Qntra (S.QNTR) December 2018 Statement

Qntra has realised no income and made no expenditure this period. Qntra is expected to realise no income and make no expenditure the following period.

As directed by its charter and on the basis of the report of the editor in chief, 5`832 S.QNTR shares issued this period. This brings the total shares issued to 678`704 (+0.86%).

And so it goes!

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Category: S.QNTR

Friday, 04 January, Year 11 d.Tr.

Proper html linking : the crisis, the solution, the resolution & conclusion

I. The crisis.

mp_en_viaje: in other horrible news : it's confirmed, the selection thing is ~~~BROWSER SPECIFIC~~~

It is the sort of bug that's always hardest to notice, because "it works for me" ; and it doesn't work for you coincidentally, now and again -- it is engineered, and with malice aforethought to work for you, and you only. The thing is fucking designed so as to deliver the interests of Inca under the color of delivering your own interests, it separates youi even as it seems to feed you.

So here I spent untold months in aspie heaven, imagining I'm actually using bidirectional links, while everyone else saw the same thing... some of the time. Can you believe that crap ?!

II. The solution.

asciilifeform: when i was sawing the thing apart , thought 'why not make selector search for start/end chars until finds unique, then sel displayer ditto' but did not get to trying this

This is good for many reasons, that all reduce to "kicking USG tendrils out of republican process". That nobody needs javascript to see a selection anymore is a thing of beauty ; that nobody needs javascript to produce a selection anymore is the other thing of beauty. Those were the last two uses known for javascript (the archive selector has proper html fallback, so it's merely a convenience, and one I intend to throw out, at that). This means... well, it means I will be able to run the shitty gfx browsers in no-js mode! Holy hell finally! I can not begin to tell you how much it pained me to need javascript, as the only way to have properii links.

III. The resolution. MP's own PHP grenadiers regiment implemented the solution "overnight"iii, and so now we have resolution!

To apply this to your own blog, you will first need to edit your root level .htaccessiv :

- RewriteRule (.*) /index.php [L]

+ RewriteRule (.*) /index.php [QSA,L]

QSA stands for Query String Append, see the mod_rewrite manual for all sorta intricately detailed views of that strange ad-hoc scripting language.

Then the following goes into your theme's functions.php. This is not the blog-wide functions.php as found in wp-includes, but the theme's own function.php as found in /wp-content/themes/<name>/ ; don't ask me about the brilliant naming conventions involved, I had no hand.

// This does the server-side selection

add_filter('the_content', 'server_side_selection');

function server_side_selection($content){

//bookend code goes here

$b_code = '<span style="background-color:#d3d3d3" id="select">';

$b_code .= $_GET["b"];

$e_code = $_GET["e"].'</span>';

//change page ; last to first to preserve indexes.

$b_pos = strpos($content,$_GET["b"]);

$e_pos = strpos($content,$_GET["e"], $b_pos);

if ($e_pos>0)

$content = substr_replace($content, $e_code, $e_pos, strlen($_GET["e"]));

if ($b_pos>0)

$content = substr_replace($content, $b_code, $b_pos, strlen($_GET["b"]));

return $content;

}

There are some user-tunable knobs in there, let's go through the list :

You can adjust the magic words b & e, as well as the magic word "select" so as to have your page respond to differently formatted url calls. I would advise against fucking with this, so as to achieve ecosystem standardization -- there's conceivably some residual benefit for the user being able to predict which knobs work on a blog he's never seen before.

background-color:#d3d3d3 will happily take any color you wish to use and apply it as background for the selected text ; obviously further hackery is available there at no detriment, you can have whatever style in the style tag you wish.

The usage of "span" could be replaced, such as for instance with div. The disadvantage of span is that, being an inline element, it will not cross paragraphs (or <li> borders for that matter). The disadvantage of div is that being a block level element, it will break lines around its starting and ending point. This latter behaviour seems to me a worse trade-off than the short range span, but ymmv.

MP-WP calling convention permits you to add an if(is_single()) conditional to modulate the behaviour to only articles, and such shenanigans. I do not see the utility here, but the hooks are available. You can similarily add conditionals before the first line, to have the whole process only apply in certain conditions (eg, only allow some users to view/produce selections, though I can't imagine why you'd want this).

I am of course very much interested in hearing battlefield reports.

IV. The conclusion is that it never pays to play along. Phf tried to play along with a pantsuit coven and got his asshole torn apart for his trouble. By a tree. That shit hurts.

I thought I was special and bright and smart and etcetera ; I thought I can use the empire's tools to deliver marginal benefit. I was wrong.

Consider that since introducing that selection thing back on May 9th, 2015, a number of reader man-hours were saved by having it there ; and a number of my own man-hours were employed to produce the compatible links -- opening pages, selecting snippets, pasting modified urls...

Today I find myself in the unenviable position of... having to replace them all. Take a look at this :

| sum(ROUND((LENGTH(post_content)-LENGTH(REPLACE (post_content, "#selection-", "")))/11)) |

+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------+

| 27090 |

Twenty-seven thousand links. Even if you could do one link a second, which you can't do, it's still one day's hard work. Was it worth it ? Was it worth trading my work and time for the devil's leaves ? Was it worth it, to pile my diligence at the foot of the golden calf, only to find myself, four years down the road, personally invested in the continuance of the abomination ? "Either maintain javascript", it whispers, "or else lose these children of yours", it gnashes. Was it motherfucking worth it ?

Don't stick your dick in evil. There's insufficient erections to go around as it is, no need to waste any of them. Aite ?

PS. It might also be a good idea to edit xmlrpc.php, so as to take advantage of this newfangled tech :

- $comment_author_url = $pagelinkedfrom;

+ $select_tail = "?b=".substr(strip_tags($excerpt,0,12))."&e=#select";

+ $comment_author_url = $pagelinkedfrom.$select_tail;

If this breaks your trackbacksv you should probably change the (remarkably kludgy) selector, to something more like

if( parse_url($pagelinkedto, PHP_URL_HOST) != "trilema.com" )

This doesn't work perfectly, because intervening mark-up can well fuck it up ; but at least it gives the user something to work with in any case. I know I for one much prefer in-depth trackbacks to title-only trackbacks.

———Check that cool as fuck shit out, by the way!

SWAG! [↩]

mp_en_viaje: the point is this : if someone says something, and then links you, odds are he's saying something like "this guy also confirms".

mp_en_viaje: trackbacks offer you some measure of control over this "being drafted to vouch for others' idiocy" process ; because you can go check ; and if need be say "motherfucker, that's not what i'm saying at fucking all"

mp_en_viaje: trackbacks also offer another important function : if we believe that human intelligence principally manifests in the creation of tools ; and if we believe human expression is not orthogonal to intelligence, then we thereby also believe our expression is in part tool.

mp_en_viaje: the one most fascinating property of tools is their being the one bridge available between reals and ideals : theyr'e real objects with an ideal component! therefore, we theoretically predict the sluttery immanent to reality permits perversion, and phenomenology confirms : tools can in fact be used for purposes other than they were intended to!

mp_en_viaje: don't you wanna see what crazy batshit unexpected but perhaps kinda cool use some other maniac put your own tools to ?

The importance of proper bidirectional links, as opposed to the braindamaged unidirectional links implemented in the swamp of morons can not be overstsated. [↩]I'm in Minsk, nights come at a strange time here. [↩]Generally this is found in domain/www or domain public_html or such. [↩]Verified by getting

Is there no link back to us ?

in response to a call like

curl -A "Mozilla/5.0" -r 0-4096 --connect-timeout 30 --max-time 10 "http://trilema.com/xmlrpc.php" --header "Content-Type: text/xml" --data "<?xmlversion="1.0"?><methodCall><methodName>pingback.ping</methodName><params><param><value><string>http://trilema.com/2019/odd-comments-and-strange-doings-in-unix/</string></value></param><param><value><string>http://trilema.com/2016/a-complete-theory-of-politics/?b=The%20alpha&e=The%20female#select</string></value></param></params></methodCall>"

[↩]

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Category: Meta psihoza

Saturday, 20 July, Year 11 d.Tr.

Pizd-atrage da' curu' trage. Ca-n viata : tragic.

Insumi Hey, do you remember lo these many years ago I bought some electric cable, spun it up upon itself, shoved it up your butt and made a whole Trilema article about it ?

curva Yeah...

Insumi I honestly don't even know why. For some reason it seemed like a cool idea at the time.

curva DIY, right ? Like the punk movement.

Insumi We never did that again, did we ?

curva Nope. Nor anything of the sort.

Insumi Do you miss it ?

curva Not at all. It was a stupid idea to begin with.

Insumi I do seem to recall a rather... clinical atmosphere about the whole proceeding. I guess that glass table didn't help either.

curva It was weird. Like alien weird, not like...

Insumi Wired weird.

curva This was actually why you did it, wasn't it ?

Insumi What ?

curva The whole article. You had me on my back with wires sticking out of my asshole for no reason whatsoever than you wanted to write -- in Romanian, no less -- an article that'd make that English joke. That's it, we each separately belaboured a pun for like half an hour, this is the fruit of my hole & your hands for the interval.

Insumi I don't even recall this specifically, but I bet you're exactly right.

curva Ha.

Insumi What did you mean by the punk above ?

curva Oh give me a break. You couldn't possibly not have noticed the whole TMSR/Republic thing is simply a continuation of 1980s punk.

Insumi What ?

curva It is.

Insumi Dude...

curva You're unfamiliar with the scene ; read up on it. Although I suspect feigned unfamiliarity.

Insumi They didn't fucking wash!

curva For a reason. And you don't rounded corners, either.

Insumi They were poor.

curva Circumstantially, not substantially. You're poor too, in the same sense of poverty.

Insumi If you stretch the cheese so, anything's anything else's continuation.

curva You yourself think this, else why go to all the trouble of redefining it.

Insumi I wasn't redefining anything. That is the historical sense.

curva Not for thirty years.

Insumi I don't care!

curva Perhaps you don't. What about this article then ?

Insumi Huh ? Ah, right, the article. Ever since then, all sorts of dudes keep posting lengthy, circular, rambly comments about how they anally masturbate by wrapping up various presentations of sheet polyethylene. I didn't even realise when I brought it up, but now it's quite clear : I didn't write that article as a guide to cheap homoeroticism. I wrote it specifically for the contrast between my shirtsleeves and the contraption, very Jeremy-Irons-is-a-dentist cool to it. And yes, in full awareness of how easily misinterpreted it will be.

curva The lonely faggot club is culturally appropriating your artwork ?

Insumi Uncomprehendingly!

curva And on the very grooves you left there specifically for their convenience. Poor baby.

Insumi You know, I like talking to you. It'd have taken me fifty thousand words to not quite get the original point across (in no small part because I didn't even understand it, originally). Twenty lines of dialogue resolve the same problem, with bonuses.

curva You know... it seems to me that hand in hand with a preoccupation with putting things up your ass goes a very deep loneliness. Remember the goatse guy ? I suppose an audience is the least balm for that sadness.

Insumi My grandfather... I didn't know the fellow very well. Through the saddest mismatch he was a person before I was -- I mean whatever, a child, not really a person, right ? Then just as I started becoming he started slipping away, because old people aren't really persons either, not after a while. I guess not absolutely all of them, but it is common enough. We never actually got that close, not closer than two trains passing each other as the old figure goes. But at some point, I must've been maybe eleven or so, he gave me some sexual advice. This was rather out of character, and rather out of context, too -- I wasn't, at that time, in any sense interested. Nevertheless, he said "Sa nu-ti faci bucuria singur, altfel vei fi singur toata viata".i

curva Wow.

