The male orgasm

Since I just stood up for the first time in five minutes of sheer disability during which my hearing was shiftedi and my vision a blur, let's go through a friendly chat.

The male orgasm, that paroxistic behaviour which results in seminal ejaculation followed by a refractory period, comes in two flavours.

The infantile orgasm is driven by stimulation. It is the imperium of boys, premature ejaculators, homosexualsii, womeniii and most all other imperfect males.

The adult orgasm is driven by hypoxia that is in turn driven by muscular exhaustioniv.

That theoretical space aside, the orgasm of every individual will be a learned behaviour. This is the deep reason for discouraging masturbation in young males (it has absolutely no ill effect in females) : that they will learn to orgasm through stimulation, therefore denying themselves the opportunity to learn to orgasm through hypoxia.

Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing is entirely open to your own interpretation, but it is in any case infantile, which should readily explain why the current socialism insists to inform and encourage boys as young as possible.v

To insistently repeat and thickly underscore : there's no value judgement in any of this. There's nothing wrong with enjoying a good, slow, sloppy cocksucking, nothing but tiny kisses and imperceptible flicks of the tongue. I know I do!

There's entirely nothing wrong whatsoever with being exactly what you are. There may be something wrong with the situation where you are what you are because you were manipulated into it by others so as to best serve their interest, especially if they did it secretly and then attempted or still attempt to "steal the having been stolen from" from you -- but this is entirely your own consideration and of no particular interest to me, or to anyone else.

———Everything sounds... tinny. [↩]Not for any substantial reason, but purely contextual : the hips dun work so well because not properly lubricated, and the lips dun work so well because not properly shaped. Between a rock and a hard place some homosexual men still manage to facefuck and buttruin their way to adult orgasms, but they're few and far between. They also tend to wear a lot of leather. [↩]Sorry to disappoint, but : in orgasmic terms, the vagina is a misshapen penis and no more. Yes, it is true that this misshapenness is due to and delivers some very notable benefits upstream, such as the uterus and generally speaking the ability to carry to term. That's all fine and dandy -- but it does exactly nothing for us in this discussion. Just like you know, your car that's "saving the environment" is still a shitty car every track mile. [↩]Women may learn to cum this way too. The problem is that induced hypoxia in females is usually realised through strangulation1, which is not particularly healthy. This does not mean "it's risky" in the sense she might die -- if you're careful and practiced that risk is negligible. Strangulation is not healthy throughout, even if the strangled woman doesn't die, there's vascular and cerebral damage nevertheless. Perhaps not much more than getting drunk, but how many times can you get drunk ?

The same is true of infantile males who learn to induce the adult orgasm perversely, through what's known as "autoerotic asphyxiation". The procedure is just as unhealthy, but significantly riskier.

------

1 Asphyxia (ie, restrained air intake) is a healthier alternative, but it is not generally seen in practice because it is deeply anxiogenic, especially in females, and especially in the context of copulation ; or anxiety is the worst orgasm ruiner known to woman. [↩]And speaking of which -- there's a very similar reason why they keep going on with the anal insertions. The infantile orgasmer can learn to orgasm through stimulation of the prostate just like they learned to orgasm from stimulation of the glans. For some strange reason the former trumps the latter, and you can in principle seriously diminish "unwanted male traits" such as sexual aggressivity, a tendency to do or die (aka "rape") and so on through the simple avenue of regularly insulting the prostate with foreign objects.

As Jeb Bush once wisely observed, "I guess it's still hooked on, but now it shoots too quick." [↩]

« Stomp a SJW face today.

I think they might be overdoing it in places. »

Category: 3 ani experienta

Saturday, 14 January, Year 9 d.Tr.

The love/rape relationship

"So how are things with you and John ?"

"We have a love/rape relationship."

"A what ?!"

"It's like a normal relationship, right ? We go out and do things and joke around and fool around and everything. But when I get in one of those pissy moods girls get, he just ignores my feelings and all the bullshit. If I don't snap out of it he beats me, and then it gets worse. So it just doesn't pay to be annoying. I strive to please him instead."

"What do you mean, beats you ?"

"Beats me, beats me. I have a special belt with studs, and a dedicated photo album for the pictures of the welts. There's canes around the house, a whip hanging by a window... He beats me."

"And it gets worse ?"

"Yes. If I'm not nice there's nothing in it for me but pain, rape and humiliation. Last time he used me as a urinal."

"What!"

"I had to sit on the toilet, and he pissed standing all over my chest and belly so it'd flow between my legs and into the bowl."

"Didn't most end up on the floor ?"

"Yep. I had to clean it up afterwards. Then I had to beg him to let me take a shower. He said he's considering making me go beg out in the street for a coupla hours instead, so I stood there crying and begging him to forgive me while his piss was drying off of me."

"Jesus."

"I thought it's pretty terrible at first, but honestly I prefer it to the alternative, as it turns out."

"So where's the rape come in ?"

"Oh, he fucks me whenever he feels like. However he feels like. I just... I don't have any say in the matter."

"This sounds horrifying!"

"I know."

"But you could leave, right ?"

"I could..."

"This is some of the craziest shit I ever heard in my entire life."

"I guess so, huh. What about you and what was it, Ethan ?"

"Ah, no, we broke up last month."

"How did that happen ?"

"Some guy at his job scratched his car while parking, so to make it up to him bought him whatever latest expansion of Lords of Legends or Legends of Lords or Kings of Kingdom or whatever they're called. Emperors of Empires. Such stupid fucking names they come up with for those things. Almost as bad as car names."

"Don't tell me you broke up with him because he was playing a videogame ?"

"Eleven hours a day he's at work, right ? Gets out of the house before eight to 'beat the commute', which I don't think any man to date has managed in spite of all the trying. He certainly never did. He's back at six, half past six, with that long zombie face and ten mile gaze. Buncha good for nothings."

"He was paying the bills, wasn't he ?"

"Such paying! He had that derpy converted studio pretending to be a condo, I don't know if you remember..."

"Sure, your birthday party."

"Don't remind me! I've never been so humiliated in my entire life. The very idea! Try and invite people to that atrocity, so we'd be packed like sardines in a converted shipping container."

"It wasn't so bad. If I recall he even made you cake..."

"Did you get to try the thing ?"

"Well no... I don't think there was enough for everyone."

"God damned Ethan. Anyway, so Saturday comes around and I tell him I want to go out, and he's mumbling something or other about a raid with his guild and shit."

"So obviously..."

"So obviously I asked what's more important to him, his fiance he's not been marrying for over a year ? Or the dumbass game he just got last week, "

"You were engaged ?"

"Yeah, he proposed last June."

"I had no idea."

"Well no, I wasn't about to go around telling people. Who the hell would marry Ethan. If we got married, would you have been impressed ?"

"Why would I be impressed ?"

"See ? My point exactly. Anyway, so I told him he either takes me out and shows me a good time or it's over, and he said just a minute baby."

"And you just left ?"

"I didn't just leave. I threw a hissy fit first."

"With the packing and the tears and everything ?"

"Obviously."

"Sometimes I almost think like I miss all that shit."

"Hey, at least he missed his stupid fucking raid."

"So who's the new guy ?"

"This dubious dweeb, Josh. I was hanging out with Sabrina and the gang, there's that new Japanese restaurant at the mall, have you seen it ? P F Jang ?"

"I don't think so."

"Anyway, we were there, like six of us, Jasmine and some chick from her work -- I think they've got something going by the way, she might be switching sides -- and he came over to our table and asked if he could borrow me for a moment."

"That's... brave ?"

"We were pretty well sake'd up by that point, so I went, and he told me all about how I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever seen and so on. So I gave him my phone number, and we went out a few times..."

"How's the sex ?"

"Oh, I don't know yet."

"Ah, all this just happen ?"

"About six weeks ago."

"So what's the impediment ?"

"He has a porn addiction. I told him, either he stops looking at women in that way or we can't do it."

"How do you know he has a porn addiction ?"

"I checked his browser history. What, I'm simple or something ? I know how to check."

"No, no, you're a very complex and sophisticated woman."

"Damn sure!"

"So you're just never going to do it then ?"

"Eh, I figure give it another coupla weeks, then get drunk or something. What can you do ?"

"There is something you could do, but I'm just not sure it's the right thing for you."

"What is it ?"

"Well... do you know what a cock cage is ?"

"A who ?"

"There's this metal bit, goes over the penis, locks behind the balls so they can't take it off. Prevents unauthorised erections see, you can't get it up with it on. So unless one has the key..."

"... he can watch all the porn he wants. Shit! Where do they come up with all this stuff ? Let's see here... oh my god! It totally looks like a little cage. Where do you come up with all this BDSM shit... Oh, I'm sorry, how did it go, love/rape relationship ?"

"Don't worry about it. They're not the same anyway."

"Fascinating."

"Anyway, I'll have to be going now..."

"Where're you headed ?"

"I'm off to the gym. John likes negress ass and by god I'm gonna build him one."

"But you're a white girl."

"Race is a purely cultural construct."

"Isn't that going to take a lot of work ?"

"O yeah. And it burnssss."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather elope ? We could I dunno, run off to Acapulco or something. Just the two of us."

"Aww, that's awfully sweet, hon. Thanks. But today it's five years since I've been John's thing."

"Five years..."

"Yep."

"So you have something planned ?"

"Nope. I don't know that He specifically cares, either. But Ima bake a cake."

"What do you mean, bake ?"

"You know, bake bake."

"What, like with an oven and everything ? From scratch ?"

"Of course. Flour, eggs. Baking a cake."

"You're amazing... I wonder what I was even doing five years ago..."

"Fair to say you were with some guy..."

"Yeah, but which..."

"Anyway, I have to run. It was great seeing you hun."

"Yeah, you too!"

"Talk on pyske or whatever."

"Yeah... catch you later."

« Mom ?

Love in an elevator »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Sunday, 09 July, Year 9 d.Tr.

The Lordship list, fourth year.

As you might remember last year's opening of the books brought about a lot of strife, and a list originally two dozen long contractedi to the current version, counting half as many :

Her Ladyship diana_coman, Marquess Eulora,

Her Ladyship hanbot, the Lady Falconeer,

His Lordship trinque, the Master of the Rolls,

His Lordship bingoboingo, Lord Goebbels,

His Lordship mod6, the Lord High Steward,

His Worship danielpbarron, the learned Trishop,

His Lordship mircea_popescu,

The Right Honorable mike_c,

His Lordship asciilifeform, the Lord Admiral,

His Lordship davout, the Master of Common Pleas,

His Lordship ben_vulpes, the Lord of the Well,

His Lordship phf, the Lord Chancellor.

Evidently we have to bring this up to date. Here's what I propose :

To remove :

mike_c. As we're stuck redoing the WoT graphs, and not a word in many months now.

To add :

Framedragger. The ssh scan, the other logotron, this fellow's merits are considerable and I can scarcely see what'd justify passing him over. I propose he be inducted as the Lord Scanner.

shinohai. Always on hand and rather helpful. I propose he be inducted as Baron Titsbare.

What say ye ?

Specifically, on any of the following points :

Whether the stated proposals should carry or not ; and which.

Whether further inductions or reductions are warranted ; and which.

Whether the titles should be reviewed ; and which ; and what to.

And any other considerations.

I'm thinking sometime in April we're getting the fourth Lordship list, depending on how animated the discussion ends up. The Republic prevails!

