do that anymore.

Be so kind as to point this out to the original author, if you have some manner of contacting him ; and always remember : of the people who don't fuck pigs, only some don't fuck pigs because they've no penises.

———Elance nowadays (obtained via acquihire of "rentacoder.com") with some pretense to independence on the side (but the site no longer loads). [↩]Yes, yes, I'm sure you configured your emacs in such a way it does all the explains by itself and other magics. Some fellas don't program. [↩]Provided, of course, one doesn't program and consequently finds himself stuck trying to find out what's the native javascript implementation for base64 and then trying to figure out wtf is actually going on with their insane notation model, should it be object.global_function() or global_function(object) or wtf. As it turns out it's global.function(object.value), with a bonus smattering of $("quoted name") for optimal syntactical confusion. Thanks god one doesn't program, else that one might be mightily pissed off by all the delicate geniusing stuffed in all the nooks. [↩]

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Category: Meta psihoza

Thursday, 18 May, Year 9 d.Tr.

How I almost created a constellation of Bitcoin nodes

Originally I intended to bring up a half dozen boxes or so using alf's well advertised ssh tunneling scheme, and I started this article as a reference for that. Meanwhile we ran into various minor bugs ; and the major wtf whereby my box sits with a bunch of connections in TIME_WAIT state and nothing useful happens past that -- the tunnel evidently dun work.

The process was slower than it needs to be, certainly, but what actually put the kibosh on the idea was the twin discovery that a) nodes can still be blackholed with this arrangement, and if they are they will happily drop their ssh pipes and b) even when this doesn't happen there is no advantage whateveri to the piped node, it is still treated exactly like an all-comers node in all respects. These two factors combined make it both unfeasible and unappealing to eat the significant materiel and management costs of maintaining the proposed constellation, at least from my point of view.

Evidently, a solution to both a) and b) is expected to emerge from the eventual implementation of the TRB.N / TRB.B wallet split. The TRB.N could be run as servlets, one dedicated for tunneling peers, another dedicated to allcomers, which would make the peered one both immune to blackholing and passible of being priviledged in whatever other manner.

That said, I will be preserving the recipe I was preparing while doing all this so I can just pick up from here in half year or so when I try again.

~ * ~

We will be broadly relying on the Bitcoin Foundation's most recent release : thebitcoin.foundation/trb-howto.html. The item is curated by mod6, who is doing an absolutely fabulous job of it. To watch the whole process unravel, safely and correctly, is one of those extremely rare pleasures in the *nix world, notwithstanding their promise was why we even got into nixen in the first place.

We will be however making some adjustments to it, so as to serve our own purposes (the introduction of an experimental patchii in the press). For convenience the whole thing is reproduced below :

Log into a box, such as for instance via ssh root@wherever

Install autossh.iii

Create fuckoff.c, to contain :

#include <stdio.h>

#include <unistd.h>

#include <stdlib.h>

int main() {

printf("OK\n");

while(1) { sleep(1); }

exit(0);

}

gcc fuckoff.c -o fuckoff

cp fuckoff /sbin/fuckoff

useradd -d /home/tbnode -s /sbin/fuckoffiv

su tbnodev

mkdir trb-sshvi

cd trb-ssh

curl -s http://thebitcoin.foundation/v/V-20160220.tar.gz -o V-20160220.tar.gzvii

curl -s http://thebitcoin.foundation/v/V-20160220.tar.gz.mod6.sig -o V-20160220.tar.gz.mod6.sig

mkdir .wotviii

curl http://wot.deedbot.org/4F7907942CA8B89B01E25A762AFA1A9FD2D031DA.asc -o ben_vulpes.asc

curl http://wot.deedbot.org/FC66C0C5D98C42A1D4A98B6B42F9985AFAB953C4.asc -o trinque.asc

curl http://wot.deedbot.org/17215D118B7239507FAFED98B98228A001ABFFC7.asc -o asciilifeform.asc

curl http://wot.deedbot.org/6160E1CAC8A3C52966FD76998A736F0E2FB7B452.asc -o mircea_popescu.asc

curl http://wot.deedbot.org/027A8D7C0FB8A16643720F40721705A8B71EADAF.asc -o mod6.asc

gpg --verify V-20160220.tar.gz.mod6.sig V-20160220.tar.gzix

tar -xf V-20160220.tar.gzx

./v.pl i http://thebitcoin.foundationxi

curl http://btcbase.org/patches/asciilifeform_wires_rev1/file -o ~/trb-ssh/patches/asciilifeform_wires_rev1.vpatchxii

curl http://btcbase.org/patches/asciilifeform_wires_rev1/seal/asciilifeform -o ~/trb-ssh/.seals/asciilifeform_wires_rev1.vpatch.asciilifeform.sig

./v.pl p v trb54 asciilifeform_wires_rev1.vpatchxiii

cd trb54/bitcoin

make ONLINE=1xiv

Create a ssh keyxv

cat ~/.ssh/id_rsa.pubxvi

echo "autossh -f -M 0 -L 9000:127.0.0.1:8333 name@master" > do_tunnel.shxvii

chmod +x do_tunnel.shxviii

./do_tunnel.shxix

LC_ALL="C" nohup ./bitcoind -myip=46.166.160.36 -addwire=127.0.0.1:9000 -wirerefresh=3600 -verifyall 2>&1 &xx

———This is disputed ; there exists the to my eyes entirely negligible advantage that the node won't forget about the piped node. Leaving aside this theory hasn't been tested at all, this forgetting (which does happen, glory be to the genius of the original author) nevertheless isn't a major problem in the field for operational reasons. [↩]Consequently significant portions borrowed from asciilifeform's own instructions. [↩]On the system we used (2.6.32-573.12.1.el6.x86_64) this works as

yum autossh

but your system might use apt or whatever it uses. [↩]Create a user (here "tbnode") that will be doing the node work, with fuckoff shell. [↩]We're done with root stuff. [↩]Simply creates a new directory. [↩]These two steps acquire the current pressing mechanism as well as its signature. It will be verified later. [↩]These six steps procure the public keys that you need in order to verify the patches as well as the V version you obtained in steps 3 and 4. [↩]We are now in a position to verify the Vtron we're about to use. [↩]Assuming the above step yielded

gpg: Signature made Sat 20 Feb 2016 06:26:52 PM UTC using RSA key ID B71EADAF

gpg: Good signature from "mod6 (mod6) "

gpg: WARNING: This key is not certified with a trusted signature!

gpg: There is no indication that the signature belongs to the owner.

Primary key fingerprint: 027A 8D7C 0FB8 A166 4372 0F40 7217 05A8 B71E ADAF

If it didn't please report. [↩]The i flag inits, in this case on the basis of the mirror kept by the foundation. This will populate your /.seals and /patches directories with the standard TRB tree as of the date of issuance (22 February 2017, in this case).

See the description of the Vtron's functioning via ./v.pl --help by the way. [↩]This step and the next add the relevant portions of the experimental patch we wish to use (asciilifeform_wires_rev1) to the patches and seals directories respectively.

If adding other patches, repeat the process for all of them. [↩]Press a TRB tree. [↩]Compile the press, loading the dependencies from deedbot's central repository. [↩]If your user already has a ssh key, simply use its pubkey (it may be a good idea to create a separate user for this entire process).

It is a horrendously bad idea to use ssh-keygen for this process, as you won't really obtain a key. [↩]You will give this to people you connect via ssh tunnel to. [↩]If you are connecting to master hurr @ 1.2.3.4 the "name@master" part will read hurr@1.2.3.4. Do not mess with the 9000:127.0.0.1:8333 part, that's good as it is. [↩]We do want to run it. [↩]Might also put it in cron for good measure, @boot or something. [↩]We are done, our node at 46.166.160.36 will create a resilient ssh tunnel to the master specified, and accept incoming tunnels from whichever slaves you allowed via authorized_keys. Should you wish to tunnel towards more than one masters, make sure you increment the port, 9001 etc.

Mind that the original patch has the complaint timeout set at one second, which results in four lines per second per dead connection being spit into your debug.log. This is excessive, for which reason we have the above switch. It however doesn't actually work in the original, to quote

mircea_popescu one a second. why does it ignore the setting ?

asciilifeform this, i figured out last night. tardoshi did the disconnect routine in a very 'special' way, where it slowly sits and drools and 'waits for any references to expire'

mircea_popescu ahahaha

asciilifeform i oughta have throttled the eggog, it gets printed continuously during this idiocy

mircea_popescu because if he did it like he thinks he should it crashes right

asciilifeform aha.

but I understand will be fixed in a future development. [↩]

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Category: Bitcoin

Tuesday, 14 March, Year 9 d.Tr.

Hopscotch

Hopscotchi came out three decades ago just about. The Soviet Union still took itself seriously back in 1980. Most of the girls I've fucked to date weren't even born in 1980. Do you know what the FBI in charge of the scene tells the CIA director right before botching the capture, in 1980 ? "That's a phrase that has lost most of its meaning by now". It was in response to the CIA director telling him something about "national security". In 1980.

To come out and say it plainly : all the dorks pretending like the US coming to pieces next week would be "very sudden" suffer from a very willful case of "ignoring the historical reality of one's own nose". The jig was well up in 1980. It'd have been sudden (but not unexpected) if it blew up before the Soviets did. That China elected not to keep Soviet Russia on a respirator but instead keep Soviet America on a respirator has very much to do with China's decision process and relatively little to do with self important white bureaucrats in either Red or White house.