Insumi You know, it unites your observation, which I imagine you must've obtained in some manner from your own experience of life, with my own. It's not like you knew the guy, old Romanian dude went with the Nazis all the way to Odessa. I don't imagine you've ever met ; nor have I thought of it before, ever, at all, until just now. Yet something you jointly must've seen, because yes, it's true, and because your wordchoice somehow evoked it. There's this evident correlation between the two. It makes no sense, if pressed I wouldn't know whence to even start unrolling "reason" cloth upon this worldly rib, yet there it is.

curva Certainly puts "masturbation-only" sexual "education" in one helluva context.

———Approximately, "don't make your own joy, you'll be alone your whole life."

The formulation is strikingly impossible in Romanian, the man might've been the last one to have used that peculiar euphemism for masturbation ; nor do I believe he was, to quote,

He chose to do this by delivering a short homily on the advantages of school, by which he might lead Dick to look on the matter in the calm light of reason and common sense, and commonplaces on the subject began to rise to the surface of his mind, from the rather muddy depths to which they had long since sunk. He began to give Dick the benefit of all this stagnant wisdom, with a feeling of surprise as he went on, at his own powerful and original way of putting things.

which is to say, I believe the formulation, while not necessarily original, nevertheless was his in the common sense that goes. [↩]

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Category: Trilterviuri

Friday, 18 January, Year 11 d.Tr.

Pe-un franc poet.

Intro : Trec astazi ignorat prin lume, dar trainic las in viitor

un semn, o glorie si-un nume acestui imbecil popor!

As lobbes aptly points out, there's a public/private symmetry in the natural workingi of the Republic : as there's a part public so there's a part private. Yet... they work out exactly the same. Because what else is there ?!

I am aware that systematic pantsuit practice has enacted a seeming barrier, some kind of insane division, between like things. This is, perpetually and universally, the necessary, the quite strictly unavoidable premise of pantsuitism. As the little spurious strip of fabric's necessarily there between the legs to have a pantsuit in the first place, just so universally and everywhere imagined little divisions, powerless and insubstantial "perfect walls" separating this from that. Hydrogen atoms individually wrapped, don't you know, so there's no such thing as a Sun. What, there's a problem with imaginarily colored bits ? "Inappropriate content", don't you know, the end of the world will come through my consistently systematic practice of wrongly mixing thingsii. Precisely in the same exact spirit, "abuse" -- understood as proper use of the body.

I am aware, and I commiserate. I went through two decades whole, and halfway through a third, lulled by the firm if unexamined (the firmer for being unexamined) belief that hitting a woman's the worst possible course of action, universally, generally, perpetually. How had I come to such idiocy, strictly opposite to actual reality ? Doubtless the same way I had come to the conclusion anyone involved in any sort of road event's a sort of social pariah, unfit to sit at the table withiii : by suffusion, by social osmosis, by hearing my derpy grandmother talkiv, by who knows what else. How are received ideas received in the first place ?

'Tis said that science is properly speaking the only model of life within the world. The difference between life seen and unseen, between existence public and private is not, as the enemy would propose, substantial, nor is it formal. The difference between the seen and unseen part of the Moon's at no point anything to do with the Moon at all, but entirely a discussion of relative positions, of organisation without, never within. As external context moves, the very same selenar landscape may appear to outside examination lit or unlit, visible or "hidden", but this has entirely nothing to do with the astral body itself. Lobbes' Symmetry is in fact simple identity, there's nothing else there, Mircea Popescu the lord of the Most Serene Republic is entirely and exactly the same exact Mircea Popescu, the owner of his slavegirls, the Master of his harem. That he may opt to publish or not publish so and so fragment of private life, that he may choose to privatize or publicize has little bearing -- there's still not two of him, but one, quite indivisible.

Now let's take a moment to look at the title. Its directly obvious meaning would be something like "a dollar's worth poet". Some kind of jobsworth, is the idea, "you're getting so very muchv for so very littlevi". A sort of pretentious, invidious modesty of ourdemocracy "troubadours", the "I can't believe it's not butter" velveeta kind -- it was even co-opted as such by some of the usual suspects. Yet its original context is a line in an (otherwise very weak) Caragiale poemvii that goes "Cochetele dispretuiesc pe-un franc poet", which would say "adult women despise the honest poet". It all rests on the reading of the word "franc", it can either be taken (quite superficially) to mean "unit of account", or else it can be read (as it happens, correctly) to denote something quite like what "frank" means in English : unpretentious, unpretending, plain and simple.

Women have no use for boys -- the circumstance whereby boys pompously call themselves "great guys with a great sense of humour" today or "frank poets" a century and a half ago notwithstanding. The hand holding no whip is of no further interest, girls need what they need, and that's the long and the short of it.

Whatever they might tell you they want, whatever it may be you tell them they want, girls need what they need. Whatever they may say, whatever you may think, nothing else's any good.

Outro : Multime bruta si ingrata, cu-a mea cintare nu putui

in viata-mi sa te misc o data, si-odat-o sa-mi ridici statui.

———Practically, in the systematic if unavoidable destruction of the sordid misery that is the "equality" dragon by the ordinary if unyielding life of the most serene saint George.

There's no such thing as "a star" conceived apart or indifferently of the reduction of hydrogen atoms into helium and beyond ; nor could there be. Pretense as to a (wholly imagined) universality or eternality of supposed (or supposedly perceived) "independence" aside, the very word "star" is simply a name given to the very process of that reduction -- from less to more, and thereby from nothing to something, from chill to warmth and thus from Kelvin's necessary and eternal silence to everything worth the mention, and to anything worth a name.

There's no such thing as "life" somehow hallucinatorily conceived apart or indifferently of the consumption of lesser forms, and their proper, necessary, desirable and strictly just -- beyond fair, just -- restructuring into higher form. The utmost of bovine existence realises itself in the cow's final sacrifice, and its ultimate achievement of itself among quartered potatoes, carrots, celery root and spices in my Dutch oven.

Just as there is no such thing as existence, besides the name given to the burning of the simple, just as there is no such thing as life, besides the name given to the eating of the cow, just so there is no such thing as life of the spirit besides sexual maturation, properly understood. The very point, the very substance and the only possible realisation of parental care -- realisation ultimate as it is definitive -- is the consumption of the body of the erstwhile girl, the body so long cared and protected, now chained and welted, the body turned by the spirit of the slave hidden within, the body eaten by me and my tools both temporal and spiritual into the woman she can be (and as can be must be).

It's not, you understand, that "Bitcoin corrupted your notions of financial propriety". It's that your notions of financial propriety ran off with Bitcoin, because strictly speaking they had no other reason of existing, and absolutely nothing else to live for. Because there isn't, because there couldn't be, because what the hell else was she going to do ?! [↩]Fancy this wonder, when they couldn't discontinue the practice, they discontinued tumblr. No price is too high, they'll cut their own throat alright. [↩]Yes, I spent a whole decade, and then the better part of the next thusly persuaded. The confrontation of this particularly firmly ensconced if remarkably nut-flavoured insanity was a turning point in my own mental maturation, because holy hell, what sense does it make and how can I end up with such notions ?

The memory hole effect is not mandatory, you see. It's not automatic, it doesn't "go without saying". It's entirely optional! Nothing forces you to not notice the classes of mistakes you make as classes, there's no rule that every stupidity conceivable must be engaged "on the merits", individually. There's no merits nor any individuality to stupidity! [↩]When we were kids, I danced with this red-headed, lively girl, in spite (and quite deliberately to spite) emerging social convention among the kiddy society, that she's "a whore" that "no self-respecting boy would dance with". I can't imagine why such nonsense'd arise among eleven year olds, besides of course the desire to have the mechanism, to put it to work, let's pretend we have adult things as a proxy to pretending we're adults sorta thing.

As an adolescent, she said to me (and I clearly remember it now because look how important it became in this discussion, though it was an inconsequential throwaway remark at the time) that "a man" is always ill advised to hit a woman, because the receiver will never love him after that, nor could. How had she come to such a notion ? How do adolescents generally come to their notions about "how the world is", universally, necessarily, how do the teenage wisdoms form ?

We met again as adults, she drove a thousand miles to show me her cucky husband (they soon thereafter parted), and to see my very obedient slave (I still own her). She was very sad thereupon, deeply and inconfessably sad -- yet I still know things women can't confess, and so here it is spelled out. You, by my hand, clearly see the progression, the necessary evolution, because what's unconfessable to a failed attempt at womanhood a decade ago is certainly not inexpressible to me, today (though it quite was, then). So there it is -- the unhappy story of a girl named Gilda, the unhappy story of a girl but for the grace of me named all your names, all that could ever be or ever were.

It wasn't just my grandmother, or just her, or hers. Stupidity, the lengthy list captured in any dictionary of received ideas, has no specific author. None other than the Enemy, the passively collected work of sloth, envy, pride or simplicity ever amassing over itself since just about forever. [↩]Because all ideals are one, goes the pantsuit credo, and therefore you can't have lesser poetry, if it's poetry at all it's just as good as any other. [↩]Because those damned other-socialists aren't giving enough to these so-much-better socialists, there's a deep red-blue cleavage in Romanian between the constructive reds and the "mountaineering" blues, it's a whole pile of broadly inconsequential lulz you're not expected to either understand or care about. [↩]Caragiale produced no kind of poem besides these, occasional-excellence-in-very-derpy-sauce. Here's another one. [↩]

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Category: Zsilnic

Sunday, 14 April, Year 11 d.Tr.

Oslo, that unredeemably sad shithole

How do we even start this discussion ? Well... when in doubt, use a quote. Here :

asciilifeform: mp_en_viaje: i can't resist to ask, why went to oslo ? what's there, other than tomb of naggum ? ( i dun even know where it is, cannot help to either piss on it or to put flower )

asciilifeform: afaik it was 'europe's worst shithole' even in 19th c. competed with bucharest.

mp_en_viaje: i dunno... it was there

What he says may even be true -- for one thing, you don't breed inbred morons to this standard of useless tembelismi in a mere few generations. It took the "confederate" Southern states well over a century to achieve that peak of implosive imbecility where they willingly an' cheerfully turned off their own exports years and years before the Union was anywhere near strong enough to do it for themii because "King Cotton" and assorted bugaboos. It is thus perfectly possible that indeed the norwegians have been Europe's negros -- stupid and inconsequential, impotent and misguided -- for many, many years prior ; and that ~nobody knew about it before exactly in the way I never knew about it before : through sheer lack of giving a shit.

Nevertheless, what I say is strictly the only way anything is ever found or discovered. There's always perfectly good reasons not to do, not to go, not to try, not to say. There's hardly ever any good reasons to do, or say, prospectively, which is why education and slavery are indistinguishable : the good reasons only ever come in retrospect, like the life well lived. And so, here I am, in Oslo, finding out first hand some facts rather "toxic" to the femstate's hallucinations.