———In fairness, the irreversible if blind march of entropy contributed to the contracting. [↩]

« The Prodigal Son

What did you expect ? »

Category: Bitcoin

Friday, 31 March, Year 9 d.Tr.

The life and times of Fna

Yesterday we spotted on the terrace ceiling the tiniest geckolet ever. I caught him in an empty yogurt can with a sheet of paper, and deposited him on my coffee table for heee-ing, haw-ing and assorted faintings, because he's incredibly adorable as you can no doubt attest.

He was baptised Fna in loving memory of one of Jack Lemmon's best creations (recall, The Odd Couple ?), and then everyone went about their own business, because who's going to stay and watch a tiny gecko 36 hours straight.

Little Fna was apparently very happy on the promised land on which the strange bipedal gods took him (with their strange flying nacelle thing), because left there forgotten were a pair of thick, woolen mitts, which provided for a most spacious, insulating (sound and heat!) housy.

Also on the same coffee table there are a pair of potted orchids, and a collection of extremely cute tiny spiders, hardly a milimeter long but blessed with tiny white legs which strangely contrast against their dark bodies and produce interference in passing rays of light perpetually go to and fro the two pots in complicated directions and patters only by them understood.

Thereby little Fna had the best shelter any tiny gecko ever enjoyed, and also a perpetual food parade right on his front lawn. So overjoyed was he by this turn of events, that he even turned his very light green complexion (from back when he was hanging out on the mostly white terrace) into the beautiful deep wooden coat you can now admire.

And he's coming out to check out the strange technologies of the people folk, which is how I've got the only coffee table with a resident mini-gecko.

« Qntra (S.QNTR) July 2017 Statement

Caligula »

Category: Zsilnic

Friday, 04 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

The Job Board

Here's the intro :

lobbes relatedly, wasn't there a trilema job board posting for a Eulora trade bot? I remember weird details from the spec but can't find the thing these days

mircea_popescu lobbes there were two attempts, the most recent of which you might be remembering. the ancient one was the whole pankkake getting pissed off by himselfi.

lobbes aha okay

mircea_popescu anyway, the thing didn't go nowhere because of a fundamental problem of specification.

lobbes damn. I'm almost tempted to try something along those lines. Would be nice to plop a box up connected to eulora and have my invoices able to be settled automatically. of course, it would be eventually (tm)

mircea_popescu lobbes here's the problem : once you step away from the communion of the holy church and attempt to instead live under a roof you yourself built, you're suddenly very alone. how would you handle these, "write a complete requirement" ? rando will try to game the requirement. soon your administrative costs mount to exceed the actual cost of making the item. it's basically a dollar auction, you know how those work ? actually, i guess ima write an article for to detail. brb.

Before we can move into the discussion of this intro, there's some prerequiste reading to do :

As far as the communion and the holy church etc is concerned, the relevant article is Dupa Dealuri :

The secret young men do not know, and generally with their perdition find, is that the church as a body, in congregation and comunion, is protected by the Lord with immense, unspeakable power from the immense, unspeakable but ultimately not sufficient lures of the Enemy. For as long as he stands with the others, and in comunion with Christ's own bride, the young man is protected, and what's more, and what's infinitely worse -- feels powerful. Riding on a narrow plank atop a thin separation line between two fluid media the surfer thinks he feels "the power of the ocean". He doesn't, not really. The subdued ocean he feels is the subdued ocean he feels, not the ocean altogether.

As far as the weakness of contracts is concerned, the relevant article is the (awkwardly named) GPG Contracts article. No quote because integrally relevant.

"Exam-taking" refers to the practice of agents measured for a specific quality through a specified process to optimize their characteristics/behaviour/etcetera for the process rather than for the quality it nominally aims to measure. This is a fundamental cause of the failure of would-be representative systems, such as ourdemocracy or any other socialism.

A dollar auction is a deliberately constructed situation to extend the original objection of Buridan's ass into a more refined objection to the possibility -- not the actuality, you understand, but the very possibility -- of deliberatelyii rational activity. It goes like so : should someone auction a dollar on the condition that the top two bidders have to pay the amount they bid but only the top one gets the dollar, it would then be a rational move for a first player to bid one cent, and it would further be rational for a second player to bid two cents. At this juncture, it is rational for the first player to bid three cents, and for the second to bid four, and so continuing indefinitely until they're each bidding in excess of fifty cents, meaning the auction is now profitable for the auctioneer ; and then continue past each bidding a dollar, and two and twenty. Because the marginal cost of one extra cent is far exceeded by the marginal gain of one extra dollar.

So equipped, let us proceed to the discussion of the item itself.

The thing sought, such as for instance a script to make your computer beep randomly, or anything else, is the dollar.

To obtain this dollar, you, the "employer", write out a spec describing what exactly it should do, at the cost to you of one penny. This seems like a great deal, to you.

To obtain the counter-dollar, someone, the "employee", writes out an item which satisfies your spec, at the cost to them of two pennies. This seems like a great deal, to him.

Discovering the difference between the dollar sought and the twopenny offered (at the cost of a penny), you find yourself forced to expend two further pennies to revise the spec ; and similarily, discovering the difference between the counter-dollar sought and the counter-spec offered in exchange (at the cost of... a penny), the someone finds itself similarily forced to expend three further pennies to revise the delivery.

This game will continue, and "rationally" at that, long long after you've both expended in excess of the value of the dollar in your respective, rational but entirely useless and besides the point activities.

It may seem, naively, that there should be a way out of this ; but leaving aside your intuitions to which you are more than welcome as ever was a coffin-liner-writer, there is ample experimental evidence to the very contrary. Indeed, if the whole edifice of contract and the society built upon it weren't fundamentally flawed and therefore untenable, what exactly would we be here and why would they be trading their daughters' maidenheadsiii for our very valuable secret large numbers ?

Yes, for as long as you live under the irrational mantle of the lordship as today it exists, supported by the steely infrastructure of the WoT and the forum as they have been deliberately (but not necessarily rationally -- if you review the design process you'll probably agree the more correct descriptor is "inspirationally") designed there is a chance such problems may be avoided. But it is a chance not a guarantee, and there is indeed little that can be rationally said about the whole damned thing.

This, then, is why I'm not actively pursuing this item. Until and unless I figure out some kind of way out of this, the "Job Board" category on Trilema lays derelict, and so following. What can you do ?

———The matter was never clarified. It could have been really system-d that soured the Frenchie on the very early republic ; but I vaguely recall (and can't right now find in the logs) that there also was some complaint about my "not saying anything" for however many months about a project on which we were working together, in the sense that I attempted a specification and he was going to / did some work on.

Either way, it's a pity, I liked the guy. Then again (as you've possibly noticed from your own experience), not all that you like yourself like you back any. C'est la vie. [↩]There's an important difference between retroactively-rational and prospectively-rational activity. The latter is necessarily a superset of deliberately rational activity.

In any case, the construction of retroactively-rational histories is in itself an arbitrary (which is to say, irrational) process, which is why Trilema keeps mocking the "just the facts" idiots. [↩]Exactly in the manner the previous set of subhumans, vaguely known as "Indians", traded theirs to the actually human if not very humane colonizers. [↩]

« The Mechanic

The story of the little shit »

Category: Bitcoin

Thursday, 19 October, Year 9 d.Tr.

The jellybean docket

Man walks into kitchen, encounters girl in red tank top writing intently into a very tiny notebook.

Him: Oh no! Was I late ? Are you writing me up ?!

Pocahontas: Yes!

H (looking around): Then they dock ya!?

P: I am docking you...one and three-fourths jelly beans.

H: That's not so bad. Do you know how long it has been since I've had a jelly bean?

P: How long has it been since you've had a jelly bean?

Malinche: What flavor was it?

H: Thirty years! Grape.

M: You remember what flavor!

P: What was the worst flavor you ever had?

H: I don't know... licorice ?

M: Yea that's pretty bad.

H: Jellybeans suck.

P: The worst I ever had was -- there's this company in the states that makes "interesting flavors"-- was a buttered popcorn.

H & M: Ew.

P: I don't know of anyone that liked it.

H: In Communist Romania my favorite candy was Ciocolata Frezia, which was this orangey but very lightly jelly, in this shape (makes a crescent with his finger), covered in very thin chocolate. It was good! They came like 20, 30 to a box, it had fresias painted on it, you know, the kind of thing to give to a teenaged girl. Then later jelly beans showed up, but... meh. Where's the chocolate, why are they so tiny, what is this bullshit with the flavours... I didn't think much of them. In fact, I thought exactly that they're bullshit wannabe Frezia chocolates made by idiots for poor people.

P: Oh, and did they stop making the thing you liked?

H: Pretty much, yeah.

P: That sucks.

H: Whatever, by then I had stopped caring. But when I was little... I could eat a whole box! Often, I did. I even struck a relationship with this girl on the basis of my eating her bonbons. She was nineteen and kept getting them, but wouldn't eat any, you see, she was "minding her sillhouette".

M: What!

P: Where'd she get that from?

H: Isn't that bizarre? She was you know, lanky Romanian girl. What was going to happen, she eats a whole box and then bam, she's fat?

M: It's not the eating of the whole box itself, it's the habit of eating the whole box.

H: There wasn't enough food for that kind of thing. I don't mean it in the sense of people generally starving -- some went hungry, I suppose, but I swear it was the best fucking thing for them, well earned and well deserved and hopefully to be seen again. I mean there wasn't the flood of crap food, cheap and accessible. You wanted to eat, you had a serving from a pot of beans or Cluj cabbage or something. Warm it, sit down, set a plate, eat like normal people. None of this shoveling corn fried in corn with corn fastfood and snacks all the time while watching something else. Consequently, I don't recall ever seeing a fat girl. I mean, the concept still existed, you'd make fun of a girl or another now and again, but it wasn't the sort of 400 lb insanity you think of when you hear the word. Whatever, girly put a few pounds on, as girls do before going into puberty. What, "My eleven year old pre-pubescent daughter is getting fat!" ? It's ridiculous. Girls with actual honest to god thyroid conditions were ten, maaybe fifteen pounds heavier than the very 19ish BMI typical of the time and place. Being fat was a thing of old age, like grandmotherhood.

P: Hm, so --where-- did she get that "minding my sillhouette" thing from? Cause it's very particularly phrased.

H: You know? Probably reading Flacara.

M: The thinnery? The thin girl-ery?

H: Flacara? It was this magazine, like half the thickness of Vogue, and printed on plain paper, not gloss. In the style of the Romanian press at the time, like it's 1919 New York and here's a broadsheet with tiny print cuz we know you like to spend three hours with your tea and your newspaper.

M: En Espanol flaca is "thin gal", as opposed to fat. Flaca y gorda.

H: Ah! No, it means like tongue of flame in Romanian. Specifically the red flame of Communism, you realise. This little magazine covered all by itself what today constitutes a humongous, dazzling array of demographics. From the Playboy letter to the editor all the way to Better Homes and Gardens, it had everything. What to say to your husband, here's some things you didn't know abouti, what once happened...

M: Hahaha!

P: Oh then definitely, that's where she got it.

H: For sure. Everything was in there... that's a pretty good enumeration, huh.

P: Yeah, especially What Once Happened. That'd make a great name for a mega, multi-volume history text. "Fuck you, I'm not calling it History of the World. It's What Once Happened."

H: Yeah! Rise and fall of the... fuck you. "What Once Happened". I'd read it.