Other than that, a very grounded, intensely absolute disdain for the fundamental stupidity of government goons is apparent throughout. This makes Hopscotch a work of realism in fiction. There's also very plain display of the fundamental, irredeemable incompetence of government goons in open competition, no matter the field. This makes Hopscotch a work of realism in fiction as well.

Outside of these rather 2nd pass considerations, the film is not terribly good, even by hollywood standards. It's certainly not one of Matthau's better offerings. Then again... spy stories, what the hell can you do with a dumb premiseii like that ?

———1980, by Ronald Neame, with Walter Matthau, Glenda Jackson and some dogs -- the more intelligent of which a) gets the girl and b) doesn't suffer the others. [↩]Spy films work about as well as "BDSM" pornos. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Saturday, 12 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

Ho-tel

I have no idea why that title. I just like the implication that there's ho in hotel, what do you want from me.

Moving on,

Here's a list of chicks (and some interspersed cucks) that visited the "Detras del Porton Rojo : una vision de la erotica en el arte costarricense" exhibitioni at the Museo de Arte Costarricense yesterday. Feel free to drop them a line / give them a call see if they want to go out with you or something. I mean, why not, right ?

Start with the sixteen year olds, I say. They were asking for it, first for the obvious and fundamental reason, and then who goes to see porny things if they're not looking for your dick ?

Speaking of which,

Leaving aside that the working materials of physical anthropology aren't art and that sacerdote does in fact mean priest ... well... The next dick over was from a "security guard" and I lost interest. Who the hell cares what the ideal vulvular hole to fit government clerks would look like ?

This'd be the best modern item in the whole pile, sadly ruined by my inept camera skills. The satyr's face is very convincingly other, you almost want to fuck him just for the seminal diversity. If you're a girl, I mean.

Alternatively, there's also a piece interesting from a historical rather than artistic point of view :

Clearly antique, but nevertheless correctly depicts the adult woman of her period : snatch shaved, skirt raised, fat in a certain way and so following. Ten thousand pantsuit retcon-fictions weigh exactly nothing against this.

Even more alternatively, the only reason that building even is worth the mention, this top room :

The actual workmanship is not very accomplished, either technically or artistically (that soviet-brutalist Diego Rivera crap is really unworthy of mention among civilised folk), but they really don't have that much! What can they do ?

———I'll spoil it for you : tiny country with ~no art scene to speak of. The whole thing is "Here's some nekkidy doodle someone drew on a schoolbook. In 1972. We kept it because there's really not so much to keep around here."

No kidding. [↩]

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Category: La pas prin lume

Friday, 22 December, Year 9 d.Tr.

Things That Happened To Sam. Chapter 8 - Sam finally gathered

Sam finally gathered enough energy to raise his head. He carefully lowered the man's sleeping snake from his mouth, he looked around briefly then, as struck by having forgotten something, turned his head and gave it a sweet kiss right on the exposed head.

Pam supported him as he struggled to get to his feet. "You must apologize to our gracious hosts, baby" she said, loudly. Rodriguez came in from the kitchen, holding a hot pan which smelled delicious. His brother opened his eyes.

"Yes..." Sam babbled, before finding himself. "Please forgive me, sir! I am very sorry, sir! Please, sir!" he said, leaping widly from one man to the other, kneeling before them, rubbing his head on their shins and trying to kiss their feet.

The scene went on for a few minutes, as the frying pan slowly cooled, and Rodriguez' smug satisfaction contaminated his brother's face. "What are you sorry for, little bitch ?" Rodriquez asked at length. The question had on Sam the effect of an electric shock. "I... I don't... I don't know, sir. Please forgive me, sir."

"Alright", he offered neutrally. "Both of you little whores - go outside and wash up." It was at this moment that Sam noticed Pam was completely nude, and it struck him as the most obviously natural thing in the world. He undid his remaining button and threw his thoroughly soaked and stained shirt away. As he limped behind her towards the patio, he heard Rodriquez say "And shave. Everywhere. Both of you." behind them. He mumbled "yes sir!" under his breath and hurried to catch up.

The place Rodriquez had sent them was an open air shower, running cold water through a flexible hose. The privacy panels had been recently removed, not that either Sam or Pam had any way to know, or frankly speaking seemed much inclined to care. You could plainly see the backstreet, and the backstreet could plainly see you. There wasn't anyone there, except the occasional car passing by. They usually horned, but no more than that. The sun was about to set, leaving maybe an hour of light, maybe two. Sam briefly considered that they wouldn't be going to St. Thomas the next morning, seeing how it was already late afternoon, but the thought made no more impression than any momentary flight of fancy ever does.

Getting all the crusted spunk and blood off of him took forever, but his wife helped him delicately, with soft, loving hands. Shaving was much easier an affair, Pam didn't have any hair anyway and Rodriguez had left within reach a sharp straight razor which made very quick work of Sam's everything, face, armpits, pubic hair, legs, everything. Almost an hour later they finally emerged. Rodriguez was waiting for them on a disused, disfunctional sort of ex-swing, propped up by indistinct detritus on the side missing the rope. He explained that his brother had left "to make arrangements" while he set two bowls, perhaps more reminiscent of dog dishes, on the porch at his feet. He threw some stale bread chunks in each, perhaps dinnertable left overs, then went inside. He soon emerged with a bowl of indistinct slop, which he poured into the bowls, atop the bread. There were no spoons, but this proved no impediment to either Sam or Pam -- the bowls were licked clean within minutes. They had apparently been hungry.

Next he emerged with two plain cotton dresses which he handed to them. Pam picked one, and put it on. It was practically see through, the sway of her breasts made visible by the thin material. She helped the other one over Sam's head. He looked ridiculous in the thing, but as there were no mirrors and nobody said anything he himself had no idea. Then again, had there been mirrors, or had anyone said anything, what idea would he have had ?

They followed him quietly down a winding path towards what, in the distance, seemed like a makeshift dock. The walk was maybe a mile, maybe more. At first Sam's ass hurt and he couldn't walk properly, but after a couple stern looks from Rodriguez he caught right up and kept moving. Soon Sam noticed that whenever they crossed anyone Pam would lift her skirt as far high as it went, completely exposing herself. Most people just looked away, though some made some joking comment or discussed briefly with Rodriguez in hushed tones but next time someone passed, Sam lifted his skirt also, along with her. Sam didn't know why, specifically, nor did he think about the why. Maybe it would make Rodriguez be pleased with him! The mere thought of that possibility filled him with a warm, sweet, sticky joy, like he were a savarine.

After the fifth or so encounter, Rodriguez spat out a string of Spanish curses, with a little English intermingled here and there, enough to convey the broad point that he, Rodriguez, was none too impressed with their, the villagers expectation that they could fuck Pam for free merely because they did fuck her for free at some point in the more or less recent past. It sounds perfectly absurd once spelled out plainly, and yet is there a more commonly held, or more reliably encountered delusion ?

"Maybe you shouldn't ask for money", suggested Pam, evenly.

"What ?" Rodriguez spat out.

"No money. Cigarettes, whatever they had."

Rodriguez looked at her, silently at first, but as his pockets filled up with sweets, tobacco and assorted other odds and ends of certain if inconsequential value he smiled at her.

"You really know your work." he said. "Good whore." he added, in a warm, intimate tone. Pam purred slightly, and Sam's admiration for his wife swelled up inside his chest and nearly drowned him. Pam! She is so beautiful! She is so perfect in every way! And Rodriguez likes her! What's more, he said she's a good whore! He grabbed her hand, teary eyed, and pressed it to his side. His wife, Pam, that's who Rodriguez was talking about. Sam felt as proud and exhilirated as any small child could ever be at the coronation of his mother. Queen Pam, the good whore. What could ever be more grandiose, what ever was more, or better, throughout the ages ?

With all the stopping for Pam to take cock, either to be fucked standing like the beasts of the field, on the side of the road, or to blow a coupla loads here and there, it was well night before they reached the dock. The men that now and again stopped them to offer Pam their surfeit of fructose in a light protein sauce never did show Sam any favour whatsoever. He couldn't blame them, in his heart, but a small seed of envy nevertheless caught root, and its bitter vines slowly spread throughout. A few times he tried to nuzzle his way into the action while Pam was sucking off some cock or other. She seemed very willing to share, but the men always chased him away. They never wanted Sam's lips on their cock. They only wanted Pam's mouth, they only wanted her ass, her lips, her tits, her... The observation incresed his admiration for her, but also saddened him. Poor Sam, he had been turned out to a life that, in the end, had no interest in him, no need for him, properly speaking no room for him whatsoever. He was an extra, there because he was there and for no other reason. Had he not been there it'd have made no difference.

Maybe if he had a pussy like her, Sam thought. Maybe if he had tits. Maybe... but despondency quickly caught up with the stray thought and murdered it where it stood. who was he fooling, really ? Nobody would ever want him. Maybe if they were drunk, maybe if he were a virgin, for the thrill of discovery, for the breaking of new ground, the furrowing of fresh new mud. Maybe once in his whole life, if he got lucky. No more. He was an old, shriveling, repugnant fat faggot nobody wanted and that was all there was to it.

The dark tar of the water, caught between the sandy shore and the rotting pile of flotsam masquerading as a dock mirrored his thoughts, echoing them back to him. Sam spent a long while feeling sorry for himself, not even bothering to lift his skirt anymore when the occasional man straggled over to copulate with Pam in the romantic setting. They wouldn't want him, anyway. Nobody could ever want him.

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Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Wednesday, 17 May, Year 9 d.Tr.

Hiking, Inc.