First off, norway is exceedingly expensive. A cab tripiii from their sad tiny airport 20 miles out of town set me back 150 euros. A bottle of (very shitty) mineral water in an unpretentious very pretentiousiv convenience store costs five dollars. Oranges fit for pitching, old, tired, are proposed towards retail at ten dollars a kilo -- a ridiculous proposition buttressed by the sad reality that no fruit fit for human consuption are to be found anywherev. So ongoing in this vein, and that's where you start noticing the fraying edges of the pantsuit "northern system" delusion : on the basis of extremely well developed infrastructure, Europe enjoys extremely cheap transportation. The plane tickets taking me from Budapest's very elegant Ferenc Lisztvi to Oslo's deeply rural Gardermoen set me back the same hundred fifty euro a head. And yet... the train connecting Oslo's central trainstationvii to the same airport costs 196 kroner one way, which, at the local rates (a topic we'll get back to) works out to just about thirty dollars. For twenty miles! Six quarters per track mile! Per person! See... this has nothing to do with me being rich and going for strange anymore. This is the mass transit system!

As you might've figued out by now, things can be expensive for many reasons ; but in norway the reason things are expensive is the cost of living with and among idiots.

It's not a matter of things being expensive because of wealth and success. That goes differently, which is to say like so : were it so expensive to get oranges all the way to over here and had everyone here so much ready money, then the price of oranges might be seen to almost double the average elsewhere, in spite of lots and lots of the country's best and brightest going into some kind of orange-importing business on reaching adulthood ; and one'd have to also consider that the quality of oranges found here is not matched by any other place, because the high costs involved act as a buffer : a ten percent premium on orange price for orange quality that'd be experienced as such in the orange countries is here so diluted by other incidentals that it manifests as much less, permitting the locals to pay large premiums in their import markets and therefore resulting in the best quality product being always shipped here. You know, like how the tuna-Japan relationship works.

Those italicized are the important elements in a discussion of "expensive by reason of genuine economic difficulties backed by wealthy market". This is how pomodori ended up called "golden fruit" in Italian : that notwithstanding the exceptional difficulty of getting tomatoes to the Venetian market, nevertheless the presence of people there capable and willing to pay the weight in gold for that fruit ensured the best tomatoes in the world were to be had in fucking Venice. And so with spices and everything else that made the age of sail the age of trade.

Such is not the situation in norway, but on the exact contrary : because everyone here is a complete shithead and utter moron, still alive merely because nobody else could yet be found to waste good bullets on such pointless quarry, they get exactly what Argentina gets : everyone's surplus goods. The year Seinfeld backs out of a deal to advertise the puffy shirt, leaving a bunch of puffy shirterias all over New Jersey in the lurch and some entrepreneur sitting on a bunch of shirts nobody wants or could possibly be persuaded to take for love or money, that's the year norway gets a large shipment of "fashionable" shirts from abroadviii. Because stupidity is always the default last resort, once love and money both fail.

Sitting around here, watching everyone be poor but proud, stupid but pretentious, I was suddenly reminded of that scene in Argentina where I was waiting in a shop for a bou ahead of me to finish his intricate three dollar transaction buying a pair of socks on credit, involving internet access and complicated machinery and engineering all because his mommy didn't give him a cash allowance and what's he to do. That bou, an argentinian aged in the 50s and going about the world masquerading as an academic, with the stupid "respectable" shirt and the idiotic "respectable" bag on the shoulder and the "academic" facial hair and glasses etcetera, no doubt imagined himself some sort of expert, ready to sit on EU or UN or WEix "committees" and "direct" and blablabla.

This is all of them, sitting around, waiting for someone to give them money to fuck up, and meanwhile running up debt because (inexplicably !!1eleven) nobody does ever come. Not even the people who came here to stay a month, they're (inexplicably!!!) leaving the very next day. But one day someone will give the norwegian trabajadores free money, just like the argentines, just like all the rest of them. Why have you no faith in the haymasfuturo ?x

The locals' life in norway is exactly the inpatients' life in an US hospital. They're here on credit, surrounded by things they can not afford but may occasionally get for reasons that to them are entirely opaque, through certain absurd (in the strictest sense of absurdity -- inexplicable, perfectly opaque to the mind) bureaucratic proceedings. It's not that they've "built a cashless culture", it's most pointedly and quite strictly they do not have any money.xi At all. It's not a matter of optionality at all, the norwegians simply spent all the cash they had a few years ago and do not know of any ways to get any more. That is it.

Of course, the arabs and negros actually running the country, and actually doing things (including, no doubt, occasionally deigning to even accept the proposals of aspiring young norwegian slavegirls), they -- do have money. This consideration is made all the more manifest by the circumstance that when I pointed and laughed at the local morons' sad excuses for exchange houses, trading 9.2 / 10.4 and such amusing nonsensexii, the place an arab boy sent me to, owned by some distant relation no doubt, had a competent Korean cashier at the ready to negotiate. They, the "immigrants" / conquerors, they have money alright, no reason to "cashless" whatsoever.

The only possible closing of this article is to point out that "norwegians" as an... what the fuck would we call it ? It's not an ethnic group, they're just a bunch of Swedes who saw [what they thought was] an opportunity towards scamming their countrymen and ran with it, a few decades ago. The only proper thing they can be called is a DOC, a norwegian girl is just like a bottle of Bordeaux : the name's supposed to communicate to you that some cursory effort went into verifying it comes from where it claims.

So : the norwegians as a DOC are ending fast. If you're interested in picking up some white slave girls, come here for a (short, believe me) Summer stay, pick among the garbage and ship your choice out. Bearing in mind however that contrary to whatever misguided reports you might've heard, the biologic quality of the norwegian slave isn't anything remarkable. They're either overweight or excessively underweight, they're not particularly cute nor are tits a thing here. I suppose they are generally tall-ish (though nowhere near what your imagination might lead you to expect, they're on average an inch over the average maybe) and they can grow asses like any female can grow an ass if she does the movements systematically enough, but honestly...

There's really no point to norway ; expect it to be discontinued in the mid term.

———Turkish word for indolent idiocy. [↩]And not even as a government-mandated idiocy, where individual morons could in principle and theory hide behind ye olde "Hitler told me to do it ; what could I, mere cowardly abomination upon humanity do but obey". No, this was very broadly popular consensus, "we dedicate our lives to this obscure if inconvenient nonsense, it permeates all around us through our own lazy, indulgent negligence, therefore this is what the world is, therefore how could anyone else not give shit one!!!" [↩]This isn't what you imagine -- get out of airport, hail cab. Look what they do here :

That fat atrocity on the extreme left is... distributing the dole. The morons on the right, easily a thousand of them, are sitting in line for a cab.

Needless to say I did not do this ; but importantly enough -- they did. All of them did. This is what they do, in socialist paradise : they queue. They queue today like they queued thirty years ago, and "skeptical" voices thinly veiling their evil under "reason" and other such borrowed trinkets voice their "concern" : maybe the Romanians want to queue in front of the shop that doesn't have meat ? Maybe that's why they applaud the guy ?

That guy that got fucking shot, and was called a tyrant, you remember. Do you remember ? [↩]See, here's the thing : everywhere else, the item in question would be called "unpretentious", it had that air of sad neglect and forgotten edges typical of discount korean kwikimarts. But what the word unpretentious actually means, notwithstanding that calling convention, is very much at odds with norwegian reality : what would you call a store purporting to sell terrible wine for fifty to three hundred a bottle ? The word is "pretentious", am I right ? This is how we say "pricey shit only a moron would buy" in this language, "pretentious". Well... [↩]Nor indeed anything else. Take any item you will choose, the packaged nuts say -- they had been sitting on the shelf for decades, perhaps for decades since whatever airline abandoned them as ancient garbage. But you don't get to find this out until you open the package and gaze in amazement at the discolored, withered contents ; and the locals (I suspect) don't get to find this out ever, for lack of any experience with any actual products of human industry, as opposed to the garbage discarded through what's usually known as the surplus mechanism in functional economies. [↩]Yeah, that's right, he's a Hungarian to them. Everyone is. [↩]An ugly concrete atrocity, directly reminiscent of Buenos Aires civil engineering. It's literally a jumble of decaying concrete that looks like it was set there by the soviets, covered in assorted industrial debris, mostly spindled metal and such. Plain pressboard blocking all holes, sometimes six meters long, and call it good, or at least good enough. [↩]And they'll retail in the stupid market for n times per unit what they'd have sold in the fashion market, had they sold there ; except they'll take three decades to sell and never make anyone any money in the process. [↩]Whatever else. [↩]The future looks indeed fucking grim, everyone engaged in any kind of productive or useful activity here is either arabic or black, the norwegians subsist as a temporarily tolerated useless class. Precisely like in Argentina.

The younger generation is aware of it, too, upon seeing my pile of euros the receptionist at the lulzy hotel-that-wasn't out and out begged me to take her with, "she has friends, she can trick them into slavery too!!" as her principal notion of what a sweetener might be.

No, I'm not fucking kidding, not at all ; and yes she has a point, but I wasn't fucking interested. [↩]There are deep reasons from the other direction, too. The "perfect socialism" that is the hospital, run as it is upon the fundamental socialist cleavage between benefit and responsibility, has perfectly comprehensible reasons for driving the cost of the aspirin over nine thousand per unit. And no, you're not getting better aspirin in the US insurance-run hospital, just like you're not getting better oranges in Norway. [↩]I even asked one of the morons, "you think you're that interesting, to get a 15% spread ?!" ; his retort was that "he can not get into the system to change anything". See, impotence as an excuse, what if Romanian exchanges work on the THIRD digit of any currency, what if I trade euros at 4.795/4.796 RON as a typical format ? This has no bearing, norwegians are speshul, especially in the head. [↩]

« Baby Doll

Life's a helva gumdrop, you know ? »

Category: La pas prin lume

Tuesday, 25 June, Year 11 d.Tr.

NSFW Gradina Edenului

Gradina Edenului se compune, asa cum poate ca ati citit in Biblie, din apa curgatoare, flori, verdeata in general, si pizde. Pizde in pizda goala.

A, nu continea Biblia partea ceea, cu pizde in pizda goala ? Mnoa, o fi cazut la tipar. Da' Edenul sa stiti ca contine. Pot sa va spui eu, care-am fost. Si intimplarea face ca pot sa va si arat. Iata :

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Si-n rest, ce-ati mai facut asta vara ? Ca stiti cum e timpul asta : el curge. Curge si n-asteapta dupa nimeni.

PS. In #72 blonda povesteste cum s-o dat un mutalau la ea. Lumea se cam sparge de ris. In #73 si urmatoarele cineva si-o cere cu tot dinadinsu', si de pe la 80 incolo li se cam face de futut.

« Cine-o persecuta pe Sonia ?

Asa ceva nu se poate trece cu vederea »

Category: Lifespiel

Monday, 26 September, Year 3 d.Tr.

Of tits, and masks, and other things

On the general topic of lost things you never knew you had (and in a somewhat vague continuation of last decade's Garden of Eden postarticle -- good Lord! Has it really been a decade ?!) let's seei some pubescent bits.

Fun with pairs of girls, amirite ?

The part you likely don't know is that, among the many things kakobrekla didn't do back in the day (vaguely included among a substantial pile of "get off your dumb ass" and "work more, fret less" and so forth) he also didn't do his part bringing online a poker site we were going to make. It was going to be grand, I was even going to have special cards produced for it, with a Guy Fawkes theme because crypto etc...

Included in that effort, a certain biologist stocktrading camwhoreii and her friend stood for the lenses a while, and delivered what they could -- or rather, whatever the lens could take of them. From them. How do you say this in English ?