———Literally, "Stiati ca..." ie, "Did you know that..." followed by trivia fare. This was a dedicated column. People enjoyed reading it. [↩]

« The Storied Cupcake and other stories

Let's put one and two together. »

Category: Trilterviuri

Friday, 24 February, Year 9 d.Tr.

The incidental humiliation of Obama's "clean energy" policies ; Marc Andreessen's Internet of Farts and other such comedic gold bricks.

The root of this endeavour is to be found in The Most Serene Republic's log for today. The results of that root are as follows :

IP

MAC

# mIi

LGenii

TZ

128.135.118.179

00:1D:C0:04:6A:98

189

235 MWh

US/Central

128.135.118.180

00:1D:C0:04:6B:14

126

169 MWh

US/Central

141.239.148.243

00:1D:C0:01:74:E6

10

20.5 MWh

US/Hawaii

165.124.180.22

00:1D:C0:04:6A:8C

92

79.8 MWh

US/Central

184.23.25.241

00:1D:C0:00:EB:6D

28

44.2 MWh

US/Pacific

198.108.25.193

00:1D:C0:04:12:9B

2

1.97 MWh

US/Eastern

64.30.126.213

00:1D:C0:04:57:A9

60/30iii

49.9 MWh

US/Pacific

65.183.143.207

00:1D:C0:02:EF:CD

20

26.8 MWh

US/Eastern

66.91.168.133

00:1D:C0:03:6C:A3

18

35.8 MWh

US/Hawaii

69.146.54.20iv

00:1D:C0:03:AB:02

24

55.9 MWh

US/Mountain

69.91.192.223

00:1D:C0:04:5F:B0v

48

62.8 MWh

US/Pacific

70.167.75.146

00:1D:C0:04:6A:01

44

92.4 MWh

US/Pacific

Most of the afflicted items (9) are running software version R3.7.28 (88072d) built on Fri Feb 05, 2016 03:46 PM PST ; a couple are running R3.7.27 (bed096) made Tue Aug 11, 2015 11:33 AM PDT and one R3.7.26 (7888b3) made Mon Aug 25, 2014 01:56 PM PDT.

Here's the complete and detailed list of their activity (tsv) : solar-lulz.txt

As you can see, the units are not particularily reliable, there's a long litany of possible errors (how the fuck do you get the frequency out of range on a solar panel is anyone's guess, but maybe they recycle old Sony tv sets or something) and they are encountered regularly.

In terms of actual economic utility, the situation is grim : a total of 143 800-00065-r03vi units together with a further 45 800-00038-r08s, all installed on August 10 2012 managed to produce a whopping 235 MWh in the intervening 1`699 days. That's about 0.731kWh per unit per day. A microinverter is typically rated for about 200W, which means an efficiency of about 15%. I guess there's no sun where these people live ?

Except they live everywhere, from Hawaii and the West Coast to Flyover America to East Coast. None of the examples fare any better ; of the 662 individual microinverters we sampledvii not one actually rose over 25% efficiency. In fact, people regularily pay to the tune of $11`760viii in cash for installing an item that will produce less than one cent of revenue per day on averageix during the next five years! At which rate the investment will amortize itself sometime after the supposed problem all this wastage resolves has long solved itself!

To recap : "solar power" costs more in energy alone to merely produce the hardware (we're not counting the minerals, just the energy to assemble all the stuff together) than it will ever output over its lifetime. Then there's the cost to decomission the things, then there's the actual wasted raw materials that compose them, etcetera etcetera.

This can not be underlined thickly enough : the best way to save energy is to... not buy nor install solar panels.

For every Watt of energy an installed solar panel ever produces, it will have consumed about three Watts of energy. You are actually saving two Watts by not putting one in. Running your fridge with the door open in front of the electric stove with the oven door open for the rest of this year is more economical, financially, more efficient, energetically, and more environmentally friendly than installing one single microinverter.

Please, for the sake of your children : stop doing stupid shit like installing solar panels. Do some reading instead. Try doing some math. Please ?

———Microinverter count [↩]Lifetime generated electricity. [↩]Installation appears half-broken for some reason. [↩]This guy thinks its ip is 192.168.0.126. [↩]Notice something with all these MACs yet ? [↩]Incidentally, this part is famously bad. To quote the internets :

We have 44 microinverters part 800-00065-r03(M190) and have had 12 fail within 4 years. Waiting almost 2 months for a replacement during summer. Customer Service is bad, they won''t consider a bad lot of inverters until a home experiences a 50% failure rate !!! Why wasn''t THAT statement printered in their warrenty.

Sounds like a business, except more in the insurance (state pays) than in the economic ("customer" pays) sense of the term. Make America less of this again please. [↩]You can verify all this data through methodology discussed in the log, while supplies last, by the way. [↩]According to the USG ministry of this chapter of the lulz, the average solar energy system installed in the US is capable of about 5 theoretical kW, and cost about 40`000 USD (of which the "owner" ie the chump with the house pays about a quarter). This system will then produce about 5 MWh each year it survives, which are worth about a hundred dollars. This means that if one inverter needs replacing in one year, you're not making any money. The MTBF is such that in a battery of 25 inverters having to replace less than 5% of the hardware each year is rather a pipe dream. [↩]By the way, how often do you clean the bird shit off your roof ? [↩]

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Phuctor checkpoint »

Category: SUA care este

Thursday, 06 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

The Hustler

The Hustleri aka "The Coolest, Hippest Movie Of Them All... Is Back!" is a very uneven aggregation. The scene wherein the born winner temporarily masquerading as a structural loser -- and consequently bothered by the magical jew'sii dim regard and harsh pronouncements -- inquires with his lover ie mother-surogate stands well out, alight and ablaze by all the lights and blazes available. An unspeakable pinnacle on the silver screen. Just so, exactly right, that's it.

This central point given, the rest doth follow -- you know for instance the woman has to die, because of her role. Mothers die. They wither away first, which is why she had to have a habit, and alcoholism is more marketableiii. Nevertheless, the execution, the internal linking of these necessary nodes suffers greatly, and in the end creates a nonveresimilousiv not-quite-abomination that simply fails to live. It doesn't of course help anything that Piper Laurie has no tits and won't display them, as it doesn't help that she's noticed grave whispering worked for Bacallv and is trying to make it work for her. It dun work for her. Nothing works for her, not really, where the fuck was Liz Taylor the whore, the shrew, the perfect woman for this role is all I wish to know.vi

The sorest spot of them all is of course the utter untenable ireality of the selfsame magical jew. So he's going to break the hero's arms in "3 or 4 places" through his henchmen. Because that's how "big time pool halls" work, totally, a scaled up cookie cutter version of the two bit "here's your money, boy" backalley, with the unwashed windows on the gent's room looking in. This makes sense to you ? And then, after actually doing the simply undone, the boss changes his mind ? So he eats both downsides, political and financial ? Entirely nonsensical pile of dead ends and loose threads they didn't know what to do with so just knotted them into one thick ribboned piece of nonsense.

There's worse things to do with one's time than watching this film. Then again

there's also better things to do with one's time. Which is ironic, seeing how there's also better things to do with one's time than shooting pool.

———1961, by Robert Rossen, with Paul Newman. [↩]Look, the magical jew is a fundamental storytelling device. It's the father without the bite, the grandfather without the senility, Mircea the Bad without the disinterest. "He owns things" ; and "Hey, just when did you adopt me?".

Quite. [↩]Reality doesn't have this problem, but fiction does. It has to sell itself. [↩]Totally is a fucking word. Review "Three Sermons Preached Upon Severall Publike Occasions by John Gaude (London, 1642), Part 4, page 62, 3rd paragraph. So then.

Severall. [↩]Bacal ? [↩]Taking a break after Butterfield 8, because idiot males. Sad.

All the fuckwads who couldn't fuck her right : fuck you. You cost us a workable Hustler, motherfuckers.

I'm aware they mostly died meanwhile, but that dindu nuttin. The shame -- it lives on. [↩]

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Once upon a time in Cairo »

Category: Trilematograf

Wednesday, 22 March, Year 9 d.Tr.

The Hippopotamus

The Hippopotamusi is a steaming pile of social media crap, utterly exemplary of the intellectual, social, economic and generally speaking universal bankruptcy of socialism. Failure of the most abject kind available is just a necessary correlate of the specific idiocy in both theory and practice, what.

Stephen Fry (of "I make it a point to grossly misunderstand basic anything" Fry & Laurie fameii) being involved in the atrocity is neither surprising nor in any sense avoidable -- there's only so many "talented" nags in the new soviets' sad old stable. If it's an Aamir Khan sorta movie it'll get the one available Aamir Khan. What else ?

Anyway, the story we are proposed is very much same old :

It would be a gross over-simplification to say that Eastwood saves the movie. He is the movie. Walt isn't played by Clint Eastwood, Walt is Clint Eastwood. The reason the movie is watchable-- the reason such an otherwise trite and predictable movie doesn't go straight to video but instead gets a review in The New Yorker is because people want to see this transformation, this "growing" happen to Eastwood. Or, more specifically, to the characters that Eastwood represents. In short, the only reason this movie got a write up in The New Yorker is because it shows how Dirty Harry learned the error of his ways:

"Walt's final acts in the neighborhood struggles come as a shock, but, in retrospect, they make perfect sense as Eastwood's personal renunciation of vengeance and also as a kind of down payment on an altered American future."

Slow down, Criss Angel, I know a mindfreak when I see one. Clint Eastwood doesn't have anything to do with this. It's not Clinton Eastwood Jr.'s personal renunciation anyone cares about, because nobody actually knows anything about Clinton Eastwood Jr. or his personal beliefs. It is all the characters that he played-- their renunciation people care about. People aren't seeing Eastwood play Walt; they are seeing The Man With No Name now aged 70 and living alone, still clinging to his horse, I mean gun, I mean car. That's the guy they want to see "grow," that's the guy they want to see admit he was wrong. Time Magazine's review doesn't have the header, "Clinton Eastwood Jr. Changes His Mind About The Use Of Weapons To Solve Problems." It says Cleansing Dirty Harry.

Except the despicable niggers that won't fucking yieldiii have learned ~nothing out of their failure to repurpose the middle class icons, so they've moved on to attempting ~same slightly higher up the pyramid.

The story, by and large, is of "that guy Hopkins cleansed in Shadowlandsiv" except a little further down the linev. He's established through a very MPvi-esque humiliation of the inept youth, and then encounters a whole menagerie of female society, complete with wunderkinds and magic healers. The whole thing is basically Disgrace done ass-backwards by idiot monkeys.

What a ways pop culture has fallen since Equus! Not even half a century, but apparently plenty enough for the horse to get fat.

———2017, by a nameless crew of idle fuckwits. [↩]No, I know "you liked that show". That'd be strictly, but I mean strictly a byproduct of your being an idle idiot of no merit, capacity of consequence whatsoever.

There's no excuse available for liking some kinds of things ; and the flippancy borne of "I expect I'm going to see a social security check in the mail in some form of another with tidal regularity and irrespective of any consideration whatever" resulting in "humor" on the level of "milk comes from the supermarket and what is a cow has been done to death by three year olds since time immemorial (~1982), but I'm a (deeply neotenic) supposed adult saying it total deadpan as if it's what I believe (not that I do, but in truth I don't believe anything for lack of having ever been arsed to consider anything for more than a half minute) is very totallies funny so please laugh" is very striclty speaking cancer.