"The paths ahead are infinite... and all the choices are yours to make. So choose wisely!"

This would be Boris, the mini-dog.

Boris is a very friendly mini-dog. He also has a good supply of pee he distributes very carefully in well reasoned mini-doses across salient elements in the peisage. He's good to go for miles, from spot to spot like that.

This is Hubert, the perfect bush. He is very accomplished, and also has a bush apprentice.

This is a plantation on the edge of a precipitous ravine. As you might expect, it's worked by hand.

There's a hamlet in the valley.

And imagine : no mosquitoes!

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Category: Zsilnic

Friday, 14 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

HeLa Matter!

Depicted above (and for that matter, below) you may find an innocent victim / unarmed youth born on February 8th, 1951 in Lafond's own Baltimore, Maryland to one Henrietta Lacks. The father is not (as is customary among that tribe) specifically known, other than his being a Human (Papiloma Virus). In any case, there is probably need to specifically state, so as to quell any possible retrograde obscurantism : being born of an (African) American mother on US soil still makes one fully and legally a US citizen. It's the law!

The innocent victim / unarmed youth has proven remarkably successful, producing enough offspring in the intervening interval to fill two or three hundred biosacks to the usual specification of "human being", although it is not usually their preference to agglomerate quite in that degree. Otherwise it is almost a laboratory pest / invasive species, having destroyed liberated millions of dollars worth of The Man's stolen goods and resources during its career.

It'd be perfectly fair to point out that junior would die the next day if very highly qualified men working with very complex machinery wouldn't take the time out of their otherwise busy schedules to provide it with the requisites for its existence, each and every day. It'd be equally fair to point out that this is exactly equally the case for all offspring born of woman on that continent, and that all of them, tall or short, ball-shaped or not, with or without limbs will equally croak within a day or two if the Republic of competent men with powerful machinery stopped forcefeeding them whatever it is they eat. There truly is no difference under this heading between innocent youth of the unarmed victim variety and innocent youth of the "going to college" variety, or of the "having a job" variety, they're all about equally tumescent.

The problems all this puts before the "traditional marriage" folks, monuments of well meaning if unexamined naivite as they find themselves, should be rather obvious. Is your desk properly speaking part of "our democracy" ? Why not ? Can it vote, do you observe its OSHA rights ? Internet of things, bitch! If "ourdemocracy" includes "all the people" then how does it exclude something with triploidyi and without eyes ? If it excludes that, then why not 3-M syndrome babies, all ~50 or so of them ? Why not annoying women, ugly teenagers, why not gingers with small tits ?

Obviously, the classification of species carries just as much water as the classification of races : they're classifications, not matters of ontology but matters of convention, if you put your three apples in the top drawer or in the bottom drawer, you're still going to have the three apples you started with.

Obviously, there is no "scientific basis for policy", nor can there be.

Obviously there is no possiblity of meaning outside of a structure of authority, and the authority can not be predicated on the meaning.

So what do we do here ? Shall I give you just the facts about Henrietta Lack's most successful offspring ? Which ones ?

Photos via National Center for Microscopy and Imaging Research.

———HeLa has 80 chromosomes, because fuck you, that's why. [↩]

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Category: Trilenciclopedia

Tuesday, 30 May, Year 9 d.Tr.

Guys and dolls

~ Intro ~

Her what'd ya see?

Me guys an' dolls.

Her any good?

Me not bad. except for the lulz at these idiots' problems part.

Her hmm i'm not sure ive ever actually seen it

Me sinatra, brando...

Her defiinitely not

Me then we see sometime. maybe you even make it face upi the whole way.

Her lol sounds doubtful

Me lol. how many films didja sorta-buttseeii to date ?

Her i dunno, 2/3rds?

Me o wow that many ? srsly ?

Her i'd say so. there's a reason i never remember w/e film you're talking about or think you saw it with someone else.

Me pretty good reason!

~ Critico ~

Guys and dollsiii is a decent musical made out of a decent Broadway show. It suffers terribly of that decency, stifled within the petty horizons of the US-style petit bourgeois-wannabe. The extremely tame soprileiv included, sophomore stuff on the level of the brainwashed drone of the evil General Cartwrightv loving milk punchvi and suggesting it be used to get kids to drink their milk fails to rescue the immense pile of fail. Nathan Detroit's been "going out" with a girl for 14 years yet she's not his slave ? Srsly ? Dude's the most respected something or the other and some obscure bureaucrat dares posture in his direction ? What the fuck happened to "Listen Brannigan, you fucking fringe, if I throw a dog a bone I don't want to know if it tastes good or not. You stop me again whilst I'm walking, and I'll cut your fucking Jacobs off." ? No, but I wish to know, since when the fuck did the world turn on its head.

If you can live with the contorted, nonsensical premises where gangsters are simple minded to the point of troglodytism, a sort of period equivalent of the petit bourgeois notions of black men ; where women actually get to be in charge of the household -- through the ridiculous pretense of being "the guardians of the faith", you know, little cunt priestesses in communion through "the good book" with the ghost of Cartwrights pastvii ; where guys have to ask permission an' the dolls get to posture and pretend and pay no rent, then you'll probably think this campy piece of nonsense is as straight laced as it gets. What could I possibly say to you. Perhaps

What's playing at the Roxy? I'll tell you what's playing at the Roxy. A picture about a Minnesota man falls in love with a Mississippi girl. He sacrifices everything and moves all the way to Biloxi. That's what's playing at the Roxy.

What's in the daily news? I'll tell you what's in the daily news. Story about a man bought his wife a small ruby with what otherwise would have been his union dues. That's what's in the daily news.

What's happening all over? I'll tell you what's happening all over. Guy sitting home by a television set. That used to be something of a rover.

Here's the thing though : you're not growing out of the couch in front of the TV because of the girl. You're growing out of the couch in front of the TV because that's what you are. No, you didn't age into it. She didn't make you do it, love didn't make you do it, time didn't make you do it, god didn't make you do it, enough with the inept excuses. If you're a couch potato it's because that's what you are, nurture ain't got naught to do with this. And yes I'm aware she politely supports your hallucinations of past relevancy. Of course she does, that's her fucking job. You, however, never were "a rover". Not a bit, not a lot, not at all. Get over yourself.

~ Outro ~

They don't sing so good, none of 'em. Sinatra can't act, I suppose this comes as no shock. Brando can't act to save his fucking life, but then again I expect you're aware.viii Simmons is I guess ok, kinda-sorta. Not really. English woman, whadda ya want.

If you're watching this, prolly good idea to have the girl on hand.

———"Ass up, face down" becomes tempting as the reel goes on, what can I tell you. [↩]There's this thing where she licks your balls / lightly strokes the shaft while her ass is up in the air, cutting a sort of MST3K profile against the screen. Delish. [↩]1955, by J L Mankiewicz, with Marlon Brando, Jean Simmons, Frank Sinatra. [↩]Lit. lizards, figuratively "criticism of the totalitariat under seemingly innocent pretenses". [↩]A sort of Darth Vader / Professor Evil / Whatever, uppity middle aged woman with delusions of social relevancy and moral importance [↩]For some reason this is called dulce de leche in the movie. Yes, yes, I'm aware it meanwhile became a thing, of course, hurr. This isn't to say eggnog was unknown in 50s Habana, of course, but Doncellita ain't "dulce de leche" etcetera. Anyway. [↩]Known in Romanian as the stramule. [↩]Incidentally, the droning, belaboured speech that every two bit used-to-be-a-rover now identifies with "mafia capo di tuti capi" is already present! In '55! Worth a lulz, I guess. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Saturday, 18 March, Year 9 d.Tr.

Google Ycombinates also!

Various people pointed out to me that they can't get to the better hash function article through google. Everything else, yes, that -- no.

It seemed ridiculous on the face, and so I went and checked. Fancy this wonder :

(click the image for the archive.is page)

Anything and everything, including articles that mention it by virtue of including the "Recent Articles" listing. The article itself, however -- absent.

The poor quality of the work is readily reminescent of the rest of the USG, but the twist may well be that perhaps I wasn't supposed to ever notice. As it turns out, people who know me (in an "artificial intelligence"-comprehensible sort of way) don't have the problem :

davout i get it as first result fwiw

Big data, eh.

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Category: Meta psihoza

Monday, 16 January, Year 9 d.Tr.

Glam punk

"How is this a fucking paper ?"

"I told you on the phone. It's not complete. I did a lot of research ok ? And..."

"You dizzy cow!"

"Look, I told you. It's almost complete."

"You want money for this ?!"

"25 quid. Like we agreed on the phone."

"Agreed nuttin'."

"You said..."

"You're out of your fucking skull." then after a short pause. "I'll give ya 10."

"No, listen, I put a lot of work into this. I was up all night Tuesday. I worked three whole days for it!"

"10 quid. For that damp squib..."

"Look, Towers of London are coming. I need some effin dough."

"10 quid."

"Eh... okay."

She glares at the fat, balding honker sitting on her bed. School's almost out, she'll be finally done with that nonsense. If she graduates, that is. But even if Mr. Hornponner flunks her that horse's arse, she'll just show up for the reexamination and she'll get her certificate. So what if it won't be with all the others, big fucking deal. She didn't want to go to their damned graduation ceremony anyway. Why worry about it now, the Summer's almost here. Towers of London are coming...

He looks at the confused girly. She's left the premises, plainly enough. Her eyes are defocused, she's looking somewhere outside of her field of vision, like a cow daydreaming. She's not that fat yet, but if she keeps with her current diet she'll definitely get there in a few, short years. He breaks her reverie

"Take your clothes off already."