Anyways, since I'm going through my archives I figured I might as well publish, so the rest of the rural Internet can "find it online", as the expression goes. Enjoy!

And while you're enjoying, try and remember : the outer bounds of what you know are within the inner bounds of what someone could be bothered to let you know. Kinda puts a dent in that whole "you'll sit in judgement of the world and everything in it" modernist naivite, dun it.

———If you're curious, the thumbnail pile was produced by a slightly altered version of the same method :

for cnt in {1..150}; do echo '<td><a href=""><img src="" alt="'$hd'-'$cnt'" title="'$hd'-'$cnt'" width="100" /></a></td>' >> article.txt ; if (( $cnt % 5 == 0 )); then echo "</tr><tr>" >> article.txt ; fi; done

Bash ftw! [↩]Whoredom is naturally mandatory for the young. It doesn't matter how you feel about this. [↩]

« Jason's folding.

The article that started out as a comment, or pa&ptCrhuR Robinson Dorion salutem. »

Category: Zsilnic

Thursday, 14 November, Year 11 d.Tr.

Nu mai avem titluri de voiaj ; reveniti miine!

What's more pretentious than using two-three-five languages per article because you've ran out of possible titles in English ? Keep reading to find out!

Above, a happy turtle in its natural habitat. When observing the animal in its intended context strange falient seatures suddenly become salient features, right ? That neck and head is intended to mimic a lotus bud ? and the patterns on its back leaves ? Whodda thunk it!

Below, the traditional place for sacrificing virgins (not depicted).

Above as below : lake.

Above : predatory insect camouflaged on leaf.

Below : predatory bimbo displaying its quarry. As the context is not self-obvious, let us include it separately : while we were sitting about waiting for the skytram ride to start, there depicted bimbo (left side) picked up a (bolted down to the table) ipad evidently intended for the use of employees (right side), and heavily "locked" with such security features as the femstate manages to provide through its Apple faucet. She therewith proceeded to find private pictures of whatever older pointless woman was in charge of the particular tablet, wherein said older pointless woman was taking self-evaluative pictures of her waddle. So the bimbo set one as the background for the device (and I presume locked it in place - but for good this time). Hacking cults, you know ?

Above as below : more lake.

Above : domnisoara mergind pe sirma.

Below : domnisoara zarghind la pula.

Above : cows. Shot is taken right outside my kitchen, in the sense that I'm sitting inside pointing out the window.

Below : Bathroom with a view. Pentru ca pina cind, domnilor, sa fie baia o chestie care nu poate fi o chestie ? Si baia e o chestie care poate fi o chestie!

Above : looking out the window with a view, we perceive well bruised girlies smoking.i

Below : What remains of "little Swizerland", the project of a guy named Ulrich who came here, married a local, and built a very germanic little farm.

He's dead now (but his surviving wife is "continuing the project", whatever that might mean).

Above : even more lake.

Below : what's left of a cemetery, abandoned forty years ago.

Above as below : cows!

Above : veals!

Below : rainbows!

And finally : high mountains!

———We left behind : one empty bottle of imported champagne (French, rose), one empty bottle of imported mineral water (Italian), two empty cans of the best car oil there is and one empty jar of imported pickles (German). Because why not, right. [↩]

« I think it might be the case I'm becoming pretentious.

Phantastes. Para leer. »

Category: La pas prin lume

Monday, 14 January, Year 11 d.Tr.

Naked sluts in hotel rooms, a frank discussion of harem sexuality, the warm pubic reception of the general public and other typos.

Generally travelling (as long as we're staying in hotels, which is to say for short visits) I get a room for myself and room(s) for the attendant sluts, drivers, assorted servants. It makes travelling somewhat more expensive than is traditional, I guess, but then again I do a lot of things outside of tradition. For instance, -- oh, I'm sorry. Were you trying to play that game where you try guessing the title-article relationship ? How's that working out for you yet ?

But let's not forget our place. I was saying that for instance, once the day's over and we're done going out, the sluts stay naked (and this obviously extends to the morning, while we're not yet gone out). Because that's the naturali state of womanhood, what, clothes are this foreign, alien object. An interface, imposed by the incorrect outside, a second skin, only brought into existence by the intrinsic misoginy of the outside world. The only substance of males, practically speaking, and natural and adequate to their needs, floating hollow clothes as they go about, magically, mysteriously animated medieval armors as they find themselves. Nevertheless women have secret warmth under the tits, and a natural willowness of inside curves reflected outside, their nudity goes with inside walls like warm water does. Ye ancient trifecta of civilisation.

This means there's nude girly traffic between my room and theirs all the damned time, hence "Do you realise there hasn't been a hotel you've not been walking around naked through for a while now ?" -- yet the kid bringing a tray was (reportedly) so shocked at running into a nude woman, he fell over, losing the tray in the process as well as himself. In the prestige hotel of a capital town, that stood here for over a century, that prides itself with misspelling Milhouse even! Look :

Ok, ok, I get it -- if anyone misspelled it then it must've been Nixon who dun it. Fine. I told you there were going to be mispellings. From the very tit. Le remember ?

Anyway, to close this mini-article subsection of the main article and move on to picturesque illustrations (offered, as the commercial expression goes, "cu titlu de ilustratie") : you're really falling way behind, everyone! Plox raise awareness some : if you don't make the girls be cool, no one will, and then they won't be. Word ?

Above : ahem.

Below : this here is, preserved for all posterity (and very close to the actual moment in time), the exact place where I decided to move on to quarterly reporting from now on. In fairness, the original monthly reporting was borne out of "forum business", a bizarre concoction of words alone that long ago failed its (easily given) promise of permanence. So long ago, in fact, that you can walk many a Bitcoin mile today without running into one who still even vaguely remembers its time. There is, in other words, no serious reason to continue to be had from tradition -- ephemeral idiocy doth not get to enshrine tradition.

Looking at the historical pile of reports -- there's 72 items in the S.NSA category, for instance, stretching back as an uninterrupted string to 2014. No, seriously, unlike everyone else that was supposedly such a big deal at the time I actually kept to it, throughout, without fail. Today is the day... like every other day, I guess. But in that pile, there's not so much commentary from the general public on each report so as to render the move to quarterly reporting inconvenient on administrative grounds ; nor is it reasonable to confront people with that question quite so frequently -- the month is too large a reporting interval for usagi & friends (and how countlessly many they were!!!), true. Yet when actual people with an actual physical existence do actual things, relatively little moves from month to month, and plans are cut out in years.

Yes, it's perfectly true, five, six, seven years ago the very proposition that someone could at the same time be involved in Bitcoin in any capacity and also execute plans on horizons longer than two weeks stood as ridiculous as ridicule itself could ever stand. Nevertheless here we are today, having done exactly that -- planned, and executed, on yearlong timescales. Having done it so many times over and over again that skepticism stands as ridiculous today as belief stood a decade or so ago. This is what those 72 entries bought us, this is what that constancy, that unerring precision and stability bought us. Let's try and not fuck it up, because it came out of my time, and out of the flesh of women I love, and I do not fucking wish to have to do it again.

I hope we understand each other.

Above : that's what a hotel room looks like, when empty. Hold on to that thought.

Below : mie imi place cind e cu peisage. Dar cind nu e cu peisage mai bine ma uit pe geam. How about you ?

Above : that's how a hotel bathroom goes, see ? None of that.

Below : the locals are organizing a procession to protest my shenanigans in their beloved Belgrade.

Above, as below : the protests thicken, while shits are given.

The one on the left (whose name I apparently forget) is somewhat camera shy and avoidantly inclined as the necessary result of years of neglect and inept handling ; but I'm sure she'll grow into it. Meanwhile her ladyship hanbot's got a very pretty snatch, don't you agree ?ii

So, how do you have sex ? I mean, I'm sure you don't always do the same onething, right ? It says so in books, that it's bad and so not to be done. This alongside ye olde "I think they just appreciate it if you make an effort" could perhaps be deemed the only two bits of intelligence a young ESL speaker starts life with. It's the common patrimony of humanity, what!

Well, neither do I... Do the same thing, I mean. Well, not always the same one. Yet thinking about it, there's actually some readily identifiable classes of things I do. Consider the matter : there's one of me, and with a single penis attached, beset upon by the hordes, pairs, multitudes of them. What do you do ? What can you do ?

For instance last night : first, one sucked my cock while I kissed the other (at first she stood as I kissed her mouth, while the other lay on the bed kissing my cock ; but then I had her stand in the bed bent over, while I kissed her pretty slit, and then on her knees, and then on her back). Then, I fucked the other while kissing the one (does this make you gay, by the way, if you kiss lips that were on your cock before ?), at first I had her both feet up on the ledge by the window, resting all her weight on my cock, then I had her one foot on the floor, then I had her kneel in the bed on the side, one leg up, so the one could kiss her snatch as my cock slid in and out (I hope you're following the "one" and "other" as I'm doing my best to keep it accurate). Then I fucked the ass of the one while she continued eating out the other, then I had the other bring me the crop and I had her stand in certain ways and cropped her soft, tender parts (especially the painful flesh of the inside of the thighs) while assfucking her girlfriend (who also got the occasional crop swosh, of course). And I said I really enjoy hurting them both at the same time (which I do). And then I came, and then we washed and then we cuddled and then they went to bed.

You notice the necessary similarities, don't you ? Half and half, basically, except for the harem it works as three thirds, I guess. First oral, then vaginal, then anal, with a cropping a la mode. Because what the hell else can you do ?

I mean sometimes, when I don't feel like getting up, they kiss on my cock -- which is literally what the name implies, they make out with the head of my penis between their mouths. It's fun.

Oh and of course there's also the twin fucking (which can also be anal, althogh it takes some practice for girls to enjoy the popping of their rectal seals so many times in quick succession) but if you think systematically about it, what does it consist of if not the exact same thing, their making out with their vulvas instead of their mouths, on your cock ? (Well, very technically that tibadism'd be different, they can actually scissor themselves on your cock as well, especially if they go to the gym a lot -- which they'd fucking better!)

I mean, I suppose there's also "when I'm done, I want to cum on her face, then we let it dry and we make her go through town like that, so everyone knows what a slut she is" and such nonpareils, but if you think about it...

Really, it's always the same thing, isn't it ? A spearing of energy and releasing of chemicals ?

Well so then!

———The boneheaded feminist (you know the kind, late adolescent or recently-post-adolescent "tomboy"-ish girly who, fundamentally, does not understand how kneeling in front of authority works or how deeply satisfying it is) waitress at this very cozy bar (the one with the slut/dragon duality, where there be uniformed pisis) had "go natural" spelled out on the black of her back outfit (or vice-versa). She was extremely good at her job, we bantered a lot (though in fairness, her schtick consisted of having noticed males will a) court her with b) no expectation, plainly and uncontractually like that, donatory courtship, so she was very confused by both my arrangements and dispositions in the field as well as my sheer disinterest in her usual mode of relationship coupled with my pointed insistence on the proper one).

At one point I pointed out to her that "go natural" is an invitation to rejoining that above-discussed state of womanhood. She explained (eyes sparkling intelligently past a very limited understanding of English basic vocavulvary that the foregoing males she interacted with found within themselves to enforce upon her -- thereby and therefore sadly limiting her future in ways she's both unprepared to evaluate and, properly speaking, not required to foresee!!! think of that next time you don't beat the cool out of a slut, that unlike marble her flesh rots, and will not stay there forever for another, more talented, to dig the beauty out -- either you carve her beauty out on sight or else you owe her your shortcoming and miserable failure for all eternity) that it was just some "clever" shit some brand came up with. That altogether sad substitute of proper harem relationships resolving the public-private gap that's these days attemptively (if abortively) fashioned out of a sad, ignorant and utterly barbaric misappropriation of commercial means.