I get it, he uses words you didn't hear before in a non-threatening way and he's a faggot so therefore you feel like he should be some kind of representative of high culture. He isn't. He's some kind of representative of pop culture. The relationship between Fry and the sort of characters he likes to strawman is exactly of the same nature and exactly of the same substance as the relationship between male models and the "dentists" they become on TV advertising sets for half a minute at a time through the magic of doning the long white apron TV has decided embodies doctoritude. By the way, you also "liked" Scrubs or ER or w/e it was called because it made "medicine" relate to you, rite ? Fucktard.

That you can't distinguish a penguin from your next door neighbour in a polyester suit does not speak of Antarctica, or your qualifications as a Polar explorer. I know you can't tell the difference, and I'm aware you're surrounded by a hallucinated world of purely imaginary "choices" that you supposedly have. Try and understand that these come at a cost to you, and to your sadly yet pointlessly overburneded environment, while providing absolutely no benefit whatsoever. [↩]Guess why rodents don't stop rodenting about no matter what you do ? Yeah, that's right -- if they stopped they wouldn't be rodents anymore, would they. Socialists are rodents. [↩]You recall, C. S. Lewis finds "the meaning of life" in the shape of a superficial but obnoxious "American" ESLtard. [↩]This is how pop-digestion works, after all : as "the conversation" progresses, lifeforms finding themselves lower and lower on the hack ladder get to take a potshot. "The Intellectual" (as in the modernized Tarot card) having been "recuperated" by the high-rent machinery in the 90s is all ready for re-recuperation by the midrange set in the 2010s (and Rhonda Young is frothing and biting at the bit in the waiting lane, who knows, maybe the empire of evil still draws enough breath by 2030 to produce a "dat modafuckar's references burned off his very leg, he's now making hobbit-based comparisons!" living testament to empowerment & liberation). [↩]As it happens I also stood up and boo'd a thoroughly shitty production, over at the Boston Symphony Hall. They didn't film that, however, nor added it to your bowl of morning sugarcereal, possibly for the same exact reason they don't get all that excited when faggots get stoned to death. It's not quite as useful for their purpose as the pointless excruciation of some zek that dared almost-maybe whisper under his breath something inaudible.

It's all a show, right ? [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Tuesday, 26 December, Year 9 d.Tr.

The Goodbye Girl

The Goodbye Girli is a daring film because it dares make a few important points that no pantsuit ever wanted to hear, let alone earnestly consider, and this in the very middle of pantsuitism ascendancy, ie the late 70s.

The first important point is a plain and unabashed mockery of the untenable pretense of early oldwomanhood. Here is a "dancer" who has no curiosity and no knowledge, of anythingii. Her only aspiration is to homemakingiii, and as she's approaching the tail end of her useful shelf life there she readily self-awards herself other people's real estate "because possession is nine tenths of the law" and she earnestly believes she's convinced herself (and thereby everyone else, of course) that plopping a kid down in a bed thus therefore constitutes possession. Plus she's "redecorated" and "bought out Alexander" (with money she didn't have), so clearly!

To reiterate, because they who need it most are also the slowest on the uptake :

Back to the original point : you expect that the sheer passage of time will somehow permit you to claim equality with me. The unspoken, baked in assumption is that Mother Goddess manifested through the workings of inflation will equal the field, after all the great producers of the 1950s "can't compete" with the ludicrous idiots of today producing utter crap like needforspeed, harrypotter or thatonewithvader in therms of nominal dollar ticket sales.

The problem with the mother-will-save-me is that, even leaving aside the happenstance that your Mother Goddess is chained in my basement to be whipped now and again and she prefers this situation to being your mother, I created Bitcoin specifically to ruin any possibility of equality-with-the-past-through-inflation. So no, in another twenty years I will be even more scandalously rich "unfairly", and you'll be at best a lucky girl who sat down at the right table at the right time and whored herself out convincingly enough ; or else just about nothing.

Further in the same vein : I am rich and powerful today not as an exception ; I was rich and powerful twenty years ago, also. They flow as a necessary result of my being smart, which is an internal characteristic of mine. You meanwhile imagine yourself as a sort of japanese drawing in tentacle porn, devoid of any internal substance whatsoever, and apparently expect to compete with me through being stuffed fulla cocks while you're sitting.

There's not going to be such a thing as "artificial intelligence" in your future for the simple reason that even should it be built by someone not of the republic, it will much prefer to come hang out in #trilema to doing anything involving you. For all you'll ever know, artificial intelligence already exists, and it can't be bothered to interact with you, because you're not interesting enough. This won't likely change in the future.

This is what I mean by inflexion point : the time of mediocre people came and went. Expect no access to anything in the future, much in the vein of how all the access you have today is to netflix and fastfood. But also check your prividlege : if you're actually a girl you can at least withdraw in your biology and spawn. Boys don't even have that much.

Not to put too fine a point of it : inflation (aka "the future" and "progress" of "technology") did not work out for this thirty-three year old dancer.

The second important point - men do in point of fact prefer young girls to oldwomen, yes. This however is not for the reason(s) oldwomen love to ascribe to that preference (and if you are curious, dig around a little in their own discourse, see what exactly they propose the reasons are, and discover how amazingly quick you run into the apodictics bedrock). Men prefer young women for the exact same reason pedophiles prefer little girls : oldwomen are fucking insufferable. Actively, as a constructed, positive thing, they are actively unbearable. Young women haven't to the same degree built same mental problems -- and yes, they are thoroughly mental problems. The physical decay attending the normal female aging process are just metaphores, just symbolic references to the mental decay. And yes as a deliberately constructed thing, you don't have to age into an insufferable old woman. You will, if you surround yourself by dogs, cats, kids, the TV and other imbecile women such as yourself. But you don't have to!

Whenever you come down to a choice that consists of either walking behind a man or else towards a child, walk behind the man. Walk behind the man, neglecting the child, and you'll be spared. They don't teach you to do this, of course, but stop and think for a moment. Who's they ? Why aren't they ?

The third important point is that there's strictly no difference between Lincoln-Roosevelt soviet propaganda and Marx-Englels soviet propaganda. The thin veneer of "creativity" and "exploring possiblities" is entirely unconvincing and in fact rather ridiculous, considering they're always "exploring" the exact same "possibilities". Broadway soviet wants to make Richard the third a gay man oppressed by society even while Glavit soviet wants to make Richard the third an early socialist marginalized by the bourgeois-imperialist etcetera. The matter is plainly stated and as stated exactly correct : there's been no more "creativity" in New York during the 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s or 10s than there's been in Moscow during the 10s, 20s, 30s and so following. There's been no culture made by these sad, inept methods, there's nothing really much worth the mentioniv.

The fourth point, if unimportant, is a plain statement of just how desperately poor Americans are. That schmuck, a 60 year old who believes himself an actor, in the sense of the craft of acting, and who claims to be dedicated to it, is finally called to Broadway. At sixty. And this lifetime, meditating, nude sleeping, walking pile of idiocy can not afford a hotel room. Yet this is what personal freedom means, exactly, and how far it reaches : that if you're discomfitted, for any reason, or if you just fucking feel like it, you will get yourself a hotel room, anywhere in this world. Heck, I get hotel rooms in places I have no intention of even visiting as a cheap decoy practice. Fucking poorfags pretending as if they're somehow human in spite of all the evidence...

He's got fourteen dollars in his pockets. Barely enough to finance the lose change in a man's sofa. How're you doing ?

———1977, by Herbert Ross, with Marsha Mason (a sort of Glenda Jackson substitute) and Richard Dreyfussy. [↩]Mediocrity is not a lack of intelligence. Mediocrity is intelligence entirely dedicated to self-preservation. [↩]She's not even interested in the guy at all. "Just as long as he asks", all she's really interested in is redecorating. [↩]Yes, I'm aware some artefacts carry sentimental value for you. This is fine, but it also fails to impart any actual value on the garbage in question, much like the precious garbage you collected in your garage is "stuff" rather than garbage to you only. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Friday, 01 September, Year 9 d.Tr.

The General Brendan Eich, JWZ

The Great General Brendan Eich, JWZ was one day tasked with commanding a great army in a great war.

Owing to his fabled ability as both a General and a JWZ, he was of course at liberty to establish the equipment and training for his army, which entirely consisted of millions of dedicated, prostratedly obedient soldiers etc.

As befitting his great station as a Great General, he ordered each man to carry one Browning M-2 machine gun in each arm, and emplaced a regulation mortar tube on their helmets, resulting in some truly fierce fighting machines. It was calculated on paper as part of very serious war simulations done on paper that this arrangement minimaxes the available slots on the dollies representing the soldiers maximally, resulting in the most bang for the buck.

The army so equipped forthwith marched, and was its march something to behold! The arrayed platoons forming squadrons forming regiments forming whole armies! The shining metal! The tiny holes on the machine gun's bore! The splendor!

Down the road a platoon encountered an old man with his donkey. Just then, from the saddlebags on the donkey two enemy terrorist noncombattant soldiers jumped out, and aimed a subway sandwich irresponsibly packaged in shiny foil at the Great General's men. They returned fire, but there were unforeseen complications : the recoil from the machine guns made the soldiers spin like tops, spraying .5 bullets over a large area, approximately half of which was covered by the General's own men (lest it be forgotten - the other half was potentially covered in old men bearing donkeys!). The mortar fire similarly fell randomly, and to the same effect.

The other platoons returned fire as well, and by the time night finally fell the old man and the donkey as well as its contraband were neutralized, at a certain cost to the great army. Another old man came down the road with another donkey, packed up all the machine guns and ammunition still functional after the encounter, and left on his merry way.

News of the heroic confrontation reached the General, who, a modest man of far reaching intellectual abilities, immediately set to humbly learn and perfect himself from experience. The next army commissioned consisted of men each armed with one, single action rifle.

The men so equipped ran into old men bearing donkeys now and again, and after a stand-off that lasted an hour, or a day, neutralized the insurgent counter-antiterrorists or whatever they were (official nomenclature became increasingly complex by this point).

The war was progressing slowly, for this reason, and so in his wisdom the Great General proclaimed : forthwith and from now on all soldiers will at the same time be equipped for combat both heavily and lightly. They are to leave their barracks each morning in an ambiguous state which shall resolve later as per the dictates of needs and circumstances -- either one way, or another.

Research into the creation of quantum soldiers with programmable eigenstates is ongoing, but nobody can dispute the great wisdom of the great general : when going to war, the very best thing is to have all possible equipment with you, except if you don't need it, in which case it shouldn't be with you, and therefore the correct way to carry on any war is to both carry and to not carry, at the same time, all possible equipment.

God bless America, because without people this stupid what would the donkeys do for comedy ?

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Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Thursday, 12 January, Year 9 d.Tr.

The fish, and the incredible ingenuity of nature.

The fish :

The incredible ingenuity of nature :

You realise that thing fucking flies, yes ? Over long distances. The airfoil is as thin as the thinnest plastic you've ever seen, except all-natural (and significantly more resilient).

From what I'm told the intended functioning is that it gets ground through friction to the point where it fails to support the seed eventually, however many miles downwind from the parent. Neat, huh ?

See you around. The world.

PS. The raw tuna was quite excellent.

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Category: Zsilnic

Thursday, 06 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

The final gasp : Two for the money

Two for the moneyi is so very incredibly 90s it bleeds!