"What ?" she comes to abruptly, and visibly unpleasantly. "You said 10 quid!"

"Not for your chicken scribblings, numpty. Go on, bare off!"

"But..." she starts to protest, but no words come to her. While she thinks vaguely of how thin the walls are, and how tiny their little terraced "house", with its square meter of sad yellow grass in the back, "for barbecues", if you can get three people to fit in there somehow she pensively unbuttons her denim top. Will her parents hear her downstairs ? Baldy grunts and grabs a hold of her jeans. She steps closer to him, he undoes her button and roughly pulls her pants and her panties down to her ankles. She pulls her blouse over her head as he stands up, undoes her bra as she seats sideways on the bed and next thing she knows is his short, stubbly dick in her mouth.

He smells a little dubious, somewhat of sweat, and tastes a little sharp, but she bobs her head up and down wondering why is she doing this. Why not ? But then why hasn't she been doing it before ? She has, a few times, but not really. Why not ? They didn't really tell her to, is god's honest truth. They just didn't tell her to. Maybe she should suck Mr. Hornponner too, that'd be a sight. She giggles to herself. Her bobbing had slowed to a nod, but she didn't notice.

He pushes her on the bed with the roughness of disinterest, lifts her ankles up by the denim uniting them and starts pounding away at her. She watches the wall as his cock goes in and out her ridiculously moist slit. She's not a virgin, of course, England didn't see an 18 year old virgin since they invented gin five cneturies ago. But she doesn't do it all that often, and that's because she doesn't really see the point. A bar of icecream would be better, really. Vanilla swirl.

He's done, and he retires his cork out of her, but doesn't let go of her pants. As he's holding her legs up he asks where her phone is, and then orders her to point. She points confusedly around the room, eventually locating it. He orders her to keep her knees up to her chest and her ass up as he stands up to retreive it. She obeys. She has no idea why, nor does she wonder why, she just huggs her knees to her chest and hums.

He fucks with her phone a little, then with his, then her phone rings briefly, then he fucks with it some more. Eventually he shows it to her.

"This is my phone number. When it rings you'd better pick up. You hear me ?"

"Yeah."

"You got a boyfriend ?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. I'm taking off now. I want you to call your boyfriend on the phone, you hear me ?"

"Yeah..."

"Call him over when I'm gone. Tell him you have something very important to show him. Do you two do it ?"

"Not really."

"All the better. At your age you have no business messing with that sort of thing. When he's here have him eat you out. Tell him he must do it until you come, you got that ?"

"Yeah."

"That way your womb gets well filled, you see, and he'll think he's eating your cum. Once you're done let him fuck you a little, but not too much. Jerk him off on himself after a minute or so. Hell, less, count to twelve if that."

"Alright."

"And don't move. Hold your ass like that so you don't leak any until he's got his mouth on your cunt. Just pull your pants up over your ass and wait for him."

With that, he was out of her tiny upstairs bedroom, and a moment later she could hear the house door click. She skived in bed for a half hour or so, then James showed up. Her boyfriend was a lanky kid with disorderly red hair. He had finished school a year before, though he was about to turn 21. He was doing some apprenticeship or whatever, she had no clear idea and he never had two bob together. As he came in she realised baldy never paid her. Maybe that's what he meant about the phone, she figured.

James sat down on the bed by her ass without saying anything. He wasn't much of a talker even when drunk.

"Baby, kiss me." she whispered. He leaned in and touched her lips with his. James was a terrible kisser, in a league of his own with oceanic fish and pet rocks. She kissed him back and they exchanged spit for a while. His hand automatically went to her left boob. She hadn't bothered to redo her bra, he could feel it laying limply between her tit and her navel. He gave her a startled look, but she just cooed.

"Baby, I want you to kiss me down here..." she whispered while pulling her pants back up. Her slit was glistening with another man's excitement, but James couldn't tell the difference. He turned around on his hip, and started working her labia. He wasn't much better at that, and it took a lengthy long while, but eventually she managed to orgasm. She could never have done it normally, but the excitement of the day coupled with her finger on her clit to help him along sent her over the edge. It was actually one of the better ones she had ever had. She slid slightly to one side, baldy's cum starting to leak out of her, thin, pungent. She pushed her heels into James' chuck. There was no escaping, her jeans pressed him firmly into her leaking slit. He lapped her up enthusiastically. Eventually she let go.

"That was a lot" he said, in a sort of dogged excitement.

"You do that to me, baby" she cooed. "Do you want to fuck me ?"

"O yeah!"

"Hold my legs up with one hand like that. No, use your left. Grab right here. Yeah, that's it. Now put your dick head right on top of my kitty. Don't push. Don't move. Just wait there. Yeah, that's it. Just hold it there. Do you like that ?"

"Yeah!"

"Push it slowly in when I tell you to. And stop when I say. And pull it back out when I tell you and wait here like this just touching with your tip, will you ?"

"Yeah baby. Anything."

She had him penetrate her extremely slowly, stopping him and making him pull out or hold steady randomly as whimsy struck. As she counted eleven according to some personal rulebook made up on the spot she undid one of her ankles out of its predicament while he was waiting obediently, throbbing cock barely touching her. She turned him on his back roughly and straddled him. She wiggled her ass on top of his face, raising her back to catch his nose in position, exactly in her asshole. She could feel him choking, out of breath under her. It was a delicious feeling, and she clenched her buttocks as she grabbed the shaft of his cock.

He struggled for a while, but without trying to actually push her off him. His hands, clenched on her thighs, were rather pushing down than to the side. They had never done anything like this before, but as she finally lifted her ass he gulped the air greedily and without complaint. Then he started lapping up her asshole.

"What's my arse taste of, baby ?" she inquired, playfully.

"Pennies," he managed, hoarse.

"Do you like licking pennies out of my arsehole, baby ?" she sung in a reverie, barely enunciating the words. She kept repeating the question to the accompaniament of his possibly affirmative grunts, stroking the shaft of his thinnish, curved penis slowly at intervals. His tongue was going deeper and deeper into her, and she pulled his knees under her elbows. He looked so helpless like that, she thought, like a little boy. So exposed, so vulnerable, helpless ballsack laying right there, nowhere to hide in the middle of the exposed field.

She clamped his breath again, tigthly, and as she did she slapped his ballsack with her right palm while holding his shaft firmly in her left. He buckled under her, like electrocuted, but she wasn't about to let go. She just rubbed his balls softly while watching his toes turn blue. Eventually she let go. He gasped for air again, but said nothing, going right back to licking her anus instead. Her left let go of his shaft and instead wrapped around his ballsac, pushing his balls into a tiny patch of stretched skin away from his body. She used her index against her thumb to deliver little tiny kicks to his sensitive drum. He groaned every time one landed. Eventually she grew bored of this, grabbed his shaft again, clamped his face again and slapped his balls again. He bucked again as before, and she didn't let go as before, but this time she slapped him again, harder.

He barely moved. She could feel the air burble out of him and past her thighs, ticklishly. Soon he'd be completely empty. She farted, right in his nose. She could feel his chest fill up on her intestinal gas. He held it in for as long as he could but then the burbling started again. He had less to go this time. She stood up, and he gulped air, choking and coughing. She rubbed his balls again, they were turning a very heavy purple. She squeezed them into a tiny little space again, reached to the side and grabbed a thick, round magic marker. She starting drawing orange-ish patterns on his tortured bit of skin, pushing just hard enough to hear him sigh. Then she started whipping him with it, his whole body wincing at every stroke, oodles of precum leaking out of his deflating penis.

His ooze was making its thick, slow way towards his asscrack, and she started playing with it. It was clear, but honey-like, and she started trying to push it into his asshole. She had no idea why, nor did she much care to wonder about it, the game itself of sticky-in-the-hole was strangely satisfying, incomprehendingly. It was like one huge drain in the middle of his ass, and the leak found its natural way into it with her help. Her finger went deeper and deeper into him. His inside was curved, and interesting. She couldn't quite reach, so she added her middle finger to her index to help stretch him out wider, into a more accomodating form. Eventually she pushed her thumb halfway against the two fingers, to open him as wide as possibe.

James was lapping her enthusiastically, and then her fingers ran into a little mound, a sort of bulge inside of him the size of a walnut. His body reacted intensely to the encounter, and without her mind catching on her body, her hands and her fingers and her shoulders and her asshole even all knew she had bingoed. That was it, she knew, or rather her body knew, instinctually. She grabbed his tiny, deflated penis in her left fist, crumpling it tightly to fit while her right hand explored his inner bump. She rubbed it gently back and forth for a little when she suddenly felt him jerk and fill her left hand with cum. She didn't stop, but continued rubbing with her right, softly yet decidedly, while holding his flaccid penis tightly in her left, with nowhere to grow. He bucked and bucked and leaked and leaked until eventually he just lay, limp, under her.

When at long last she couldn't get any more reaction out of him at all, not even the faintest twitch anywhere, she took her fingers out. They were covered in his shit. She wiped them against his pubic hair, and against the inside of his boxers. She played around in the large pool of prostate dribble that had formed on his belly. Eventually she stood up. She looked at him, coyly. He gave her an exhausted look as if he was ten thousand miles away.

"Go on." she said simply. He stood up on shaky legs and started to button up as if nothing had happened.