It's a sad world she lives in ; and you made it that way. [↩]I can't now be arsed to dig for the earliest reference on Trilema of this fundamental principle of blogging, that "whether you agree or disagree -- now that I published therefore you can, while before I published, you couldn't", whereby documentation beats opinionation and so following. It's there, though, and it's there since before your intellectual life began, simply because it stands -- as it does, as it must -- as the cornerstone of the very possibility of that intellectual life in the first place. [↩]

« La omu' sarac...

Rastko Nemanja and things like that (somewhat) »

Category: La pas prin lume

Sunday, 05 May, Year 11 d.Tr.

My very own, never before published, slut-famous, crab dip recipe

I nearly wrote "crab dick" kekekeks.

But anyway, this is a versatile recipe, like the craborgan in question. Its unyielding, underlying base is leftover seafood. So you've paid good money for a half dozen live lobsters, and now there's all these little bits and pieces left that can't, properly speaking, be served as such at a state dinner ? Perfect! Or did you buy some crabs and then couldn't eat them all ? Excellent. And if not, do not despair -- the cock's I'm sorry, the dip's so very flexible enough as to make do with even something like surimi!

The other part is dairy. In this most recent installment I used low-fat goat yoghurt, which worked splendidly well. In Romania I'd use the world-famous sour cream there called "Smintina Gospodar" by Napolact. Other places I'd use other things, even burata works well -- it's supposed to be this barely congealed collection of milk protein with most of the hydration and all the fat left in.

The third part (only in play in a colonial setting, such as today) is aguacate, also known as avocado -- though in more settled circumstances you can readily substitute alcachofa, aka artichoke hearts. So you've made six dozen hearts for dinner and half survived uneaten ? Perfect!

Then you will want tarragon (fresh), dill (fresh), possibly lovage (perhaps replacing the dill). Add a whole sweet onion and a head or two of garlic (plus perhaps some olives) if going down the colonial path, a good swig or two of Worchestershire sauce in any case, and good cheese (Grana Padano works well, as does pecorino, as does anything reallyi -- even Danish blue!) if instead you're doing Old World style and there's no vegetal matter in your dip (in which later case, go lighter on the flowing dairy and make the whole thing fondue). There is no call to add any salt.

The other item participating is a powerful kitchen robot, because you're to basically blend the foregoing. Most two bit blenders can't take the abuse, so think things through before you start. In fairness, it should be mentioned that the very sluts you're feeding do make in fact most excellent kitchen robots by their very nature, and quite adequately powerful for any tasks up to and including dragging the kitchen around in the Cartesian space, so you can always put them to hard use and have the whole thing chopped finely with machetes in no time!

It goes exceedingly well on freshly baked bread, as well as on freshly augmented tits, and on all other manner of domestic freshness and frescura you might on your own and of your own power come up with.

Up with, is the point, you get it ? Upwith.

Upwith, and may I modestly advise for Veuve Cliquot (a good French wine) on the side.

———Not really anything-anything, don't be putting Schweizer in there for chrissakes. [↩]

« L'avare

L'avaro »

Category: Lifespiel

Wednesday, 27 March, Year 11 d.Tr.

My new motorcycle

No fucking kidding. Check this out :

Ok, ok, I was kidding.

« Counterfit Romania

Domestic casting »

Category: Zsilnic

Tuesday, 14 May, Year 11 d.Tr.

My cacke dough is bustin' at the trims.

I'm sorry. I meant -- my titanium mine is bustin' at the seams. Oh, and of course there's a missingel ; like in "a spackle o' cream".

Get it ?

If not, let's move one :

This is Alfie the cat, for your viewing pleasure.

I also have some with chicks nude (but for the stockings) rolling joints standing... but I ain't gonna publish them, lest they bother the peaces. If you don't like it -- stomp more betas.

Oh by the way, we also played something called "Exploding Cat". It's a card game, and not even that terriblei ; at least I can say I enjoyed it. Then again, I had been smoking and there was nothing but bare tits around the table as far as the eye could sea, so... what can I say, further research required.

Now sing along with me :

Pe o bara...

... se cica o cioara...

... cra cra cra...

... drept in gura ta.

———It's at least notable for inversing the usual situation of card drawing, where the marginal EV for drawing a card is positive pretty much universally an' throughout. Here, it's a strict (and rapidly growing) negative ; a refreshing novelty if nothing else. [↩]

« What amused me last night : selected romanian ruralia

A services eco-nomy »

Category: Zsilnic

Tuesday, 24 September, Year 11 d.Tr.

Motocyklowny and things

Isn't that a great tytle by the way ? Motorized Cyclical Clowns, what more could you ask for in your post-punk / neo-goth / flavour-metal band ?!

Meanwhile in other gifts from Minsk, I've apparently achieved a low-level bronchitis, sulfamethoxazole ftw.

Above and low below : the pouring of the soup, an ancient French traditional soupery tradition.

The girl doing it originally approached us from across the table (the empty spot visible there past Nicole) to take our order. I said "come over here", and pointed at the floor next to me. The girls both nearly stood up to come kneel there, because somehow traditional harem tradition has kind-of established this command in that role, and moreover traditional harem tradition's absolutely established that "better kneeling than sorry" as a life-light & guiding principle. The servant girl actually recipient of the command, however, she was very... hesitant ; but eventually her own legs took her to the indicated spot sort-of in spite of her head, like in one of those cartoons when a confused dog-head has its legs move away from underneath him inexplicably.

The moral would be that as per traditional human tradition, obedience is more important than heads.

Above : second course. I got the lamb ; she got the beef ; she got the lamb. It was decent ; like I told the girls as we were packing for Europe -- just because it's Michelin-starred doesn't mean it's in a different league or anything, it's rather like "web awards" : more a question of who participated than a matter of who's the very best.

Below : proof of said classification. They are very proud and make a truly big deal of it, there's a marking outside the building, also. I took its picture, a tableful of dorksi kinda thought maybe I'm taking their picture ?

I'm not publishing it, though it's kinda funny, one of them thumbs-upping me while his friend behind him is giving him the "are you fucking stupid" glare, "he's with the women table over there, doesn't give a shit about us", about to turn into the mildly retrospective "what the fuck morons am I here with". I'm also not publishing the time we were eating outside and one chick passed and I asked my whores if she'd make an ok whore and this dork at the table behind got so fucking excited he just repeated declensions of kurwa at the rate of twelve to nineteen a minute each minute for the remainder of our meal. Nor am I publishing the time these two Indian dorksters ("oh, we go to the Casino whenever we're out of money, it's like our bank" -- yeah, I'm totally sure that's how it goes) with spurious hairdos and obvious t-shirts picked up this fat, tired and mentally confused Venezuelan in jeans with plastic beads on the side finishing her Indian meal. They didn't have anything (maybe a beer between the two of them ?), they just sat next to her, got lucky she was verboseii, then took off. 'Cuz that's totally how millionaires (yes, they claimed) spend their time. I'd know.

Why not, you ask me ? Because there'd be no fucking end to it, that's the fuck why, I'd rather spend my time christening silkworms at the silkworm farm, and then writing the book of their life & deeds. What the fuck's a silkworm gonna do ? Write some code with its ass, amirite.

The sad Josef Stalin guy above is actually Josef Pilsudskiiii. There's some spires and things below.

Above : the best mango cheesecake I've ever had! It's fucking delicious, we're going back there. I've not tasted mango since fucking May!iv

Below : a scorpion in amber.

Above : the 3x zurek na wedzonce part of a meal that further included dobronski cydr, tatar z wolowiny, pierogi ze szpinakiem, pierogi z kapusta, bitki wolowe, kopytka, salatca z watrobka, poledwica wolowa, ogorki kiszone (and three or so liters of zywiec, used here to denote the mineral water). We... eat well, what can I say.

Below : ye olde Polish tourist buses, preserved as a memento in the central square. Notice the toilet paper.

Above & below : slut in harem houri outfit -- as far as I'm concerned female dress pretty much starts and centers there.

It's also crotchless, you realise.

Below : bimbo in stockings & garter belt (not depicted), doing computer work. Somebody's gotta keep the machines running and things amirite.

Above (and following) : the second course at this perhaps best Indian restaurant I've ever seen. Shit's fabulous ; included therein were mushroom soup & chicken soup with coconut milk ; keema naan, garlic naan, lotta raita & pindi chana masala ; mutton palak, bhuna gosht, butter chicken and lotta basmati ; mango lassi. We... eat well, what can I say. We're going back, in any case.

Above : the instruments of Mastery & Masterly power : the mantle ; the cap ; and the holy funsterv.

Below : breakfast at this Fenicja restaurant. Not that great ; but I'll leave the naming of the ingredients to the experts in the audience.

Above & below : delapidated, derelict building in abandoned part of town.

Do you ever take your sluts to where the bums dwell, to be stripped nude and made to walk dark, musky, echoing hallways, to be tied uncomfortably and then abandoned among unfeeling, cold brick and concrete, to be manhandled uncaringly, touched painfully and be "mistreated" and fucked roughly ? No ?

Me either.

The bar we ended up in, on our way out. They had no water ; they had no coffee, nor anyway to make coffee. All they had was beer ; an old guy sunning himself passively to tend bar and a middle-aged wanna-be biker dude riding a bike because he couldn't get his antique cherry-red Ford to even start (not that he didn't try). I am confident this was the first and will be the last time skirt-bearers walked in there, unless some wanna-be "Scotish roots" dood straggles in one day. When we called for the extraction vehicle there was a pause pregnant with confusion, and then "Is this even in Warsaw !?" came crystalline & genuine across the WD1.

Fun is what you make of it, you know ?

"Would I like to taste this ?"

"Mmm... okay."

The "beer" was terrible.

See you around!

———Joly shit Europe's full of these gangs of 4+ nil sexual value dude-bros in their late 20s-early 30s milling pointlessly about like Homer Simpson's spermatozoa. The stupid fucking "brand" t-shirts, the utterly fucking ridiculous textile shoes -- motherfucker, if you can't as much as buy yourself a pair of man's shoes why the fuck would anyone put out for your sorry midrif pencil ?! -- the overcarefully hairdo'd pumpkins, sittin' around tryna convince each other they're totally crushin' it or whatever the fuck the calling-it-things-as-a-proxy-for-doing-it club's come up with yet. Slayin' it ? Makin' it ? Holy shit fuck it.

You're wasting everyone's time for absolutely no reason, just burning gas pointlessly about. Go back to the fucking cubicals and stay there. [↩]The stupid cunt was so fucking insufferable you couldn't believe. Let alone she spent the whole time before the Indian boys showed up yakking nonsense in Spanish on her phone ; leave aside she couldn't produce the count of cards of a kind in six card decks strung together ; leave aside that she kept rephrasing the question while futzing with her phone (that presumably has a calculator) ; leave aside that she didn't know what imaginary Indian state they were for -- after all, they also didn't know where Caracas is ; actually... leave it all aside, what the fuck. [↩]Pro tip : he actually came up with Prometeizm ; just didn't live long enough to see it applied in the 90s is all. [↩]Poland is extremely well supplied, by the way. I can buy my Costa Rica rum in a shop here, unlike anywhere else in Europe that I've seen ; as well as tobacco and anything else. [↩]Seriously, it's not that bad, rather a pleasant ass-warmer that even noobs can ; not anything horrid at all. It helps bring out the natural blush of public exposure and humiliation in a girl, no more, just mildly brings it to the fore of her mind, gingerly and delicately so she can almost taste her own cultural womanhood on her own breath. It's a sort of haremesque junior mint, really. [↩]

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Category: La pas prin lume

Wednesday, 07 August, Year 11 d.Tr.