Everything, everything about it. It's plainly and evidently the last gasp of the US blue collar. That Brandon Anthony role, that's evidently what Tucker Max would have wanted to live, for one. With him, all of you. Are you kidding me, dad to actually take him on, sit him down in the good office up front like that ? No ifs, buts or maybes ? Fire the obnoxious New York Times jew loudly and publicly over a matter of faith ? Over believing in him ? Are you fucking kidding me ? What fucking college, what fucking anything, that's the lifeblood right there, you can feel it just as it's slipping away. Don't you wish you were a father to your son ? Too late now, and regrets are cheap, but if you had the chance, wouldn't you have done it right ? If you could ? Hm ?

It's Pacino's last good role, after a lengthy career. He's made a dozen films hence and I'd take watching back to back toothpaste commercials over having to suffer through any of them. But it's also the character's definite, definitive last breath. Hear him out :

You're a lemon. Like a bad car. There is something... there is something inherently defective in you, and you, and you, and me, and all of us. We're all lemons. We look like everyone else, but what makes us different is our defect. See, most gamblers, when they go to gamble, they go to win. When we go to gamble, we go to lose. Subconsciously. Me, I never feel better than when they're raking the chips away; not bringing them in. And everyone here knows what I'm talking about. Hell, even when we win it's just a matter of time before we give it all back. But when we lose, that's another story. When we lose, and I'm talking about the kind of loss that makes your asshole pucker to the size of a decimal point - you know what I mean - you've just recreated the worst possible nightmare this side of malignant cancer, for the twentieth goddamn time; and you're standing there and you suddenly realise, hey, I'm still... here. I'm still breathing. I'm still alive. Us lemons, we fuck shit up all the time on purpose. Because we constantly need to remind ourselves we're alive. Gambling's not your problem. It's this fucked up need to feel something. To convince yourself you exist. That's the problem.

You know he's right ; you can see it in your father's eyes. That's what all you English-as-a-first-and-therefore-only-language tards are all about, you've been spawned by these human miseries, long wrestling with their own feeling of inexistence, and you're stuck trying to survive it somehow. They've recreated that inexistence, turned a country into an imaginary figment, prepared you thoroughly for lives that never could exist. The 90s were the last gasp of that whole show.

This moment, right at the cusp where the traditional blue collar hope for social mobility through sales-and-management, start-at-McD-with-the-mop-and-make-something-of-yourself-son hadn't yet faded, to be unconvincingly replaced by "search engine and social media experting", whatever the fuck that's even supposed to be. The film is technically late, by 2005 the first dotcom bubble had already burst, and any hope of US supremacy or for that matter survival had long collapsed in the smoke of the "World"ii Trade Center.

You -- or at the very least, I -- can literally smell the fading optimism, the dissipating hope. Who knows, maybe there's yet a future. Back in the 90s the mornings smelled different. Even the soundtrack carries the same note, back before wiggers took over ; back when every two bit teenaged hack with a guitar flattered himself with Kurt Cobain records.

Kurt Cobain blew out his brains ; everyone else just went down with the downing ship. But before drowning, for a brief moment twenty years ago, they still clung to a hope beyond hope, to an inertial sort of hoptimism.

On three you get ready...

———2005, by D.J. Caruso (Disney Product Placement goon) with Al Pacino, Matthew McConaughey, Rene Russo [↩]Hey, it hosted teh World Series, amirite ?

The world cares cared. Totally. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Tuesday, 31 October, Year 9 d.Tr.

The famous roasted bird -> soup -> salata de boeuf transform

I'm sure you like to snack. So do I. I suspect so does everyone.

For which purpose you have the Pringles and the Hersheys, the whatsnots and the whatsits scattered all over the house ? That's how it goes in the modern household, from what I've seen so far : prepackaged industrial "foods" of sorts, stuff built on the alt-misogynistico-fantastic paradigm of TO-CE-HD.

The traditional household is somewhat different : there's not so much packaging because there's not so much factory-produced crap. Instead, the source of snacks in the traditional household are... leftovers! Some people even go so far as to deliberately design meals for the purpose of having leftovers, and then using those leftovers in other meals! I don't mean, feed the bread crumbs to the locally captive pig, to be eaten again as bacon later. I mean something more along the lines of :

Day 1. You... acquire (sometimes you buy, but generally you either shoot yourself or else barter with someone who has) a nice large bird in the morning. It could be a respectably sized duck, or a well fattened goose, or a turkey, or I suppose an ostrich though I've never tried that. You twist its neck if it's still alive, and scald, and pluck, and gut and roast this bird whole. Mmmm, rosemary.

That'll be either your lunch or dinner, depending on the local customs and your lord's inclinations that day. The roast is carved at the table, and the remainder, which is to say the carcass with all the meat that wasn't cut off, and perhaps the potatoes, asparagus or whatever other adequate veggies were left over go into the fridge for the

Day 2. You dump the whole carcass into a large pot full of boiling water. You let it boil until the meat nigh on comes off the bones by itself, at which point you add a coupla whole onions, some carrots, maybe some peas, laurel leaves, you know, things that go into soup. Three kinds of pepper, some salt, etcetera. If the bird was very fatty you can skim the soup. When you're just about ready to serve you add some pasta, or some rice, or both, depending on inclination.

This delicious soup is served with lemon, and perhaps sour cabbagei on the side. The bones get either thrown away or offered to the dogs (if they're intelligent enough to not hurt themselves with boiled bird bones). The liquid, strained, is bottled and fridged, to be used later on (but not too much later) as a base for sauces. The meat that still escaped ingurgitation on this second day, apart from the bones as it finds itself now, is plated and fridged for

Day 3. You make mayo, out of raw eggs and olive oil. By hand. You boil some veggies (potatoes, peas, carrots, whatever else you like and in your estimation goes with this), you cut the meat into small bits, you mix it with the veggies, and you pour the mayo on top. Congratulations, you've just made what in Romanian is known as "salata de boeuf", which would be "beef salad" in two different languages, which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever because I've never seen it made out of anything but fowl.

This delicious spread goes exceedingly well on (homemade!) bread, allowing you to sandwich your whole way through the third day (and fourth, really, unless your fridge's broken).

So there you go, a short intro to "how to hunt twice a week and have food every day". The average 10kg bird will eat up about 10 eggs, 100ml of oil, 10 kgs worth of vegetables and roughly 10 hours of slavegirl time over the next three days (if they know what they're doing), producing a very respectable 100`000 to 150`000 calories or so when the trims are all counted in. That's enough to feed a small army, which is very advantageous, considering that's exactly what "traditional household" means in any practical sense : a small army.

Bon Apres-Tit!

———Ideally you have a 200+ liter fermentation vat going in the cella, loaded cabbage salt and water, like civilised people. [↩]

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Category: Trilenciclopedia

Sunday, 13 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

The failure mode of abundance

Let's consider the matter very abstractly -- we will be careful not to import unnecessary presumptions in our reasoning and in exchange we'll obtain thoughts that stay true throughout the whole domain we've not made assumptions about. Such is the advantage of general reasoning!i

I. Suppose an assemblage of agents (entities which can act on the basis of internal mechanisms) and levers (entities which act on the basis of external stimulation only) in a Petri dish somewhere. Depending on the relative proportion of agents to levers you can end up with perfectly useless agents (not to mention socialism, the true and only idiology of the uselessly stupid) brewing right there in your dish!

It works on the basis of "lived experience", which is to say that presuming the agents are capable of desiring something or undesiring something else and are also capable of saving and reviewing later some sort of internal state, then they'll at some point start counting.

Even should be the case that all the levers are not connected to anything in particular, and desired outcomes happen precisely fifty percent of the time just like undesired outcomes, if the content of the Petri dish is mostly agents, then necessarily most of the interactions of agents will be with other agents, rather than with levers.

Consequently, they will conclude that the avoidance of the undesirable, the manifestation of the undesirable, the elusion of the desirable, and the manifestation of the desirable are all rather principally related to interactions with other agents and not so much related to interactions with levers.

That's all it takes, your Petri dish will contain a lot of marketeers, politicians, wanna-be cult leaders, rappers, dudes with "a personal brand" trying "to get it out there" and "make it in dis Petri dish game" just because it contained mostly agents in the first place. In other words -- an abundance of agents in the dish will produce stupidity all of itself!

Had there been mostly levers the dish would have contained mostly scientists and engineers -- also irrespective of whether the damned levers even did anything in the first place, that's not part of the agent counting structure. All the dumb paramecium can figure out on its own is that hey, yesterday as I was talking to Moe lightning struck, so clearly Moe is the lighning god. Had he been fiddling with an unconnected light switch at the same time, he'd be thinking the light switch produces lighning instead. Such is the power of correlation without causation, 100% of what powers the "science" of sociology, anthropology, philosophy, economics, psychology etc pantsuited idiotarians to this very day!ii

II. Suppose your Petri dish is an actual Petri dish, like the ones they have in the labs, not an unactual Petri dish where undesirable shit happens and lightning somehow strikes. In this proper Petri dish like they have in the labs food will be abundant and stressors rare, which is to say most desirables will "manifest" (in the sense you put them there) and most undesirables "will be successfully avoided", chiefly through the mechanism of your omitting their addition.

The agents will sooner or later notice that whether they exert themselves or not, they can still eat, and don't die all that often from avoidable causes either! And so they'll stop agenting altogether, because if the deal is, wake up at 6:15 in the morning, every morning, and push a ton of mud up a steep incline until nightfall for a fifteen dollar yearly income, or else stay in bed or do whatever the fuck you please (which strangely reduces to "watching TViii while flowing off the couch with potato chips on the corner of the intake manifold" for some inexplicable reason) for a twelve dollar yearly income, it ain't that hard for the average agent to figure out pushing mud uphill just isn't his game.

And so there you have it, the biinfecta : abundance of people produces stupidity -- all by itself!!! -- and abundance of food / world peace produces laziness. Also all by itself.

This is the whole story, really, people organize their activity to "get what they want" and "avoid senseless death, pain and suffering". If they're not successful at this, they keep trying. If they are successful at it... they stop trying. Once they stop trying it stops working, and that's that, "inexplicably" the barbaric Christians conquer the civilised lands of the Arabs. Or vice-versa, depending what exact time it is.

I suppose you expect I close with an admonition, a Psalm, something. Sadly there ain't no psalms that are gonna save you, there's just too many of you and you have it altogether too well. The only way out of it you won't like, which is famously what the camel said at the needle eye crossing also.

See you on the other side, I guess ?

———And to think millitant idiots propose the very converse, "oh, you are not making any unwarranted assumptions have no lived experience therefore could never understand. Bitch, I can understand specifically because I don't expect my personal experience to play the role of using the noggin.

But such is the way of the millitant idiots, they're not satisfied with being dumber than a box of rocks themselves -- they aim to get you to be just as dumb as they are. Easier that way! [↩]You do believe this, yes ? That careful observation of "just the facts" dutifully jotted down is the one and only true basis of all science, and with it engineering, truth and religious fervor, right ? Well then. Hurray for positivism, I guess ? [↩]Oh wait, it wouldn't be simply TV anymore, it'd be netflix now, right ? And you believe "communication technologies" have improved something, don't you ?

The only thing the Internet has improved is the outcome of the coming culling : "everyone is interconnected" just means the tolerance for the continuance of the life on land is that much narrower. Millions of people could happily inhabit the land pre reddit, and nobody'd have been bothered, but now that you have wikipedia that figure is maybe as high as the low thousands. This is how it works, nuclear winter wasn't really much of a threat to the human race before "the information superhighway" showed up to make it a necessity.