"When I ring you'd better pick up. You hear me ?" he nodded and left. She lay on her back, pensively. She went to touch herself with her right hand, but halfway stopped. She used the slick left instead. Slowly, as she was building herself up to a monster orgasm her right found her own asshole. She positioned herself face down in the wet spot, ass up in the air for better access and came just as her fingers slid in. She rubbed in and around looking for her little bump, but couldn't find anything. "I'm fucking his shit into my own ass" she thought, just as her mind exploded in another, obliterating orgasm.

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Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Sunday, 13 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

Giancarlo Giannini : Settebellezze & Sessomatto

In Settebellezzei, Giancarlo Giannini is overdrawn, overdone, sexually ambiguous giovane d'onore. Rather buffone, rather deficente, rather the darling of all slit-bearing walkers in his native slum. He has a dozen sisters, they're all fat and ugly, he has a a grosse girlfriends e fidanzate, they're all fat and ugly. He worships his mother (who's stupid) and transferred his father (who's absent) upon some random older guy. He's worthless in a confrontation, gets knocked out cold on the first blow, sneaks in and accidentally fires his pistol while trembling, deserts his army and generally speaking represents in all things the pantsuit man. Follow Lina Wertmuller's nonsenseii, end up like Pasquale. What more can you ask of life ?

Sessomattoiii is a succession of vignettes, pure and simple commedia all'italiana. Made for TV bits of nonsense, ten to fifteen minutes each and predictably entertaining between predictable titshots.

In both of these, and in everything else, Giancarlo Giannini is very much a spiritual predecessor of the Dalmatine comedy. Dom za vesanje (1988), Underground (1995) or Crna macka, beli macor (1998) are all strictly speaking Giancarlo Giannini recompiled, with the millitant idiocy (ie, "feminism") tuned down and a lot of Terry Gilliam-esque imaginarium and super-magical-realism baked in and liberaly sprinkled about.

The fact that you can attain fame and build a career out of rescuing the occasional kernel of sense accidentally lost among the "millitant" leftist vomit should be very instructive. Go ye, and like Kusturica wash out the crap out of your culture. Stand up the actual valuable parts -- which very pointedly exclude socialists, feminists, and however else the idiots call themselves. Let the ancient statues shine once more in their marble glory, liberated from the moss, the lichen, the muck and misery of dubious origin improperly attached.

Wash them now, before the lowest form of life succeeds in completely cracking everything into unrecognizable pebbles. And take better care of them in the future -- those ancient statues are your only possible identity.

———1975, by Lina Wertmuller, with Giancarlo Giannini and a truly porcine Shirley Stoler. [↩]The film is a transparent attempt by a "feminist" which is to say imbecile to "poison the well" so to speak.

The idea of these retards is that if they get an (unauthorised) copy of a Mussolini speech and splatter (their own genuine) period blood all over it we'll give a shit.

Give a shit, you understand, not merely in the sense of bothering to take some kind of notice of their nonsense ; but actually in the incomprehensibly far flung sense of no longer reading Mussolini because we once saw a printed version of something he allegedly once said said splattered in cuntblood.

This is the "thought process" if it can be called such of these "revolutionary" retards, from Rosa Luxemburg to Michael Moore, that they can effectually burn shit in effigy. This works, supposedly. They really act as if they expected it worked. I guess the Cunt Mother In The Sky blessed them with both abilities, to steal by reference, and to kill in surogate, or something.

It's exactly an attempt to live by witchcraft in a postindustrial world, and their squeals of amazement when the "surefire" fails to take seem to lend credence to the theory that yes, they're actually this retarded. As Irigaray once said, "Physics priviledges effectual activity to the detriment of meaningless nonsense that's much more important to us".

Anyway, so the idea is that fascism is bad mkay and that the mafia is bad mkay because some chick once got a boyfriend to pick his nose. Problem ? [↩]1973, by Dino Risi, with Giancarlo Gianinni and the perenially topless Laura Antonelli. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Sunday, 29 October, Year 9 d.Tr.

Genetics proposes, the environment disposes.

Above you can admire part of my breakfasti, in focus one Portobello mushroom presented ventrally. In detail :

As you probably know, Agaricus bisporus, the world's most widely cultivated mushroom, is normally lamellated under its skirt. It's supposed to have gills down thereii. What, then, is with the boletus-style undercap ?

Ah, but you see... genetics proposes. The environment disposes. And here, the environment disposed the button mushroom grow a morel undercap, what, problem ? Apparently, no problem.

Bear this in mind whenever you feel inclined to discussing intelligence, and remember that your principal job as a girl's father is stuffing her full of animal flesh. I mean that literally. That'd be all.

PS. The title owes to an Al Schwartz formula.

———You know how to fry mushrooms, yes ? Try it sometime, easiest breakfast to make ; an' the sluts love it.

Goes well with some aged cheese, some salami -- speaking of which, you know how Salam de Sibiu is a unique and specific product of Romania ? Just had some excellent exactly-the-same thing here but thinner and not as dry. Local specialty. What now, do we sue ? [↩]Yes, we are discussing sexual parts. [↩]

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Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Wednesday, 15 March, Year 9 d.Tr.

Gaslight

I've reviewed Gaslighti, an ancient film every libertard referencesii without having ever seen. But hey, ersatz culture, using the names of things is hard enough, who can be bothered to interact with any things at all after all that hard work of sorting and applying labels! Meta should be enough for anyone.

The salient points for the contemporaneous mind would be, I imagine, that...

the man is exactly what "American" has come to mean these days, an uppity weasel, stubborn but petty, bereft of anything even vaguely resembling perspective and trying to make up for that lack by churning through a "legal system" of sorts composed of three ring binders nobody could possibly be bothered to read.

the woman breaks out in tears at a charity concert and this is not socially acceptable.

the maid is made of stronger stuff than her supposed mistress. You have, of course, absolutely no idea how common this historically was.iii

See, I even made a list. What could be more convenient! I revolutionized film review, one could say, with this first, best and biggest review ever.

Anyway, Diana Wynyard's insane gaze is quite accomplished, and besides as you all know all evil goes together. Theft, murder, bigamy, being annoying... that part's not changed any.

Still, I'd suggest you watch this rather than the other one. Why be different just like everyone else, you know ?

———1944, by Thorold Dickinson, with Anton Walbrook (who does a very fine hissing, mustachioed villain) and Diana Wynyard. Speaking of Mr. Adolf Wohlbruck : he was an Austrian, did you know that ? [↩]Yes, yes, there's also the 1944 Cukor version. Spare me. [↩]This goes to an important, large and quite deliberately avoided discussion of the actual functioning of certain historical arrangements, the implications of that actual functioning and so forth. But to make the long story short : the only people who owe reparations for black slavery ARE THE UNREASONABLY WELL TO DO BLACK PEOPLE LIVING IN THE US TODAY. Their current wealth -- in stark contrast to the means of their cousins left behind, those subhuman wretches today befouling the Congo valley -- is, perhaps, in part due to their own ability and dilligence. It is also, and indisputably, due to some white people bothering with their antecessors, at the time as inept and as useless as any african ever was. If anything is to be revised, then those kind, selfless efforts are deserving of better reward. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Tuesday, 11 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

Galati Yachting

Pentru ca Galati este mult mai bine

decit Braila.

The great intellectual advantage colonists have over the colonized is that they live their own experience explicitly, and as the deviation from a pre-establishedi canon. They find themselves stuck, willy-nily, writing letters home. Whether reports to their principalsii, or the fulfillment of other kinds and types of social obligations, or merely out of unreciprocatediii personal investment. Whether that home even exists anymore. In this venture they are writers as any writers, constrained to diff out two different strands of fully made existence and thereby implicitly comment upon them.

The colonist will write "And today, my dear X, it rained upon my head, unlike back home where for such and such reasons it wouldn't have." Whether the X exists is immaterial, what matters are the such and such reasons. They're necessary to render the missive comprehensible, meaningful to the X such as he is, or was, or could have ever been. The native has not such benefit. Yes it rains on his head just as it rains on the colonists', but to him this happenstance is not meaningful nor could be rendered meaningful. Yes there are X's in the native's life that could be structurally equivalent of the colonist's X's -- a mother, or a boss, or a whatever else. They are however not functionally equivalent, they need no explanation as to why exactly was it that it rained on his head. They know, they're there, it rained on their head also. Thus therefore to the colonist it occurs to make a roof, whereas to the native it does not, and thus therefore the native is inferior, subhuman, "for no fault of his own". The principal problem with humanity is that the bar can arbitrarily be raised by third parties.iv

But let's move on.

This here then is a turkey vulture making ends meet on a very dirty beach. Apparently they eat the heads and other offal left after the fishermen. Because yes, some people work on the beach, and not in the urban sense of the whore and the con-man. They work in the rural sense of daily struggle for the extra calorie. The beach is another generation's halogen lights.

They are incredibly tame, the vultures, and I took many shots trying to render the incredible melancholy of the very early morning punctuated by their languid landing wingflaps. There were dozens, hopping aboutv with all the excitement of a crippled boy. None came out. All things considered, it is only fair.

This tribe of sandpipers ran back and forth into the wake. They are hysterical to watch, derping about on the beach, there I sad sat and I laughed at the absurdity of creation. Does it happen to you too that sometimes instead of a t you write out a d ? But in any case, they hop in the froth, looking for an edible bit, which now and again they find. That's all.

The Sun also rises.

But you already knew this, right ?

Alright then, no need to insist.

They stink something fierce, you realise. I proposed that it's because of the stuff they eat, to which the company suggested that maybe that's why they fly about in that manner, trying to air out. And just when they finally managed, damn, there goes another meal!

Not altogether a bad theory.