Minutes of their lives

"It is my great honor to be calling to order this 13thi weekly meeting of the High Slut Highschool Club of grade 11 C in [redacted]. We will now proceed to the weekly scoring."

"You go, girl!"

"Sing it!"

"Since last week's meeting, had sex with man aged over 48."

"Yep."

"Yep."

"Yuppers."

"Done it."

"You were there."

"That doesn't matter."

"It did this time."

"No but I mean..."

"Love, love. Keep to order, we'll never be done. We gotta get through this, we can't miss a week. So, Steph 1, jesus christ stop tickling her!"

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"If she says she is..."

"She's never been sorry in her life!"

"Steph 1, Tiffany 1, Angel 1, Amber 1, Ginger 1, Chastity 1, Scarlett 1."

"I don't want to be Steph anymore. Can I be Raven ?"

"Okay."

"She should have to be Staph."

"Shh!"

"My tits are bigger than yours, you know. Look. LOOK.AT.THEM."

"Wooooh"

"Totally bigger. Especially the left one."

"Bitch please."

"Girls!"

"Hey ScarletTtTtTii, how come you counted yourself done ? I bet you didn't even do it."

"Yeah-huh."

"No way."

"Do you even know any older guys ?"

"Bitch, I introduced you to [redacted]."

"Please don't talk out of order."

"Motherfucker! Bonus one point, if buggered."

"Yup."

"Gimme."

"You know it."

"Hey, how come you counted Angel in to begin with ? She never even said anything ?"

"God damn it, you know I did it. What the hell!"

"You have to say."

"Girls, I am begging you. On my knees. Look, I'm on my knees. Please."

"Kiss my foot, bitch. Like a boss! Yuuuu!"

"If I kiss your foot will you stop disrupting already ?"

"I'll stop disrupting anyway. Now kiss it."

"And then sit on her ugly face."

"Angel!"

"Ok, ok, I'm done. Sorry babe."

"Steph I'm sorry, Raven 1.1, Tiffany 1.1, Angel 1.1, Amber 1.1, Ginger 1.1, Chastity 1.1, Scarlett 1.1."

"In da butt!!!"

"If the prick was sucked and fucked first, butt by someone else, bonus one point."

"Right here."

"You know it."

"I missed out."

"Poor Tiff, no points for her."

"They're becoming isolated from society!"

"Maybe [redacted] is starting a cult!"

"No way. We played together Friday night. Remember ?"

"He didn't put it in my ass."

"Oh he didn't ?"

"Nah."

"Enough already, I don't get this one either. What, so he does me privately now and again, big fucking deal already. We don't have to always get all the points."

"I have to."

"Whatever, we did the Sterling Slut last year. Raven 1.2, Tiffany 1.1, Angel 1.2, Amber 1.2, Ginger 1.2, Chastity 1.2, Scarlett 1.1."

"No, I didn't do it either."

"This club is going dooown."

"That's enough out of you! Raven 1.2, Tiffany 1.1, Angel 1.2, Amber 1.2, Ginger 1.2, Chastity 1.1, Scarlett 1.1. If owned and collared, bonus one point. Raven 1.3, Tiffany 1.2, Angel 1.3, Amber 1.3, Ginger 1.3, Chastity 1.2, Scarlett 1.2. If punished harshly for misdeeds, unintentional."

"God, have you seen my ass ?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I got it too."

"God this is depressing. Sorry everyone, I'm a terrible slut."

"No you're not. Your Master loves you babes. We love you."

"Stop kissing, sheesh. You're making me hot under the collar. This is disruptive sluttery."

"Scarlett!"

"And I'm going to report you for disrupting the slut club!"

"Scarlett!!!"

"Just kidding, this part always brings me down. I'm always so sorry all over again."

"Me too."

"Let's move on. Raven 1.4, Tiffany 1.3, Angel 1.4, Amber 1.4, Ginger 1.4, Chastity 1.3, Scarlett 1.3."

"No, I didn't get it."

"Ah okay. Raven 1.3, Tiffany 1.3, Angel 1.4, Amber 1.4, Ginger 1.4, Chastity 1.3, Scarlett 1.3. If beaten lightly for fun. Everyone ?"

"Always."

"Raven 1.4, Tiffany 1.4, Angel 1.5, Amber 1.5, Ginger 1.5, Chastity 1.4, Scarlett 1.4. If taken into public play."

"I got it."

"You looked amazing doing it, Gin!"

"Totally."

"Raven 1.4, Tiffany 1.4, Angel 1.5, Amber 1.5, Ginger 1.6, Chastity 1.4, Scarlett 1.4. If whored out, since last week."

"Yep."

"Yep."

"Raven 1, Amber 1. If used in hotel out of town, bonus one point."

"Five stars hotel."

"Five star hotel, and whored out means paid in cold hard cash, on nightstand, by qualifying punter, would you lay off it ? Everyone knows the slut rules."

"I got it."

"Me too."

"You know you never showed me the pictures."

"After, after."

"Raven 1.1, Amber 1.1. If front desk knew you by name, bonus one point."

"Yep."

"Raven 1.1, Amber 1.2. If any employee saw your bare nipples, bonus one point."

"Yep."

"Raven 1.2, Amber 1.2. If used in any public access area, bonus one point."

"Yep."

"Raven 1.3, Amber 1.2. Far out!"

"T-t-t-tiebreaker!"

"Spa ?"

"Aha."

"What'd you do, suck him ?"

"Half'n'half."

"I whorship you."

"Online nude presence, everyone. New nudes published, everyone ?"

"Yep"

"Met someone from there irl, girls count. Everyone ?"

"Not me."

"Raven 1.3, Tiffany 1.3, Angel 1.3, Amber 1.2, Ginger 1.3, Chastity 1.3, Scarlett 1.3. At least one Bitcent in tips, anyone ?"

"Chastity did it."

"I didn't make jack."

"Next week, babes. Next week fo sho."

"Raven 1.3, Tiffany 1.3, Angel 1.3, Amber 1.2, Ginger 1.3, Chastity 1.4, Scarlett 1.3. Outreach."

"Chastity."

"Scarlett too."

"Totallies."

"Raven 1.3, Tiffany 1.3, Angel 1.3, Amber 1.2, Ginger 1.3, Chastity 1.5, Scarlett 1.4. We have to get this outreach thing moving. For the club."

"For the club!"

"Orgasm on cam. Everyone ?"

"Easiest point in the book."

"Raven 1.4, Tiffany 1.4, Angel 1.4, Amber 1.3, Ginger 1.4, Chastity 1.6, Scarlett 1.5. Club president rimjob, everyone ?"

"Hahaha!"

"You want it, babes ?"

"Just kidding. Last item, health and fitness. Twice to the gym, everyone ?"

"Workin' dat ass!"

"Proper slut diet, everyone. Ob-gyn current, everyone. All the indoor stances in the slut book : girl-girl 69 ; fingertrap ; magic kissiii ; blowjob kiss ; double bubble ; taken."

"Yep."

"Nope."

"Dat fingertrap..."

"Master doesn't share us, da fuck can I do."

"Total bullshit. They really should strike it from the book."

"The conventions are coming up, we're totally making the move, you know the story. So, Raven 1.3, Tiffany 1.4, Angel 1.3, Amber 1.3, Ginger 1.4, Chastity 1.3, Scarlett 1.4. Outdoor stances whatever nude indoors... nobody."

"School time."

"Fucking bullshit. I can't wait for this shit to be over."

"They're keeping us down in Mickey Mouse league with this shit. Those older sluts, living it up..."

"It's just one point..."

"Yeah, but it burns."

"It's not good to get too competitive too early. Master says..."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Fucking bullshit."

"Nude outdoors."

"I'm taking a permanent break from clothes until I'm at least 19, no fucking ifs about it. Master said once I grad I'm okay to move into their main in Costa Rica, I swear to fucking god I'm not putting a stitch on for that whole year. One hundred plus fucking points, all of them. Mine."

"Highschool blows."

"Don't get me fucking started. All day over at the dork kennels... I'd rather live with the dogs."

"They really should make Slut High already."

"Hell yeah."

"Double D's or above."

"Yeah, right here."

"They gotta be fake, Angel."

"I know, I know."

"This is so unfair..."

"Master says in any case not until I'm 30."

"Thirty!"

"Can you even be thirty years old ?"

"I really don't think so."

"We'll probably be all dead by then."

"Yeah, right. How the fuck are you going to die by 30 ?"

"I don't know... car accident ?"

"The other car will probably just fuck you and leave."

"You can die from being fucked by a car."

"Fake tits look so fucking great..."

"Especially in like the jacuzzi, have you seen that shit ?"

"Mindblowing, it's like... perfect."

"Totally perfect."

"And the scars... Master says they show character."

"The scars are the best part."

"Hardcore."

"This is so unfair!"

"Ass over tits and waist under the third of the sum."

"Everybody."

"We have to measure Steph."

"Fuck you, bitch. And it's Raven."

"Bring out the tape deck!"

"Kiss my ass."

"Can I both kiss your ass and measure you up ?"

"You just want to humiliate me."

"Oh yeah."

"We all kinda want to humiliate you, hunnybuns."

"No I don't."

"Yeah, you do."

"Take it off! Take it off!"

"There, are you happy now ?"

"Jesus, stop groping her."

"Look at that, she's not even shaven."

"I pluck. You know that. They have to be long enough to catch."

"Likely story."

"91."

"No fucking way."

"Look!"

"Hey, let me do it!"

"Ow!"

"Shut up, you're being measured. It's not a speaking part."

"Don't pinch her nipple, it'll just make it bigger."

"You measure under the nipple anyway."

"No, over."

"Shut up."

"92."

"What a gyp."

"See, her ass is over her tits!"

"Shenanigans!"

"61."

"See ?"

"Fuck."

"Ha-ha!"

"It's 60, what the fuck."

"Recount!"

"Suck it in this time."

"No you're not supposed to!"

"Who the hell's gonna know ?"

"Shiva."

"91 plus 92 is 183. 61 is a third of 183. That's basic math. You can't argue with basic math. The rule says under, not equal. You can't argue with the rule."

"She's almost 61!"

"So ? It rounds up."

"Almost 61 is under 61 though."

"Pfff."

"Would you shut up and eat her ass already, you're going to give the poor girl a complexion."

"Nuh-uh, I don't care what she says. And I don't want her anywhere near my ass, either."

"Please Raven. Please, may I kiss your delicious irresistible ass ?"

"Uhhh... okay."

"Nobody can say no to her, can they."

"Blrgblrrbbt."

"Hey! That tickles!"

"Yeah, eat her out and be quiet, sheesh."