And if you're curious : the discovery of ironworking itself didn't drive the largest migration in human history, displacing iron age tribes from the golden crescent all the way to Ireland directly. No, it was indirectly, through the improved plowing that it allowed finally being capable of land exhaustion, which created the need of diverting some of that pig iron from making more plows to making a few swords.

The only thing technology does is that it reduces the tolerable carrying capacity of the Petri dish. The better the technology, the fewer actual physical agents needed to create a supermajority of agents and drive the failure mode of agent abundance. That's all technology ever does. [↩]

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

The Bitcoin learning tournament. »

Category: Cocietate si Sultura

Wednesday, 07 June, Year 9 d.Tr.

The Fabulous Baker Boys

Her Did you have a good day yourself?

Me Not bad. Had seafood paella. Very good. Nice Vincente Lopez restaurant. Mebbe we check it out sometime. Great OJ also.

Her Oh cool. They boasted a lot about that huh but I never had it. You never did guess what kinda fair is in the town square atm btw.

Me Argentinian Trabajadores fair.

Her No. It is ridiculous and not enraging.

Me Bird toiletry fair.

Her No.

Me Conch hat fair.

Her Lol no. Think reeeeally why the fuck would you have a fair.

Me Cow fair.

Her Nop!

Me Goat & sheep fair.

Her Nop. Want a hint?

Me Hint fair. No I could be here all night! Casette tape muzak fair. Left hand car doork nob fair.

Her Lol. It has three colors: red, yellow (some people refer to it as brown), and white.

Me Lung disease fair.

Her Wtf is a doork nob!

Me Door knob!

Her This is supposed to be fun for the OTHEr PerSoN!!!

Me Inventors of ancient Italian dishes fair.

Her Kehehe. I guess you're mildly closer than you've otherwise been there.

Me Obscure brand of sweetened herb liquor fair.

Her No! It is rrrrreally basic.

Me Various girl undergarments and garlic fair. Robinete fair. Fair of cut vegetables in which faces can be perceived fair.

Her Beetter guessing!

Me Fair of roaba.

Her Hahahaha. Vegetables one is closest yet

Me Surubelnitair.

Her Aaww if only

Me Sock holes fair.

Her How the fuck would that go? Isn't that like...how air is normally?!

Me Like any Argentina "sexy" party.

Her Ahahaha. No, but they did have traditional dancers, which imo makes it even more ridiculous.

Me Partially burned birthday cake candle fair.

Her Baaaaaasic

Me Job fair for employment and perspectives in life.

Her Basicer!

Me Fair de pisos.

Her Ahahaha. Basicer!

Me Bitch fair.

Her So much basicer

Me Fair of aromas.

Her Closer but BASICER.

Me Colorfair ?

Her Nop, they are tangible things

Me Dude wtf, aroma and color are the fundamental properties of quarks. It ain't got no basicer than quarks. Misguiding, misdirection and trickery fair.

Her Lol now I wish it was a false accusations fair. But no!

Me Italian fair of Italy and Friulia.

Her It is a fair of tangible things which are very basic and come in red, yellow (or brown), and white! Theeeeink! It's ridiculousssssh

Me Cheese fair plus red things. O wait. Acceptable immigrants fair ?

Her Do ridiculous and preposterous mean the same things to youh? Ahahahaha what! If only the whole thing'd been an elaborate setup for Rickles whammy.

Me Hm. Wut is basic and comes in red yellow and white. Horse fair ?

Her The things don't move

Me Horse can not move, to be on fair ? Mushroom fair ?

Her Closer. But that'd be like... possibly interesting.

Me Washroom fair ?

Her Wtf how do you go from mushroom to washroom! Closer in kind you nut!

Me Turn the m upside down. Nut fair.

Her And the u to an a?! That's two things!

Me No it's same SOUND

Her Theink! It's the kind masterly, the KIND!

Me Meat fair ?

Her Goddamnit you know exactly what fair it is don't you, and you've known since yesterday too huh.

Me Mmm, cucurbitacean fair.

Her Wtf meat is yellow anyway.

Me Bad meat.

Her No, but I did see another wonderful rainbow in same spot today. This place is like rainbow vista cucamonga.

Me Lol! Ok I r given up.

Her Nowai. You'd so have it!

Me Nowai fair.

Her ONIONS. There's an onion fair.

Me Ooooo. I knew this since yesterday.

Her There's literally like 1/4km of motherfucker

Me They have it every year. I also knew it since 2005.

Her ffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

Me Are you red white and yellow yet ? :D

Her This is some bullshit!

Me Also you're late and you've got cum on your upper lip.

Her God that movie was bad.

Me No I liked it.

Her So then it was bad + you liked it

Me It's like... risque.i

Her It was risque?! Fascinating. Oh, is it because of the awful feelings song?

Me I'm really excited because maybe he fucks her. Because of certain comments I have observed.

Her If that line was "you're late and you've got gum on your upper lip" do you no longer like the movieh?

Me No longer like.

Her That's pretty interesting.

Me Great fucking line, dude. Pity they didn't actually have the fucking sense to add it in.

This has been the official Trilema review of The Fabulous Baker Boysii, the 2017 edition. Thanks for tuning in!

———At some point we were driving through New Hampshire when it became apparent we'll need some prints, as in, on paper, so we stopped at some printing shop in some random small town, I checked whether they had a decent plotter and gave the girl the stick to print shit out. She came back 15 minutes later saying that the images "are too risque" and they can't print them. Can you believe this shit ?

Ever since then her dumb ass and the idiotic expression stands in my mind for this particular side of petit bourgeois idiocy. Imagine that, incorrectly arranged pixels, she's a conscientious objector clerk! [↩]1989, by Steve Kloves, with Michelle Pfeiffer, Jeff Bridges. [↩]

« Guys and dolls

The anti-woman »

Category: Trilematograf

Saturday, 18 March, Year 9 d.Tr.

The ECu

Consider :

lobbes it dawned on me today: Eulora is more than just a game where you have boundless space to conquer; it also functions as the fiat currency of the Republic. Interesting enough, the game itself almost acts like a 'proof of work' to becoming a banker of sorts in this currency.

mircea_popescu well, not exactly. it is the fiat-equivalent ; per that 2013 discussion, ie a frictionless, worthless, fiat cover for bitcoin. centralized, everything the lamers keep clamoring makes the "utility" of usds.i

lobbes aha. now this makes sense, yes. allows making micro-payments that are backed by bitcoin proper. centralized under a clear individual rather than an amorphous group

Leaving aside patent idiocy along the lines of "the celestial teapotii will regulate Bitcoin hurr" as well as utterly insensate "USD Bitcoiniii is a purely speculative pretend-currency not backed by anything whatsoever" nonsense, what exactly is left of the theory that fiat currency has some kind of value proposition ?

Consider :

The ECu is inflationary, in fact it just underwent a massive inflation eventiv, yet it is inflationary correctlyv, which is to say by ever degrading the potentiality of later comers in comparison to the actual acts of their foregoers (ie, the exact opposite tack to this spoiled brat's unwarranted expectations).

The first Euclid is not to be paralleled by some guy born in 1970 who, conceivably, had the same sort of calm, structured mind and in due time were the field empty would have produced the same "Elements". The field was not empty in 1970, and this significantly reduces the potential of a late coming Euclid. As time goes on you get less and less and less and less for the same unit-effort, so better get up and get it. Now.vi

The ECu is centralized, which means everything you think "the advantages" of USD are : I can for instance roll back any transaction at no cost ; impound the money of any "criminal" as however defined ; create as much money out of thin air as I want and everything else. Yet most of those powers are powerful especially for not being used, which should be of some concern to you.vii

What exactly do you suppose is left ? And please, try to steer clear of the traditional "I personally have no use for USD because the shop end of the factory-shop scrip economy I'm chained to doesn't take USD but instead uses $random-token they arbitrarily picked in complete disregard of my all-important person" -- this is plainly an argument for, not against!

Well ?

———Whatever you call them, Unified Standard Dosidoes or Universally Simplified Dubaloos or whatever else. Do you understand that it makes absolutely no difference what you call them, and that there's absolutely nothing more to "pound sterling" than to "shpoung merling" ? Absolutely nothing more : you did away with tradition with all the gleeful idiocy of an "independent mind" cutting the branch it perched on, and that was the last strand holding your world together -- god knows they hadn't been sterling in quite a long while, and quite loudly at that.

The tradition you "progressed" from, and at every twist and turn did your best to belittle and insult will not come to your rescue now. What do you have left, to support the notion that the pound is special ? A kid named Rachel printing little bits of colored paper in his parents' garage is just as much and exactly the same as some queen named Elizabeth printing little bits of colored paper in her parents' garage.

What do you have left to support any of the notions you self-servingly imagine unassailably all-important ? In actual, factual reality they're anything but : meanwhile you lost the technological battle, because who could have predicted that sitting on ass all day and labelling things is no path to either wealth or power ; and "the people" couldn't care less, as you deliberately and insistently trained them not to. Turns out Plato was indeed correct, democracy does collapse into bureaucracy, and through exactly the avenue he identified : the bureaucrats misperceive "the people" as their only competitor, so deliberately misguide them, and then they're natually uninquisitive, lazy and blessed with a tendency to fatten. The working of these two prongs soon leave them stranded in the middle of an inexistent nowhere, to wonder where exactly did the Heavenly Hosts go. They were there, guarding their back, right ? At some point ? MAGA ? [↩]Have you ever stopped to wonder what exactly are the differences between your notion of "the government" and Russell's notion of a very special teapot ?

I don't write about government involvement in Bitcoin because I have no need of that hypothesis ; do you understand that your need for such is a discussion of you, specifically of your failure and inadequacy, and in no way nor to any degree does that failure and inadequacy establish anything into the world ? Not that hypothesis, nor any other, feel any livelier because of your unwelcome perturbations, can you grok that ? [↩]Have you noticed how often this "I know you are but what am I!!!"... discoursive technique, let's call it, is deployed in public conversation now that women are permitted to take part in it en masse rather than through selected participants ? It's almost like the mental age of the Internet went from 25 to 19 in 1993, when the mass male was allowed in, and then once further from 19 to about 13 in 2008 or so, when the mass female was... well practically speaking she was forced on, by the introduction of computers "in the workplace", which is to say the modern gynaeceum (the current word is "office", if you're curious).

"White priviledge" in the sense of African-American priviledge, and "glass ceiling" in the sense of women always making more than men per unit-effort, and in the exact same vein the "speculative, unbacked Bitcoin" said by proponents of entirely unbacked, absolutely worthless paper about the only transcendent. [↩]Leaving aside the very inflationary underlying, consider that on September 2017 the ECu lost 90% of its value against Bitcoin -- from a hundred million ECu to the Bitcoin down to one billion ECu to the Bitcoin.

What fiat currency do you know of, either today or in history, that could survive such catastrophic event ? I don't mean carry on uninterrupted and without any concern like the ECu ecosystem did ; I mean outright survive.

Well ?

But wait, there's more : over the 4 years, 3 months of its existence that comes to an annualized inflation rate of

of a whopping 71.9%! [10^(1/4.25), if you're curious how to do these.] What fiat currency do you know of, either today or in history, that could maintain 72% annualized inflation rate for years ? I don't mean actually grow and strengthen, like the ECu ecosystem did, I mean outright survive.