We went to a well known surfer beach, Playa Hermosa, a little off Jaco. The predominant language here is English, and you don't have to hear anyone say anything to know this is exactly so. For one thing, all the women are solitaryvi, eyeing passersby with a strange sort of glazed over fish eye, distrustful, confused, anxious, terrorized.

All the men are also solitary, throwing sideways glances at my respectable belly. I walk among them as a living relic of bygone years, a man whose body plainly reflects his general domineering attitude towards the fairer sex. What, spend hours each day on the bizarre contraptions to "build myself a beach bod" ? To do what the fuck with, better serve the servants ? Who's the master and who are the slaves here!

As best can be established I last existed among them in the 70s, that paragon of futuristic advancement meanwhile reduced to a byword for antedeluvional antiquity. They are well satisfied, at long last they've found the loser at the table. You know this, yes, if you can't tell who the loser is that means the loser is you ? Well, their abs might not exactly match the image in the aspirational-normative leaflet that was handed them, but mine evidently do not and so therefore! Therefore what ?

For another thing, if this isn't what interests you, there's no garbage thrown about on the English speaking beaches. Nor are there enough people for the count of cars -- there's three cars to the dozen bipeds on the Spanish sections, but hardly one walker per fourset of wheels on the English. How could this be ? I don't know, it could be. Somehow it could be.

But anyway, our matinal excursion resulted in a wonder of nature, as depicted above, and for that matter below : little turtles coming out of the nest, to brave that harshest, riskiest part of their life's journey : across the beach, into the sea! The sea, the sea, the great grand sea!

I am proud to say I helped a few little guys into the foam, and in the process found their carapace leathery, soft, and their expression extremely friendly. I do not know what they saw of me through the candid, liquid eyes, but I do know that at least one flapped his arms as if wings. As if he thought he is flying.

Their strategy is beyond endearing, while on sand they push, with evident dedication, push, push, push. Then once in the wake, they flap their forelegs quickly, with desperation. Sometimes the wave will not suck the poor creature into the inviting depths, and then, after a brief moment during which the baby turtle raises its head, it lowers it again and with dedication pushes towards. Maybe next one ?

It's an exam, you know. Life's an examination.

The parrots were shy, it's true, but the lens is unforgiving. So there they are.

We also saw macaws, as in "There! Did you see it ?" "See what ?!" at which point another one flew a majestic curve, as if to purposefully and deliberately showcase its red, and its back blue, and its strange white eyepatch. Too quickly for the camera to catch, they were gone, but by the time they were gone... we had already seen them!

This is how the things the colonists make look. They are better than the things the natives make, for having been made by colonists.

Always be a colonist. Never be a native.

Do you see him there, hidden in his craddle of rock ? So did I!

Yet he did not...

There were lots and lots of iguanas all over the grounds, displaying territorial behaviour, basking and etcetera, which led to "You know, these can be pretty dangerous for children." "Do you see any children around ?" "O wow, they already got them all, did they."

Iguanadog sez, no child left behind.

Tree also wants to play "Strange Wildlife and Rare Species Spotting Tour". Todos juntos por la bio-diversi-dad!

Very nice Italian restaurant. Had no licuore Maraschino. Had no licuore Strega (but at least knew what the hell this one is). Had very polite waiters, and lobster tail, and perfectly cooked shrimp. Sadly, the pizza dough was rather americanized, too oily (not US-oily, no, but too oily for pizza), too soft. Excusable, under the heading of desperation, because the other thing it didn't have was any customers.

This placevii, you understand, is closer to my residence than going across San Joseviii. It's not just that San Jose is chock full of middle class fellows, people who own a multi-floor apartment building being let out, people who own square kilometers of coffee plantations and so on. It's that my fucking mechanic is paying 600 a month (that's two local salaries) for his kids to attend private highschool. Yet all these people can't be fucking arsed to spend an hour -- one hour -- driving to have a nice dinner in a niceix Italian restaurant and then go boating. On a fucking Saturday. "It's just not done", right ? Meanwhile the nice restaurant is stuck catering to the fucktarded gringos, as the only people willing to do anything. What can it do ?

Which actually takes us to a little detour : I spend a lot of time with the gay, disproportionately to their headcount in the general population. You know why ? Guess why.

Because they're not fucking boring, that's why. Heterosexualx does not so much mean : "is sexually interested in the opposite gender" as it means "is the sort of dull mind that will look upon an expense account showing rent in the thousands of units and payroll in the hundreds of units and conclude keeping hours is a permissible managerial decision". That's the problem with the default sexuality : that it's practiced by the default mind.

Costa Rica has a healthy population of trannies. Here's a thing about latino trannies : they're by far the better looking women among the natives. For one thing, they're not laughably short. For the other thing, and here's the all-important clou : they actually work at it. Nobody tells the tranny "Oh, Cinderella, oh, Snow White, ohh, Katniss, you're such a precious cuntlet and the world is such a fairy tale you don't need to ever do anything, princes and other magical dragon beings of pure energy will seek you out from across the galaxies! They'll bring the jaw of life to cut through your denim hoodie-pantsuit and powerwash all the lazy filth off you to see something deep down.xi Heck, you don't really even have to stay alive the whole interval, they'll contrive with their art to bring you back!" On the contrary, everyone pisses on the tranny, and as a direct and necessary result trannies are way the fuck ahead in the game. What can you do ? Other than stop with the bullshit "chivalry", you mean, and start pissing on female faces, indiscriminately, and for no further reason ? Oh, I dunno... maybe get in line waiting for the princes to come. There's always that, you know ?

In short, the principal threat to the "alt" lifestyles is that the multitude is always threatening to pick one and make it the new default. Just like the tranny is becoming the default male sexuality these days, and don't fucking tell me you didn't notice.

PS. Did you notice the tits ?

———Not, of course, explicitly pre-established, but as memory intermediates that establishment. This is the intellectual part, or at least one of the ~. [↩]Principal-agent relationship, yes ? [↩]When you write to your boss, to let him know how his ship fares, you are evidently fulfilling a social obligation, social in the sense that all interactions with the rest of the species are social, and it is very eagerly reciprocated. The owner in question isn't sitting there disinterestedly trying to filter out your missive ; on the contrary he gets agitated if they delay.

On the other hand when you write to some woman you thought you were going to marry that long married someone else and moved away... [↩]This, of course, is true of all things living : if you're not careful to keep up with the other elephants they'll raise the bar to elephanthood right from under your nose and you'll be left behind to be a living fossil. What can you do ? [↩]They do this ridiculous step, one foot after the other to a two measure dance followed by a pause. [↩]The Spanish-speaking beaches always see the women attached to at least one male and a coupla children, and no, I'm not proposing this is any sort of improvement. [↩]The Marriott walled-off section of Playa Herradura [↩]20 kms can readily take an hour and a half in the sort of traffic these deeply inept drivers manage to create at mutually-agreed upon hours. Meanwhile Bartholomew can turn an hour and a half into two hundred kilometers np, provided he goes against traffic (ie, the mutually-agreed upon clog-up is happening on the other side of the highway). So in any practical sense, Playa Herradura is closer than San Pedro, what more can be said.

I guess it could be said that it's fucking insane to build roads and then use them only 4 hours a day ; just as it's the height of insanity to pay the rent for commercial space 24/7 but only keep it open 8/7 if that. What kind of mind is required to look upon an expense account showing rent in the thousands of units and payroll in the hundreds of units and conclude keeping hours is a permissible managerial decision ?

A local's mind, that's what kind. I'll bet you anything you want they never even considered the matter in these terms. [↩]I don't mean "nice" in the sense of a hundred dollars a plate, god forbid! Lunch for three came under that. [↩]They often ask if I'm gay, and I answer that actually, I'm bisexual (ears perk up) : I enjoy fucking heterosexual as well as homosexual girls. Most miss the joke, at least on the first pass, and get confused. What can you do ? [↩]Why the fuck does it have to be deep down !? Bring it to the surface, idjit, tits belong over not under what the loving fuck already. [↩]

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Category: La pas prin lume

Sunday, 12 November, Year 9 d.Tr.

FUCKGOATS, unboxing of ~

Obviously I bought some. The supplier had some doubts re the address, which I can readily understand given that...

That is seriously how Costa Rica addresses work. Can you believe this shit ?

Neither can anyone else, but here's the thing : the item came to the door in friendly hands that stressed no one. This is a lot more than can be said for "civilisation", you are aware. Are you aware ?

Moving on,

I absolutely wish to point out that Stan went to the trouble of actually using the proper kind of tape for this job, rather than the wrong kind that melds into unity with the plastic wrappers. Consequently I didn't end up having to tear the bubblewrap apart. This was a very welcome respite from every other fucking time everyone else packs anything. Thanks Stan!

And finally,

Achtung, statists

Every passing day more of these fuckers pour out into expectant, eager hands you can not control. Every passing hour the return to the obsolete world of PRNGs and Schneier-powered NSA relevancy becomes that less feasible a proposition.

Because fuck you, that's why.

Wut do ?

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Category: Meta psihoza

Wednesday, 19 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

Friday was a good day.

This Friday of mine consisted of two parts. First I woke up to pee, then went to see what live-in slavegirl is up to, and discovered her in bed, awake, with a really juicy pair of tits asleep beside her.

So we had a nice cup of coffee, watched the Sun risei, then the morenitaii in question emerged herself, and then we... well she wanted a drink so we had drinks, straight rum at (almost) 7 in the morning. What, problem ?