"My girl Raven 1.4, that ass-eating slut over there 1.5, Angel 1.4, Amber 1.4, Ginger 1.5, Chastity 1.4, Scarlett 1.5. This makes the totals... Raven 3.57, Tiffany 2.94, Angel 2.94, Amber 3.28, Ginger 3.36, Chastity pie, Scarlet 3.15. Winner and recipient of the ass-eating prize, fucks-you-deaf Steph, now known as Raven... Raven what ?"

"Shaven heaven Raven ?"

"Taste of heaven."

"That's pretty cool."

"Taste of heaven Raven. Is Tiff eating her ass for the both of you ?"

"No, I wanna kiss her ass too."

"Angel likes licking the starfish!"

"I want my taste of defeat, damn it!"

"Really, we all should worship Raven. She didn't even need the tape to win."

"Seconded."

"I like eating her out."

"Motion carries. This is now officially a Raven worship!"

"Gee guys..."

"The whores win again."

"Naw, I whore more than her, only made third."

"Online whoring counts."

"Evidently."

"What pie are we baking Cha Friday ?"

"Peccan!"

"Hell yeah..."

"We do it at your place Amber ?"

"I think so, I'll talk to mom."

"Can we do all nude again ?"

"Probably, she'll be out I think..."

"Who needs help with the stances this week ?"

"Well... me and Chastity are singlets this week..."

"Me too."

"What happened to Fiona ?"

"She has to go on business. She'll only be back weekend-side, and... I don't know."

"Man... must be so cool. Going places on business and everything, being a VP..."

"Yeah, Fiona kicks ass."

"I remember when she ate me out. Remember, it was at your place..."

"Yeah, that was a fun date."

"She's great. I love her."

"So come take her place."

"When, Tuesday ?"

"Yeah, Tuesday after practice."

"I'll ask. I think so though."

"Do we do more trap begging ?"

"Not for me. Master said."

"Nah."

"You camming with me, btw ?"

"Wed ?"

"Yeah."

"99%"

"Okay, this concludes our 13th weekly meeting ; minutes all encrypted and forwarded. Time to have some fun!"

"Yeah!"

"Get dat party started!"

———In their jurisdiction, school starts September 15th. [↩]It's pronounced with a lot of spittle. [↩]One girl is being fucked missionary, the other girl sits on her face and modulates her air intake while kissing the man. [↩]

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Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Sunday, 15 December, Year 11 d.Tr.

Minsk nightlife, or The orphans' strip clubs

The fundamental problem with the world is that the #1 and #2 worst things you can do, in exact order, are being disloyal to the wrong people and being loyal to the wrong people, respectively. What's worse, these two are so far outlying the rest of the list, there's absolutely nothing coming even remotely close. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that fucking either of these up is enough in and of itself ; getting absolutely everything else right will still not suffice to offset it. Which brings the problem home : how the fuck do you know which are the wrong people ?

You don't, basically -- and the problem's not even limited to "big things". Every single everything perpetually everywhere is an exercise in this, the worst thing you can do writing is ditching the wrong thing, be it expression, form, structure, style, anything whatsoever. And the second worst thing is sticking with the wrong thing. And nothing else you do can make up for doing either one of these, regardless, stand on your head or pluck your own eyeballs out all you want.

This is the basic underpinning of all sadness, unhappiness, failure, monotony, ulcers, etcetera. Not "original sin", not anything else -- the fundamental problem with the world is that you're stuck with two fractal unknowables that will determine everything else and fuck you.i

Sucks, huh ?

Above : sovok glory days conveyance, meanwhile relegated to road sign. Because this is the function of artefacts : first they direct the life, as part of civilisation ; and then they direct the imagination, as part of culture. And then they direct the dreams, as part of forgotteness.

Below : the Excelsior contraption.

Above : learned men of the 1773, explaining the new metamagical operation called addition : feather to the left plus feather to the right comes to feather to the left and feather to the right.

Below : sleepy titties in hat.

Above : Oktoberskaya street, a shockingly accurate copy of Buenos Aires' "night life" street in Palermoii, existing inexplicably in a timeslice ten years or so prior to 2014.

Below : Willing Hotel. Where you take the chicks that aren't.

Above as below : photographic proof Minsk's miniTimisoara (or vice-versa).

Above : Belarussian haberdashery, principally a male preoccupation here.

Below : Downtown, sorta-close to one of the main clubbing areas (Monastery street).

Above : absolutely excellent (and rather large) bistro off the side of Niamiha. Check out their soup menu!

And thus fortified, we'll be starting on a whole night's worth assessing Minsk night life! Our first stop is Moulin Rouge Show, depicted below. This item, that was originally described ( for the republic's everlogs, a week ago) as

the "moulin rouge", top best cathouse-cunnyshack. driver takes us to a... well... i dunno, construction yard ? narrow dark alley betwen a concrete wall and some metal panes delimiting an earthy ditch.

very much lives up to its reputation!

Are you ready to see what's inside ?

Are you sure ?

Yes, that's right.

This utter atrocity, completely the fuck emptyiii, extremely fucking loud, to the point nobody could hear anyone unless screaming directly into their ear, and then the smell, my god, the smell... I didn't know feet could even get that stale.

Anyway, this utter atrocity, I say, had no show! There were no girls. There was nothing! Nothing at all!

We left ten minutes after coming in, while a very dazed & confused bimbo kept muttering "but it has show right in the name"!

She has a point, you know ? (Oh, btw -- the wedding party didn't actually go in ; they were just stopping there on the side of the road to mill a little and then get back into the hired limo. It's what they understood from watching F!TV, see.)

Above : "oooo, huge bear! did you see the huge bear ?!" "go hug it" "umm... it's ... it's kinda dirty..." "shut up and hug it, bitch". #whorelife

But time moves on and so it's time to move on. Next on the list, Rich Cat ("It's about seven blocks from the main market, and if you ever want to go like... nowhere, you just keep walking past it. It's like little Romania over there. I thought maybe I run into another subway entry, but eventually just backtracked.")

Two dudes korty-ing it up around a cig inform us that it's too early, place's not open yet. So when does it open then ? In ten minutes!

Well... ten minutes we kinda got, seeing how nothing exactly is happening in Minsk on a Friday night. Even the cab that brought us here is the same guy that took us to Moulin Cringe -- not by any kind of previous arrangement or anything, mind you. We just dropped him off there, came back out, and picked up the cab with the dood dozing in it, sorta a little down the way. Spoiler : we will actually find him, dozing undisturbed, twenty or so minutes later yet again, also a little down the way (but only after we chuckle past the shaved dude with an unmarked car asking us whether we want a taxi in the parking lot).

So for ten minutes, bimbo runs into boxing machine ("oh my god this is so soviet... so it's right here so the doods can take the girls over to show off their mafia brawns ???"), and then...

... chickfight!

This, for the record, has been the most show anywhere or anyone has seen that night in all of Minsk (and therefore, all of Belarus), and by a wide margin, at that.

Anyway, we go inside, there's a retarded older woman in an overcoat doing the very institutional thing with a picture-perfect avatar of any whore's nightmare customer : this fat, sleazy, confused Indian dude.

While she's having me wait without as much as a gander (imagine this dumb shit, as if there exists such a thing as a club anywhere in this fucking world that can afford to keep waiting on the doorstep a dude looking like me with some chicks in tow looking like my harem -- not in their fucking dreams do they get better custom, it's just not fucking possible this side of 1999) she's going through some retarded "reservation" circles with the Indian dude, as fucking if a "reservation" is a thing that happens to pretend-venues in the sticks with a queue at the door consisting mostly of their own employeesiv! Then she moved on to explaining they want a 500 pre-paid "just in case". Imagine you this cheeky clipjoint shit, 500 Belarussian rubles are almost 250 dollars. To be paid to some stupid old cunt in a trench coat ? For just in case what the fuck, for just in case they discover there's not a single female in the whole building and torch the damned place as well they should ?

Inconceivable, this nonsense. It makes some sense to open a night club in the Hrusceba forest of nothingness : so that young females misfortunate enough to have been born there can sell themselves cheaply to the first comer and therefore get the fuck out. That's the logic of the place, that's why I went there, that's why you even call it "Rich Cat". Yet when you go examine the actual thing they implemented... what the fuck backwards nonsense is this ?!

Just simply inconceivable. So I bellowed, "nevermind, she unsold me" and we were out of there. Twenty minutes of my time and 0 dollars of my money -- in fact the dozy cab driver made more money Friday night than the entire collection of Minsk night clubs. At ten dollars the "champagne" bottle... (yes, I bought one back in Moulin Fudge ; no we didn't drink it).

Ten minutes later we're looking upon the next stop on our (apparently, lengthy) list of possibles : PinCode, also in a Hrusceba forest of nothingness, except across town.

In we go, and the round vestibule is dominated by a...

No, seriously, guess. What dominates the ~20 square meter vestibule of a Minsk nightlife thingee ?

You can't guess, can you. Fine, let me tell then : a chick. Dressed. I don't mean, a little dressed, carmel lozenge on nipples and floss through the cunt. I mean she was more dressed than my private whores, what. And no, not dancing, nor moving about. Laying down, like sourdough, on a circular sorta pedestal, atop some fake fur or something. That is their display centerpiece, a woman laying down. Cuz what the fuck is wrong with these people ? How can you be that fucking troglodyte, your idea of sluttery is simply... what the fuck was she even doing, "not running away faster than we can give chase" ?!

The traditional by now old-woman-with-no-business-there (seriously, go be a dentist's hygienist or something, nobody needs "professional" oldcunts for anything aite ?) accosts me with some moontalk. "Hello", I say. "Hello" she answers, unmoved. She doesn't seem to perceive more is needed : I said hello, she said hello, good enough. Neh ? I gesture impatiently for her to fucking proceed, fucking development delayed poster child, and she does : "this is stripclub".

This is what I mean about the institutional mindset : this stupid old cunt imagines that what things are is predicated on what things are called. Much like the stupid old cunt of Oslo, distributing mothercunt largesse in the shape of things-that-very-much-aren't-though-they-try-to-pass-for-cabs, much like the stupid old cunt of Timisoara, expecting to be paid for, basically, "being herself", the stupid old cunt of Minsk imagines that her saying "this is strip club" helps anything. What sort of fucked in the head logic is thisv ? If I can't tell your stripclub's a stripclub directly and i-mediately, what the fuck are names in a light word sauce gonna do ?

At which point it fucking dawned on me : Minsk has what could only be described as an orphanage nightlife. You know how orphan children are taken to a special concentration camp where they get whatever simulacra of the outside world their inconsequence affords them ? The relationship between a restaurant and the orphanage mess hall is exactly the relationship between night clubs in general and night clubs in Minsk-ular. It's not that the girls are trying to get the fuck out, and in consequence the Hruscheba forest cunnyshack see exceptional cuntmeats at record low prices. It's that the dudes are trying to get as close to what the instagram and pronhamster show, and the institutional Mommy does what she can [be bothered to] in that general direction.

Which leads us to the directly obvious if strictly (see what I did there ?) necessary conclusion : ye males of Belarus ? Get the fuck caged already. You're not men, you're just extras.

Time to move on yet again, this time to the terminus station on this sad periplus through stupidity : Max Show.

I suppose you will want to know what the girls also wanted to know ("why the fuck is she dressed"). I do not know.

Above as below : 100% of all the show that happened Friday at Max Show.

Above : yeah, that's right, the toilet is a hole in the ground. For what it's worth, we nearly walked out again, because other than looking just like a bus stop from the outside, the place also looks just like a mall multiplex on the inside, all the way down to Hollywood-produced posters for reasonably recent Hollywood productions adorning the walls. There's just no way to tell, from environmental clues, that the place ain't a cinema.