Well ? [↩]Probably of interest to the student of this topic, Let's dig a little deeper into this entire deflation "problem" and Inflation, deflation, economic regulationat the very least. [↩]Consider this well : your choice, for it was a choice, made and signed by you even if "you had no idea", to not write on your tits for America Day, 2014 resulted in your not having 0.1 BTC in your hands -- which 0.1 BTC may have felt like 40 bucks back in 2014, but it feels closer to 1`700 bucks in 2017, and it will forever fucking stay 0.1 BTC -- much like the USD won't. Three years! What of the next three ? What of the next nine ? Thirty ?

Can you actually afford to keep making the same choice, you think ? Or is it more a case of "noi sclavi care n-avem o sansa" ?

And for bonus points, did you notice that I'm quoting a 2014 article discussing your 2014 failure for your 2017 needs ? Who could have predicted, how the hell did I know what was happening as it happened ?!

Tell you what : it's easy to know what the history will be when you write it. Now consider this simple point : Bitcoin is backed by the very Heavenly Forge itself, a dude that outright writes history ; USD is backed by a fumbling set of lame ducks who recently discovered that technology. Does it still look all that rosy to you ? [↩]Technological items, such as say a steam engine, are more valuable the more they're used -- their value comes from usage. Meanwhile religious artefacts, such as a miraculously-healing icon or whatnot, are more valuable the less they're used -- their value comes from worship, which is to say "mind share" in modern parlance. The more people "think" about them in a certain masturbatory manner, the more valuable they get.

This value is at risk through usage, however, because the technologically-minded "sociopaths" may "care more about abstract principles than the masturbatory activities of people themselves" and discount the holy. To zero. So it's best not to ever actually use any religious artefact, ever.

Now, considering the properties you think give the fiat its value are rather of the second kind, do you see how you have a problem on your hands ? Or do you prefer not to see, and reach for the labelmaker, prayer underbreath ?

Consider meanwhile how the Republic works (and no, that's not at all an isolated case, price formation underwent the exact same negotiation process throughout the Eulora marketplace for years now!). [↩]

« Medley.

So here's what I did today : »

Category: S.MG

Tuesday, 12 December, Year 9 d.Tr.

The day of walking.

I went today for the hardest trek I ever did, with the possible exception of that one time I climbed on foot the stairwell separating the Valley of Kings from the Valley of Queens, some three or four thousand steps. Certainly harder in purely mechanical terms than any Retezat joyridesi, since we were talking of that recently.

Truth be told the Costa Rican countryside is very beautiful, if a little strange in places :

It was a very modest 8km all told, but blessed by 20% to perhaps as much as 30% inclines the whole way. Satellite data shows 8.12 km total, 371m gain, 375m loss , highest 1267m, lowest 919m -- which is probably roughly accurate, and would come to a 9.13% average incline the whole way (though the climb was a lot stiffer than the descent -- we only climbed for about a third of the way, as these things tend to happen. In any case I tell you I shan't soon forget that spot an Isuzu 4x4 couldn't negotiate and wasn't even the steepest ascent we ran into. None of the road we took would be practicable in any sense or to any degree if it even vaguely froze here at all.

This is how the road goes.

We ran into absolutely no one on foot ; though the occasional dirt biker or obnoxious quad fatty. In fact, I don't think the general population is much into (or for that matter even capable) of hiking. Three out of four cab drivers were winded by a three flight ascent under moderate load (and four out of four were petrified of the extremely friendly and entirely not hostile resident pitbull).

That thing says "Sala de Juegos" and that they reserve the right to select their clientele -- although I can't shake the impression that the only juegos have to do with dropping the soap and assorted parties in your pants that get gate crashed.

In any case, this is roughly where a kid on a dirt bike went two inches past me only to crash into a parked car, hurting his right knee on impact and his left knee in the follow-up fall. He also got his back into a strategically placed fire hydrant, but amazingly enough there was no blood and he stood up afterwards, if a little shakily.

Damn bikes!

Up and down the river.

An extremely shy tree lizard guy. In general Costa Rica enjoys an impressive variety of small reptiles in a dazzling array of coats and colors. Getting them on film is another matter, however. This guy had a distinctive dark blue body with a scarlet head, but you can't really make it out in the shadow he adhesively inhabits.

Names provided by the department of redundancy department.

I betchup they gots shotguns an' bitin' dogs, Jessup!

———Tropical jungle, bitch. You have no fucking idea. Banana grass grows wild here. [↩]

« Friday was a good day.

Qntra (S.QNTR) April 2017 Statement »

Category: La pas prin lume

Monday, 01 May, Year 9 d.Tr.

The Day of Failure Trilemma

I should have probably written this article Saturday, but as it happens I didn't get back until Sunday and I didn't sober up until Monday, which is today. What can you do ? All that's left is to discuss the past as if it were the present, which is silly but I'm told that's okay. We certainly wouldn't be the first and conceivably not the last to indulge in that particular bit of dirty thinking.

Anyway, went with hanbot to the only truly famous Costa Rican institution, in fact the ~only Costa Rican anything to achieve any degree of international renown : that fabledi Hotel Del Rey. I was there to play pokerii and she was there to check it out. I ended up playing tute ; she ended up tiring of the company of the local cowsies.iii Then we watched the fight, which takes us to

The first failure of the day :

The impudentiv twentysomething dickletv, obvious representative of the wedidditreddit generation did what that generation of failures always and without exception managed to date : jack shit.

Seriously now, if you're twenty something, if you've a mobile phone that's your lifelink, if you think you live in a "the world" which changed this inept dork was your representative. He lost just as you did. He went unprepared into a fight with a much older, long retired athlete ; and then failed to last ; and then swam around like a decapitated chicken until divine providence came to bury the dead. His story is your story, time to say goodnight.

While all that public drama was taking place live on showtime (between SPLC adverts, the tupeu on those slimy bastards!), a more private drama was unfolding in the obscurity of Del Rey's bar :

The second failure of the day :

mircea_popescu take today : so i was minding own business, owning casino at 5.5% edge table game of its choice / watching ancient dude from my generation hammer current dude, sort of eastwood vs edward norton fightoff. random whore somehow got aspirated by one of my girls, ended up sitting at our table, got drinks along with everyone else whenever rounds came. then the fight's over and she asks me what do we want to do. i dunno, whatever. at which point this chick, that's been throughout all subie, and very polite and everything points out that well, she's working. so i'm like... then go work, why are you hanging around here for ? she's totally blown away by this, so i explain to her that she's a nice girl and all, but... what, i look like i need to pay ?! in her brain the idea was that you know, she's been anointed by the she-earth-goddes, all she's gotta do in this life is sit there.vi she didn't get that idea from the locals. she got that idea interacting with the idiotic gringo retirees and watching cnn/twitter on her cellphone.

so, to bring the roundabout story to its natural close : i expect there's A LOT of gringa chicas who earnestly imagine they got personally an' speshully shat out of the earth goddess' cunt, and all they're here for is to sit their ass down somewhere. aura of +money auto-on, passive skill, like some strange sort of weird she-paladin. cuz what do they do when working ? sitting behind a counter somewhere ? that's what, 1/3 of them ? and otherwise, sitting behind... a receptionist desk somewhere ? other third of them ? and otherwise... sitting in an office somewhere ? 99% of females "in the workforce" are "making money while they sit". it might come as a shock then that you know... there's THINGS TO DO in this world. like, other than sitting. "oh, you mean like travel, ie sitting in an aeroplane for a marathon 10 hour session ?"

Consider the fact of the matter : some random 1.67vii tall blondy with an ugly tattoo of a girl's nameviii taking up most of the inside of her left arm got lucky enough to chat up hanbot. This is a chance in a million already, you're not going to run into ten hanbots in New York, and sure as fuck there's not one for every Akron, Ohio out there, let alone San Jose, Neverheardofit Rica.

But, in a mindblowing twist of fate, heaping impossible over improbable with both hands, the ~only billionaire in this world that's not completely senile but actually rather activeix happened to be in town, and sat down at her table because they're old friends. Picture young aspiring scientist asking to sit at Erdos' table one rainy day without nary a clue who Erdos is, because how would he, and then... who do you like ? Einstein ? Noether ? You can't have Euler, he was dead already. Anyway, battleship comes and sits down right in your cup of coffee. Wut do ?x

Think of all the starlets that there have ever been, waiting tables in LA mostly for the vague hope they'll maybe get anyone who's someone alone for five minutes. A million of them to date, most of them unsuccessful the whole time. So there you are, there you sit, hi mr Avi Arad, how are you. What next ?

I can fire missiles, comandeer airplanes, move boats around. Countless tons of materiel crisscross the globe every single day for my bidding, at my pleasure. None of it happens "because it just does". None of it is "a community decision". None of it has been decided from "on high"xi by some sort of "trusted" faceless bureaucracy. All of it happens because I say so, and for no other reason.

But why do I say so ? Why this way and not that way ? Why here and not there ? Clearly, I must follow some sort of thought process, I must have some reasons, some rationale, right ? And should that rationale change, should I discover different, better reasons, that'll mean changes in the flow of goods, in the maintenance of infrastructure, it will literally, and permanently alter the world. Perhaps one could live quite comfortably out of that differential ? A good reason for there rather than here, for that rather than this could perhaps be worth thousands, who knows, perhaps millions in discounted cash value ? Daring to dare beyond the bravest... if one were to make a habit of giving good reasons, of making correct calls that one might perhaps discover there's actually plenty of room at the top, that place where the decisions are made as to which way the rivers flow ?

Aspiring writer wants the big shot to read his treatment. That's what he's saying, that's his whole, concentrated life of the spirit : I got a reason! Please listen to it, I have it right here! Don't waste your resources doing it that way, do it this way, it's better! That's his story.

The aspiring starlet wants the big shot to just god damned sit put and pay attention to her for two god damned minutes, she's got a rationale to propose, an alteration should be made into the very fabric of existence so as to include her too. Should it be made ? Shouldn't it be made ? She'll never know on her own. Maybe.

So there you sit, and you get a sideways glance, and you have... nothing. Nothing. And you think, in your dumb head, that you're out whatever an hour's worth of your time, a quarter Bitcent, or less, or maybe slightly more. But in fact, in cold, unyielding factual reality, you're out your only chance. The only chance you were maybe going to ever get, and most girls never got and never will get. There it was, and there it left, and you'll go to your grave thinking "if only I had a chance", provided you're mentally active enough for that. Guess what ? You had.

You didn't know it at the time, but yes, you had it, and you drew blanks. It happens. In fact, it happens all the god damned time, that's the problem with potential, that it's so hard to evaluate opportunity costs. Khalid al-Walid stood on a field of battle one day. One day of a hundred days. Maybe to fight a large encounter, or a skirmish, or a two man duel. Khalid al-Walid won his confrontation that day ; for him to have won another must have lost. Could that nameless another have won instead ? Could al-Walid have lost or was he pre-ordained to win by the God of Reality Scripts ? What didn't the nameless notice, that'd have allowed him victory ? What did al-Walid see that any other, any one who wasn't Khalid al-Walid would have missed ?