I told her to take off her clothes (house rules, not kidding), she was all shy about it but eventually complied. Turns out she identifies as a lesbian, which'd explain why my girl picked her up at a lesbian club. And she explained while sitting in my lap that boys just don't do anything for her. This happens, yes, irl ? Naked lesbian chick in your living room that just doesn't dig boys ?

Then we had breakfast (I made them schweizer-tomato-olive omelet), we hung out, did naked stuff which inter alia included my showing her how the cane works. Then we moved to the bedroom wherein we did bedroom stuff which inter labiaiii included me fucking my slavegirl (ie, made a point of not fucking the "lesbian"), then she confessed that well, she's a woman yes ? She loves penetration, and would I please do her too ? Would it be ok ? May she be done ? Please ?!?! Because I'm really cool!

This happens, irl, yes ? Lesbian boys just don't do anything for begging to take your cock two hours later ? No, I'm not making shit up. Well, maybe the time, could have been three hours, something like that.

Then she wanted to shower, so they showered, then she whined for me to join themiv, so she got to play with the only item in short supply soaping it up a little, and then we went on our merry way under the sly looks of the maintenance man (who, in spite of being married into 300 lbs nevertheless appears to have figured out what happened overnight in one take).

But where did we go ? Well, lesbian slut had missed her doctor's appointment at 9v but wanted to make a realtor's appointment at 12, and we were going to go check out this little zoo thing. Behold :

Little yellow snake of optimism!

Considering all the things eagerly awaiting the chance to eat rodents, you'd think it sucks to be a rodent.

This fun guy is in jail over unknown crimes. But he was really excited to meet people! They do this trick where they hook their beak to the cage and sorta drop their ass like a sort of neckgee-jumping, you ever seen it ?

He's winking!

I know, right ?!

Totally wooden statuettes. Entirely unmoving. Believe!

See that rock just laying there right there beside her ? She thinks you're funny!

It's been a while since they last had tourist, also!

You think tucans are pretty cool ? I know a chick who ate tucan! So how about that ? And her uncle does chicken fights, which I do intend to document. Would you like to see dead roosters on Trilema ?

Ever had an ostrich burger ?

Lora nuca amarilla, ie the yellow naped parrot. He's pretty cool!

Jus' hangin' out with some friends.

This guy and his friends were hella cool. They'd say "krrr-ELLO!!!" all serious and shit, then bob their strangely shaped tongue inside their beaks. "krrr-ELLO!!!"

"krrr-ELLO!!1!!1"

I don't generally like monkeys, but these guys weren't even all that bad!

I think this is the passion flower!

Hi alf!

Mr. Eagle sincerely hopes this is some serious business you bring ?

I would like to close quoting the ever-wise logs :

everyone got a MP-shaped hole inside of them!

See you around!

———I wake unconscionably early since moving here. It's just too cool to sleep. [↩]That's how they say well tanned. It'd have been "gypsy" back in the old country. Chick's half Nigerian. Anyway. [↩]Alia/labia, geddit ? [↩]My shower will house three comfortably, even if sharing three gallons worth of tit between them. [↩]She was in a pretty bad biking accident last year on her Ducatti and messed up her knee. While she did make a great recovery, kneeling like nobody's business and everything, she's still getting surgery done on it, maybe. [↩]

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The day of walking. »

Category: La pas prin lume

Saturday, 29 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

Friday night, or Las Moiras revisited.

Today's header proves itself immensely apt for our sad little story, as it happens. Have you noticed how often coincidence yields more fitting context than artfulness manages ? It's almost as if adequacy is rather the product of inadvertence than agency.

Around nine or so we were riding along in my automobile, my slavegirl seated at the wheel. I stole no kisses as I sat in the back, but you could see her nipples through the gauzy black.i Cruisin' an' playin' teh radio, with no particular place to go. As we flew past Curridabat the idea occured : "let's check out that Moiras place ?".

I liked the girl trying to run it a lot, back in May, you see. It was impossible not to like her, honestly speaking, this bujor de fataii, a shade above twenty, daring to go into the unknown. Into the hard, difficult, entrepreneurial, artistic unknown. A cabaret-restaurant, no less, distilled dreams irked by the blinkenlichten box, but not limiting themselves to it! There's a lot, an utter helluva lot to be said for the barefoot orc girl that doesn't simply content herself with pictures of White Devil airpilots and airplanes, with faintly scented candy wrappers left behind the same, with straw and mudbrick reconstructions of model airplanes -- but actually attempts to build one! Properly, even if it flies just a little, but let it fly that little that it'll fly. Not very tall, yes, not literously breastediii, no, but her eyes sparked and my eyes sparked with hers. And so we had a date, for a Saturday night back in May, and I was going to introduce her to the wonders of the house of mirrors, all of them, and I was going to back her eager efforts. Because I can do such things.

She stood me up. This is an unwise course, seeing how I've told more girls trying to change arrangements to instead get fucked altogether than you've likely ever met. It's a thing, with meiv, it always was.v

So we went. For ten dollars in "cover charge" and a further ten dollars for rum and coffeevi, we had the pleasure of being notified by ~every single member of the staff~ that we hadn't been there in a long time, with the exception of the sole new addition, who inquired in a very half-hearted mannervii whether we work there. Then Jennifer showed up, and I couldn't, literally couldn't believe my eyes.

She was pale. Sickly, unhealthy pale, that sad, sad pallor of "I spent the past six months in an insane asylum but I'm ok now". Wasted, drained, the poor girl that looked so mature and confident and round and succulent with the very juice of life as to make me think her late twenties when she was twenty-two had managed to trade herself for a tired out 40yo accountant by the time she hit twenty-three. Weep with me for the inadvertent loss of youth, for such loss as I here witnessed is worthy of all your tears.

And then she spoke, and she told us, and I faintly prefer I'd have never heard. In fact, let me confess : I fully and roundly would have preferred seeing the woman successful beyond what I'd have thought reasonable. I'd have by very far preferred being awed, as humiliating as you may perceive such a turn of events, by her independence outmatching my control.

But... no such thing. She told us that they're only open three nights a week now, with all the excitement her well overdrawn vinnegar and long absent piss could muster to still support her. Her, their forever master, their beloved, incompetent mistress. She couldn't afford the "gastos" ie salaries, she whispered. Of course not, the woman that doesn't know how to say no and when to say yes can't possibly control a bunch of self-important, "artistic" employees, so how the hell are their salaries ever going to match with revenue ?

She told us about the great prospects opening up any day now. About how some whore with less wit but more sense than her, kept by some banker, is going to actualize artistic delusions at her expense. "The bank hires a producer and I give them the whole show", you see. This makes sense, somewhere, if you haven't slept, if you haven't turned a profit, if you haven't anything to look forward to. There's a large supermarket that's going to do something or the other, you realise. They had a clown act going as we spoke, and I could almost see the Ronald McDonald costumes coming soon for this once rosy Prikoke.

So we paid and we left. I couldn't fairly say I was sad, because what the fuck do I care, there's more women wasted that actually never had a chance than all the inept underwritters of hallucinated freedomviii who "never had a chance" except they did and fucked it up.

We sat outside for a moment and smoked a cigarette. A few feet away, this evident slut, maybe nineteen or so, in knee high felt boots, fucking around with her phone. Coming down the road, this almost tall blondy in an actual, honest to god pantsuitix with a coupla girls and a beta dork in tow.x She asks me que tal this bar, I tell her it's actually a cabaret thingee. She asks if there's a cover charge. I confirm. She is fishing for some kind of show of submission, I suspect, at the very least for some kind of "really positive relationship" from my slavegirl. She moves on, disabused, but not really ready to give up on the point. How could this be ? How could I be utterly fucking disinterested in her pantsuit ?!?! She turns around after passing, says "Oh, porno!!!" and wishes us a good time. Can you imagine the confusion of ideas, poor girl ran into a guy dressed as a guy rather than as a bum, smoking with his slavegirl dressed as a slavegirl rather than as a whatever the fuck they imagine themselves to be, and automatically assumed the den of iniquity aside must be the source of us, and probably a lot fucking scarier to boot. If only.

Mostly to bother her I ask the solitary phone-fucking slut whose name turned out to be Sophia whether she spoke English, which she confessed to understanding, but not speaking. Why not ? Oh, she's unsure. Ok, so say something. Oh, she can't. Why not ? Too much pressure! Fancy that wonder. So I told her we're going to this Jazz Cafe thing, a few blocks away, check out their band. Would she like to come ? She has to ask her friend. Where is her friend ? Inside. Why isn't she inside with her friend ? Too expensive cover charge. Alright, so ask your friend and come along then.

Friend showed up a few minutes later, the trip's readly agreed and I tell them to follow my girl. They do, disconcertedly, then stop once she reaches the passenger door of an ugly SUV one up from Mr. Bartholomewxi. They really didn't expect the slut's driving, that's for sure. But anyway, I packed them all in teh right car and off we went -- a dozen blocks or so away. Once there, we wait for driver girl to extract self, dole out some change to the parking assistant, and follow her I say again. They do, except they stop towards the door, like foals running into a snake. "Oh, there's a cover charge" they explain, with the weary composure of a young'un well inhabituated to that being the absolute limit of their activity. Kinda like "it's in foreign currency" worked for a whole generation of Romanian kids, the paragon of inaccessibility.

But I pay the horrifyingly immense sum of twenty forty dollars to take three girls to a club Friday night, and in we go. Waiter shows up, I ask for four rumsxii (slavegirl doesn't drink when driving, but I drink doubles) and two coffees. The waiter inquires whether there'll be anything else, which is a fucking weird thing to ask some people who just sat down in a club, don't you find ? Anyway, nothing for now and he's dismissed. The drinks arrive, the waiter wants to know if we want a uischera, which is how they call a bucket of ice here. They do, so he gets it, and I ask him if they have medias.

Now, obviously, medias means socks in this language. That aside, it is also relatively obvious that bar patrons do not usually demand the servers produce socks. Media happens to also be how you say half, which is a reasonably popular way to drink in this country : buy a half liter bottle of whatever spirit, they deliver you a cute bottle. The waiter doesn't understand what the fuck is going on. Sophia's friend, who is a dance student, does understand. A quart, she produces, you got 'em ? The waiter excuses himself to go find out. Imagine this, a 30% full which is to say 70% empty bar in the middle of the student quarter (this Jazz Club is in San Pedro) on a cover-and-band Friday night, unsure whether they've bottle service or what the fuck. Do you think it's at all possible poor management and a misunderstood conception of freedom may have anything to do with the practical failure of everyone's plans everywhere ?

But anyway, the waiter confirms he checked. They have it. So how much, I ask ? He... get this... he was not prepared for this question. He checked whether they have it, not how much it costs if they do, what the fuck is this, stack smashing question overloading! One at a time, please, he's barely 20, too much pressure!

Anyway, I get onexiii, I fill their whisky glasses and we chit-chat a little. Then the girls excuse themselves and... run away. I'm not even kidding, it was... I suppose it was altogether way too much. We were probably part of a stupid-orc-girl-organs theft ring, somebody somewhere really wants a pair of kidneys or a liver or whatever that were so fucking dysfunctional in the first place as to have been part of these nuts. We were probably trying to lure them to their utter doom and ultimate perdition, what with these strange magics of paying cover charges and buying alcohol in bars.

I don't know if I've recounted the story before, but a week or two ago I was reading the local papers and I ran into the most amusing junklet. Supposedly a woman had raised the local "Colegio Britanico" (pretentious but useless local preppie highschool) into a facebook frenzy by means of insistently spamming their forum with worried verbiage produced by the following string of events (in her own retelling) : someone had called the house, asking after her daughter. She inquired, like any normal but batshit insane mother would, all sorts of things, and it came to light that what was sought were the girl's measurements, by some person who was supposedly another girl's father, and for some purpose vaguely to do with nothing altogether very clear. Any sane reader will at this point have figured out that the caller was the girl's boyfriend, who was trying to make the girl a giftxiv, but not so the woman in question, anyone in the school administration (notwithstanding they ostensibly have experience with kids -- at least hopefully more than me for fucks sake), nor anyone among the parents, nor anyone working in the edit room of the god damned newspaper in question. Instead, they went into lengthy periphrastic examinations of how the caller called her vieja loca (quite properly at that), and of how her daughter has no social media accounts or cellphones or anything in the way of communication (this, far from child abuse, is viewed as sound parenting for 14 to 18 yos in batshit insane Latinoland) and how the police told her this is a common tactic of pedophiles! SO SHE IS RAISING AWARENESS!!!! EVERYONE SHOULD BE CAREFUL!!11!1eleven

Imagine that fucking wonder, pedophiles interested in highschoolers! Next thing you know there's going to be 50 yo NBA MVPs and six year olds delivered live. So... yeah, they're a little touched in the head down here, like the ugly male fucktards who asked us to "keep an eye on their drink" in some bar a coupla months ago, as if fucking anyone could have been bothered to kidnap them. Why the fuck would anyone ? To do what the fuck, steal their used jeans ? Absolutely zero thoughts given whatsoever, just well raised awarenesses of nothing whatsoever all around. So yeah, I expect they thought we're gonna eat them. Cuz that's what I do with my time, totally, I spitroast and then eat Sophias.

The field finally cleared, we can concentrate on the band. Good god what a terror that was. They covered everything, whatever you could summon up from the 80s and 90s pop tops, from "Rapeee meee my friend" to System of a Down. They had learned it all phonetically, so there was a lot of "lalala", and they did it all in the same key, same timbre, same everything. Hand cranked muzak, nothing less, would you like to hear how Cobain sounds in the same tone as Blondie and Lorde ? They're all girls, right ? Or at least they all have long hair. Well, except for Blondie. Problem ?!

And so we walked out, leaving the fat, metalcore solist and the incredibly fucking bad drummer to commune undisturbed with the strange loner who, trance-transported, was spazzing out his right hand playing an imaginary guitar on his chair, and the rest of the three dozen or so patrons, including no less than four women, in two pairs, old enough to perhaps understand what they did wrong back when they were nineteen and their actual name was Sophia for lack of enough internal life to even come up with a Friday-night-slut alias like any sanely functioning girl ever since the dawn of time and of the notion of being 16. Old enough to perhaps understand it, but certainly not old enough to be able to do something about it.

Because there's nothing to be done about it, what.

———I'm not even kidding, the very ass-flattering (if you've got an ass to flatter, as she does) dress is plain gauze in front, if she's walking towards you there's no missing out on how great her tits look. [↩]Bujor is how you say peony in Romanian, although it's a very specifically fragrant guy the Romanians have in mind when they say it.

But, through natural linguistic evolution, which is to say through generation upon generation upon generation upon generation of troubadours, trouveurs and minstrels encountering the resistence of the linguistic medium in their frothful, driven attempts to describe a certain kind of sangvine female perfection the term has become codified. It is, at least in classical Romanian, in the Romanian of Romanian folklore, the superlative attribute of female maidenhood. There's no better way to be, in song and dance, in the meadow or under the stars. Very much opposite, and not accidentally opposite, to the Victorian phtysic ideal of the very same period.

The term is used in context here without any stretch whatsoever : bujor Limones, perhaps, as the case may be, but bujor never-the-fucking-less. [↩]Before you fall over : I'm discussing pisi there, what you'd call a bimbo imagining self-importantly that calling her something resolves your obligation to compete with her.

I'm discussing the woman that takes her womanhood seriously, if superficially, and attempts to work for it and at it, seriously. It's a lot of sweat, and a lot of blood, and it carries a lot of respect -- from the people who actually matter, you understand. What if you didn't have to excuse your, let's underline that, your woman in the same mousy, humbly defeated manner you have to defend your Toyota Buckrustet, and your career choices and your degrees and your kitchen furniture and your kitchen contents and your socks and and pretty much everything else about you ? Hm ? What if ?

What if someone actually put the work in to do something fucking right for once, what then ? Call her a bimbo and pretend you're not interested because maybe that way we won't notice why exactly all the pretense ? Bear in mind that you're a lot more transparent (to the people that matter) than you give yourself credit for. [↩]My relationships begin with me telling a girl what to do, and continue for exactly as long as she keeps doing it. With extreme care and astute planning one might arrange getting a break, girls with long histories of competent submission may get punished instead of being shown the door, but disobeying a direct order is as fucking dangerous as it gets. [↩]Twenty years ago Chet watched me tell a girl off for daring to require a change of plans, boggled at the notion and tried to help her beloved 20year old with the wisdom a very warm woman had collected over a lifetime during which she had raised a coupla kids of the same age. "You can't be this harsh to a girl", she said. "Watch me." I barked, and I could plainly see sheer terror curl up all around her. Everyone reaches at some point or other this moment of clarity, when they finally realise I'm not fucking kidding, and I suppose that was hers. A very perceptive woman, what can I say, others need to be licking their own vomit off the floor, arms fastened behind their backs and tears streaming everywhere for the same result. [↩]Last time, they had no coffee, but secretly sent a runner off to buy some at a different shop down the street.

This time, they had figured some kind of system out. It is a relatively common occurence here that coffee will be served apart, which is to say the grains in a porcelain container atop your cup, and hot water, so you can make your own coffee. This works ok, for as long as you use porcelain. The problem is their system used paper instead of porcelain, sitting inside the cup instead of above it (obviously, paper moistened by hot water ain't ever standing up any weight) with the saddening result of infusing paper into the drink. I've never had coffee taste that horrifyingly bad in my life, literal paper bleach infusion. [↩]Do you know how the gutless kids of today do the things they're affraid of doing ? So do I. [↩]It is the factual point of the matter -- your choice is not whether to by my slave or else "be free". There is no such thing as "free" in this sense, not for you. Your choice is whether to joyfully submit to a man for the mere asking, or else quietly be trampled by a bureaucracy in due time. That's all there fucking is, and no more. Ask around.

The trap is that at the time the master asks, you don't yet see the bars for what they are, you don't yet understand the wails of the lost for what they are, you don't yet grasp the functioning of the machine. And by the time you do so grasp it... [↩]They wear the shit here, the "emancipated" bank clerks with reddit accounts. [↩]They do this here, they're so dedicated to never ever ever being anywhere alone they'll actually go out, three girls to the dork. It's better that way!!! [↩]Full name is actually Bartholomew Marzipan, if you must know. [↩]Originally, the girls wanted beers. I ask if they know the local rum, they do, in the manner they speak English, as a thing far away removed. Why the fuck would you drink anything but rum in this country is beyond me, and why the fuck would you drink the UB piss anywhere, for that matter ? [↩]Mostly for the car, to be honest. Yes, I go around with an open container in my back seat, problem ? [↩]Ineptly, as he's trying to gift clothing, which is a field wherein he can't compete with the girl's mother. He should gift her jewelry instead, it's both cheaper and a much better competition field, as her mother sure as fuck isn't buying her daughter any snatchlaces or whatever. [↩]

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Category: Zsilnic

Saturday, 07 October, Year 9 d.Tr.