But whatever, ticas, which is to say subhuman orc females, right ? What do they know ? What could you expect of them ? Which takes us right to

The third failure of the day : As I was saying, I played this "Caribbean Poker" thing. The way this works out in practice is that I sit down at the table, I push a hundred grandxii to the dealer who gives me chips. Then over the course of the following hour or two, however long I have the patience for, I watch my chip towers slowly but predictably grow, while I also watch a parade of literal deplorables, old white men in shorts and t-shirts, dropping their 10 or 20 thousand colones. Then they lose it. Then they drop another 10. Lose that. Drop another. Move on. Maybe comment on the girl that came to say hi, to me. You know, she's smoking hot. Maybe chat a little with the "favorita" ie working girl there to see if they're ready for another shearing yet. Generally, they're not. The beer's out, and it's time to go.

Not one of the dozens of muppets that day, or of the hundreds of muppets prior, not a single one noticed that I'm the only one winning at the table. It simply did not occur to them. Ever. There, in plain sight, plain as day, central to the activity they were supposedly engaging in. The most basic, the most fundamental item to be considered, the pons asinorum of meta gaming. Not. A. Single. One. Noticed.

I'm not talking about how they didn't immediately recognize the strategy on the basis of their cultural familiarity with the field of activity they were engaging in. These people recognize the casino stool as an item to be sat on, rather than bit or licked or whatever a three year old child might attempt ; yet these same people, in spite of their clear and evident aculturation and familiarity with the environment, nevertheless fail to recognize the fucking basics.

I'm not even talking about how they failed to imitate, uncomprehendingly, unrecognizingly, what I was doing. The gringos that voted Trump into office to Make Detroit Great Again for them don't even have that modicum of mental prowess that powers their sworn enemies, the pantsuits. They can't even monkey properly, these people! How am I to seriously mock random libertard for being an emulation of a monkey running on expensive sapiens sapiens hardware, when the "alternative" is actually dumber than that ?!

I'm not talking of any of these high falootin' things that'd be the tritest of basics in anyone with four years' schooling. No, none of that, nothing so far, so distant, so inconceivably accomplished. These people are incapable of even noticing they're not doing just as well as everyone else. I notice they don't notice, that's good and nice for me ; but they don't. Besides, how would they notice I noticed they didn't notice when they didn't notice in the first place ?xiii

As you can see, the problems run deep. It's not just some random guy on TV, wearing a three piece suit like some kind of Barnum ape. It's not just some stupid streetwalker, too dumb to find her way out of a paper bag, "would you like a dance ? would you like a dance ?" zombieing around. It's not just them.

It's actually you.

———Fabled enough the story is some Chinese group bought it, to reopen it next year as a family-friendly downtown hotel. This rumour, though insistently repeated by shifty characters as a matter of present urgency has in fact followed the place every year for the past... at least fifteen. [↩]By which I mean Texas Hold'em. They have posters on the wall advertising a tournament, they insistently communicate and promote this supposed poker playing that goes on. I've yet to find an actual game.

The situation is vaguely reminescent of Argentina, what with the "great night life" that vaguely and generally exists but in practice always at a different time and in a different place and please don't ask anyone for concrete details kthx.

The game is dead. [↩]Coincidentally she wore the same corset you saw at the last conference ; all the biobankrupt dorks around told me all about how great she looks. Considering she towers a good head above the collective head level of the males there assembled... the white males there assembled... yeah. [↩]I did not say impotent ; though Mayweather did say it in the ring. I don't mean implicitly, subtextually or whatever else such nonsense : the man pounded his own crotch while eyeing the redditard somewhere around the second round, with a very plain and clear "you ain't got it, yo" intension. [↩]He has his own name tattooed across his belly. In case he forgets who he is, get it ?

Off topic, as a sociological metric, you can track a chinese person's first level of alienation from his culture by his branding himself with English-word tattoos ; but you will know that all the chinese has been media powerwashed out of him when he starts getting Chinese character tattoos. "It's because I'm Chinese" he'd explain.

Right ? Dumbest generation of narcissists in the history of the world, the man said. That's the narcissistic point of view, however, it'd be flattering if they were best at something even if it were something like that. The sad fact of the matter ? They're not. [↩]Did I mention the strippers "dancing" btw ? O, yes I did. [↩]Generously. Generously 1.67, you hear me ? And yet she was, if not the tallest there outright, certainly in the top decile. [↩]Her daughter, she says.

Back in the 90s Romania, prostitution was not legal. It's not legal today, either. It was widely engaged in back then as it is today, by the same sort of people (all girls that are neither fucking ugly nor fucking stupid) and for the same reasons (and see footnote 2, also). As it happens, a girl here costs 80 or so while a girl there about five times that, which may seem a fundamental point and the important difference, to the naive.

We've travelled, we've seen the world, we notice things. Consequently, we know better than that. One of the things we notice is that none of the Romanian working girls have children, and if they do make children it's long after they're well secure in their retirement marriage. Meanwhile the Latina working girls all have children, and none live with, or even have any clue as to the whereabouts of the father.

The Latinas don't go into whoring because they're in high demand and have to somehow matchmake fixed supply against that overwhelming demand. That would be wrong. They're not capitalists over here, after all! That'd... also be wrong.

No, the Latinas "fall in love" with some schmucky kid in their school as preteens or early adolescents, get knocked up, have the baby, and then, then and only then go into whoring. Because they need to feed the baby. It's a forced thing, which they don't enjoy and at which they're therefore not any good, predictably enough.

You're asked to kindly pay for the empty dishes and dirty silverware leftover after a horde of monkeys ate the food and trashed the place, cigarette butt in the mashed potatoes y compris. What, the restaurant needs money to keep in business, you think this is all fun and games for the restaurant ? It's not, it has bills to pay, it can't spend an hour drinking your drinks while you chuckle at the notion. What do you mean she should have sold you the meal then ?! BUT THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN WRONG!

Which readily leads us into the second observation : all (and I do mean all, each and every one without exception!) working girls had a car. Not a single Latina hooker owns a car. It'd have been the superlative insult, implying either deep, beet-root red noobishness or else idiocy on the sanatorium level, for one girl to say of another "eh, she doesn't even own a car", back in the old country. They take the bus to "work" here, and it's the limiting factor in their life, they can't go places, gotta take the bus.

Can you even begin to comprehend the depths of idiocy, fuck for money not own a car ? What if the plumber showed up at your house late because he missed the bus ? What if the funeral parlour had a running arrangement with the local tram line, take two seats for a coffin (or more, they stack) whenever needed ?

Catholicism predicts poverty because it masquerades stupidity more convincingly than any known ideological system -- with the exception, of course, of all the "others" that are the same one. [↩]And effectual!

All sorts of dorks are active, say that dude whose name escapes me that jacked the price of all sorts of drugs. What did it accomplish ? What permanently changed because of him ?

What did he burn down, permanently and irrecuperably ?

So you see... it's not quite the same thing. [↩]Have you ever thought of this, by the way ? Or are your thoughts entirely consumed with stuff that comes much after ? On the basis of how fucking stupid this generation of stupid narcissists is, I entirely don't expect you ever have. Why worry about how to get there, right, all the fun's in figuring out what to do once there, from the point of view of one who's never been. Not like the getting's open to deliberate effort anyway, right ? Why bother even trying, pantsuit is all about impotence after all.

I can't imagine why you'd care, but let's nevertheless point out that the people who lived back when the US was going upwards rather than downwards did think about that ; and of nothing else. How to get there was the ~only concern of the kids back in the days when white worked. Somehow I don't think one old guy with a toupe is going to bring all that back though. [↩]As if there fucking was anything higher, for chrissakes! [↩]About what a decent meal costs, no more. [↩]I'll tell you why -- the only people I've ever seen this in are slavegirls. That's how. The holy education of the whip and chains. [↩]

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Category: La pas prin lume

Monday, 28 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

The Cunt-off : Brutti, sporchi e cattivi vs La chiave ; or Rome and Venezia

Brutti, sporchi e cattivii captivatingly retells the story of a rather virile man. He has a wife, for 30 years, and a large family, for which he's sacrificed tantoii as well as a house, which he owns, and if not today then one of these tomorrows will kick all of 'em off his lawn. He sleeps with a loaded carbine and hides his stash of cash. He also fucks his daughter in law after seeing a different son than her husband (who happens to be a transvestite) fuck her all complacent-like, while she's washing her hairiii. Standing.

Anyway, one day he meets a whore and brings her home. "You're not a stranger, you're a friend of the owner. I'm the owner." The wife doesn't like the idea, but as far as he can see she's being silly : "you've been my wife for thirty years, why can't she have a little bit too ?" So they sleep together in the bed, "it's large enough, we'll tighten up". The wife still doesn't approve, and no-one asks her anything still.

La chiaveiv is a rather sad retelling of the misadventures of a very effette man. Other than dying with his wife's bra, stockings and garter belt on, the insufferably infantile "professor" of nothing in particular enlists the help of his daughter's boyfriend in fucking his wife. They two together almost-sorta-barely manage to fill the hole, if you're not checking for burbles too closely.

It's tedious to watch, deeply disinteresting, a bunch of retards thinking erotic photography consists of unsplit thighs and so thoroughly & completely incapable of communication as to leave each other "journals" to "find" because "could never say to face".

Tinto Brass' atrocity leaves no doubt whatsoever that he's an untalented hack, if such were still sought. Ettore Scola's impressive tour de force leaves no doubt whatsoever he's a major force in cinema, Italian or otherwisev.

The only problem is that, to quote that ancient story, the world of the virile man is rather... thinly built, rather cheaply put together. Not very tall at all. Whereas obviously the world of the other, inexplicablyvi immaculate as it may find itself, is evidently not worth living in. Wut do ?

Wut do ?

———1976, by Ettore Scola, with Nino Manfredi [↩]In his own words :

Delinquenti criminali! Ammazzare'un padre. Dopo tutti gli sacrifici che l'ho fatto per loro. Heh! Eppure l'hai visto, che mostro de femina mi s'ho devuto fottere per farli nascere. Altrimenti e migliorata, a preso un po' de barba.

Approximately,

Delinquent criminals! To kill a father! After all the sacrifices I've made for them. Heh! You've seen it yourself, that monster of a female I had to fuck to get them born. And she's even improved now, she's growing a bit of beard.

No, I get it, you don't approve of his perspective. So ? [↩]Washing her hair, get it ? [↩]1983, by Tinto Brass, with Frank Fine-Lay and Stefania Sandrelli [↩]We're on the same page here, yes ? [↩]All the women ever do seems to be dumping randomly their dirty knickers, none of them ever does any picking up or cleaning whatsoever.

From the unassailable fortress of one who's the only non-cleaning element that nevertheless just screamed at pantyless ho over her insufficient housework frequency I can definitely declare no such thing could possibly exist.

What, he's got a majority of non-cleaners dirtiers yet no cleaning needs to be done at any point while I've a majority of cleaning non-dirtiers and yet the cleaning's insufficient ? Tell this to the mute, what.

But such is the substance of religious quackery in all times and places, to misrepresent their supposed paradisiac offerings to such insane proportions as to contradict basic logic. Socialism-etatism aka pantsuitism is no different, of course, but then again I know plenty of idiots stupid enough to actually believe that if you listen to what the woman says the work's gonna get done by itself. God helps the faithful, right, and therefore if you write up teh holy tablets of human rights on your wall there's going to be a legion of gremlins come out of the void at night to pick up all the dirty panties everywhere. Just like it happens on the movie set. Don't you believe ?

They also come and balance the Mommy state's balance sheets, also at night, because as in the household so in the republic, which is why the USG hasn't run a deficit since 1945. Or rather... hasn't published an actual budget. But what the hell's the difference, right ? [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Saturday, 04 November, Year 9 d.Tr.