Above : inside. As you can probably predict on the basis of the obliterating Cherenkov radiation, I did not stay for very long. Who the fuck told people it's okay to use that unfriendly blue light for places people go to indulge the senses !?

Anyway, I didn't miss much -- a sad little rural discotheque from the 80s, containing a visibly mentally deranged female, overdressed for the street, moving pitifully while gazing ahead about a thousand yeards doth not constitute anything. The music was bad, the drink selection shitty, I would not deem the place adequate for holding the quincenera of a third rate Mexican mobster cousin's greatson twice removed. It could have made a decent chicken coop as about the maximal extent of economic utility one could wring out of the sad hole.

Below : regulation leather jackets. Cuz they all gotta end with the ribcage, see.

Thus ends our attempt at Minsk night life. Friday night, July the 12th there was one ball gag (jeweled buttplug not depicted) and one foxy tail about this sad little village -- and they all belong to me. That's it, absolutely, irredeemably, uncontestably it. Once I move away in a week or two, the Minsk scene, Minsk night life, Minsk counterculture etcetera will drop 100%, going back to the exact and precise 0 it had been lo these many years.

Goodnight!

———Note how all human history can neatly be retold in this paradigm, and with some notable gain of explanatory power, at that. Oh, "divine right of kings" ? Of course, deals with the #1 and #2 neatly enough, so one no longer needs to. Wait, you mean "democratically elected", on the basis of a totally non-religious, purely "rational" and "scientific" advanced etcetera ? Oh, but how advanced, and yet how very same. And on and on in this manner. [↩]Honduras, off Juan B. Justo, a little further up than Niceto Vega. A dingy, motheaten atrocity creeping among long-abandoned warehouses and decaying, century-old brownstones, cut inconveniently by a slow, loud ferrocaril (Linea San Martin), at the time replete with "clubs" trying to charge insane covers for no reason, patronized by a baker's dozen working class dudes eager to explain all about "it's too early" at 2am in response to any inquiries as to why the fuck do they and everyting around and about them suck such balls.

Much to my delight, all the spurious "clubs" and "bars" and "discos" and such pompously labeled assortment of garages and outhouses gave up the ghost sometime in the intervening years. All of them, each and every last god forsaken one! Not even the femstate's dream machine lists any of them anywhere anymore ; though the ruin and sadness perdures pretense like it perdures all things :

Yes, that thing to the left was a "club", Hannah recalls it vividly. It looked about the same five years ago, but they were charging thirty or so dollars a head in cover, to get to see their sausagefest menagerie. [↩]Don't give me the "not right time" bullshit, not ever. A night club works by getting the naked hired cunts to await, in the beggar's ready position, the eventual customers ; not the fucking other way around. [↩]Speaking of which -- they had two whorehouse/vocational school rejects carry a flag advertising the club through downtown during the afternoon. The fucktards wore sneakers.

Do you suppose it makes even an inkling of sense to go on a nightclub advertising march in sneakers ?! Whole fucking idea is to look better (and not a little better -- way the fuck better) than everyone else there, thus making the point for me, "hey, maybe it's worth going to whatever spaceship these two landed with". These two sad ambassadors of detritus didn't even make the top 100. [↩]Upon examination, there are two fundamental modes of stupidity in the world : the high self esteem stupidity, yielding things like UStardia, and the low self esteem stupidity, yielding things like "patriotism". Yet superficial "differences" and assorted nonsense aside... they're both the same exact thing : fucking stupid. [↩]

« So what are you...

Christos Ballas ("TLP", thelastpsychiatrist.com) archive »

Category: La pas prin lume

Saturday, 13 July, Year 11 d.Tr.

MiniGame (S.MG) Statement on Q3 2019

Due to a rich assortment of unfavourable circumstances, this statement comes out later than I had intended. My apologies.

S.MG incoming and outgoing

Incoming

Outgoing

Description

Value

Description

Value

Deposits

0.0

Loot pool provisioning

0.0

Serveri

0.0

Payroll

1.95581089

Total

0.0

Total

1.95581089

S.MG assets

Account

01.07.2019

Net change

30.09.2019

Cash

8`475.60457184

1.95581089

8`473.64876095

Tangibles

309.16707122

0.00001766

309.16705356

Intangibles and goodwill

79.2885339

0.00001766

79.28855156

Total assets

8`862.10436607

S.MG liabilities

Account

01.07.2019

Net change

30.09.2019

Player holdings

138.78413216

0.00627603

138.77785613

Shareholder equity

8`725.2760448

1.94953486

8`723.32650994

Total liabilities

8`862.10436607

S.MG has a total of 88`096`605 authorised shares outstanding. The shareholder equity per share implied value is thus 0.00009902 BTC.

S.MG has Special Stock Warrants outstanding, as follows :

#

Fingerprint

Shares

BTC

Par

1

6160E1CAC8A3C52966FD76998A736F0E2FB7B452

88`096`605

8`809.6605

1

3

5015BD3D0AE659C8B8632F31CF2950F23C844002

192`307

25

1.3

4

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

10`000

1

1

5

BBB0A99950037551F533850A677ABD62D0AEE7D7

10`000

1

1

6

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

170`000

17

1

7

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

8

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

9

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

10

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

11

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

12

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

13

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

14

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

15

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

16

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

17

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

18

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

19

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

20`000

2

1

20

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

21

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

22

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

23

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

24

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

3`250`000

325

1

25

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

910`000

91

1

26

FC66C0C5D98C42A1D4A98B6B42F9985AFAB953C4

150`000

15

1

27

57EE94EA6F2049A47DAFA8568F4CE8F777BC59F9

150`000

15

1

28

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

3`250`000

325

1

Tii

98`948`912

9`899.6605

1.00048

Provisional statement, will be considered accepted within one weekiii of publication. Make any observations or corrections below.

Miscellaneous

On the operational front, we had to contend this period with substantial downtime of our production environment due to the republic's ISP, codename Pizarro, imploding early October (abundant detail as to which matter to be found in the logs). Since in summa the republic as extant stilliv doesn't seem capable of providing this modicum basis of service, we are looking at arranging for hosting privately, which should ideally come online during the coming week ; in any case I expect a fully functional return online by the end of November. Apologies for the inconvenience, and let's not eschew mention : at no juncture in Minigame's existence were our operations impeded by heathens anywhere near, within three or four sigmas anywhere near, the degree to which they were impeded by "best intentions" fellow republicans.

On the development front, work continues, somewhat complicated by the sobering realisation that the republic is just about ready to mirror its spectacular failure on the software front -- because seriously now, why not stick to what fails. We are rather reluctant to extend the work of what is and will remain a game publisher such as to include ownership & maintenance of an entire, general-purpose operating systemv ; this commitment may well set us in the future upon a collision course with the spurious pretenses of the lazily non-committal, perhaps even vaguely arrayed in temporary conglomerations of no substance or consequence. Nevertheless, to make the point as limpidly clear as no doubt it can't be made : should Minigame find itself forced to pick between either supporting a "correct" but inexistent software stack or else an "incorrect" but functional software stack, my decision will be to torch the "correct" pile of bullshit with extreme prejudice.

All that notwithstanding, the current strategy is to principally work on the gfx stack, and broadly ignore the problems of getting the code to statically compile, at least until such a time as we enjoy a better idea if the attempt is even worth the considerable work involved (which is itself undergoing evaluation).

We also undertook some structural review prompted by the ejection of a noted wastrel and notorious timewaster, but concluded his universally corrosive influence had managed very little actual damage, principally owing to careful management on a day-to-day basis.

For shorter-term blow-by-blow notes on recent developments and the daily bustle of our activity, I still recommend the CTO's blog.

———As luck would have it, Pizarro died months into our yearlong arrangement. We are thereby recorded in the creditor list for a pro-rated 0.31271724 BTC, reflecting Pizarro's management's calculation of what we'd be owed. Discussions of compounding or related matters aside, on a strict pro-rata basis the value represents 8 months' fees. I am going to accept this as complete discharging of all S.MG claims against Pizarro if the sum is paid before December 1st, 2019.

We will also engender some expense with the setting up of new production servers ; but these having not been incurred as of yet, Q3's server costs amount to a nominal 0. Such is business! [↩]For clerical reasons we're no longer issuing warrants monthly ; nevertheless employee compensation package remains in force, and we intend to issue 12 months' worth of warrants for E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E on January 2020. [↩]The grace period used to stand at 24 hours, but that seems rather more adequate for the monthly reports, so let's do a week instead. [↩]All our seven years' toil brought us was an upgrade -- from spectacular failure by random drug addicts to spectacular failure by supposed "scientists". Aren't human resources a great fucking thing! Just as long as you're not looking for any kind of success, and especially as long as you have money / time / something that could be wasted, human resources are the most resourceful humans on Earth! [↩]And, more generally, I am absolutely adamantly against undertaking the cleaning of rooms and supplying of refreshments so that a bunch of fat yet lazy morons can continue engaging in their most favourite "we are really people and we matter irl" Live Action Role-Playing & fantasy-daydreaming sessions undisturbed.

Personhood is not free ; it never was as it never will be. "Trying to", "meaning to", "intending to" etcetera are not worth money ; never were, nor ever will be. So pretty please, with sugar on top : quit "trying to" be, meaning to be, intending to be and so the fuck forth. Start doing to be, it's high time already. [↩]

« The Matrix

Jason's folding. »

Category: S.MG

Sunday, 10 November, Year 11 d.Tr.

MiniGame (S.MG), January 2019 Statement

S.MG incoming and outgoing

Incoming

Outgoing

Description

Value

Description

Value

Deposits

0.0

Loot pool provisioning

0.0

Serveri

0.05780660

Payroll

1.67963484

Total

0.0

Total

1.73744144

S.MG assets

Account

01.01.2019

Net change

31.01.2019

Cash

8`481.3071367

1.73744144

8`479.56969526

Tangibles

308.74144674

0.07064508

308.81209182

Intangibles and goodwill

79.71415838

0.07064508

79.6435133

Total assets

8`868.02530038

S.MG liabilities

Account

01.01.2019

Net change

31.01.2019

Player holdings

139.47652083

0.05763584

139.41888499

Shareholder equity

8`730.28622099

1.6798056

8728.60641539

Total liabilities

8`868.02530038

S.MG has a total of 88`096`605 authorised shares outstanding. The shareholder equity per share implied value is thus 0.00009930 BTC.

S.MG has Special Stock Warrants outstanding, as follows :

#

Fingerprint

Shares

BTC

Par

1

6160E1CAC8A3C52966FD76998A736F0E2FB7B452

88`096`605

8`809.6605

1

3

5015BD3D0AE659C8B8632F31CF2950F23C844002

192`307

25

1.3

4

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

10`000

1

1

5

BBB0A99950037551F533850A677ABD62D0AEE7D7

10`000

1

1

6

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

170`000

17

1

7

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

8

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

9

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

10

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

11

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

12

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

13

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

14

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

15

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

16

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

17

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

18

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

19

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

20`000

2

1

20

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

21

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

22

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

23

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

24

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

3`250`000

325

1

25

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

910`000

91

1

26

FC66C0C5D98C42A1D4A98B6B42F9985AFAB953C4

150`000

15

1

27

57EE94EA6F2049A47DAFA8568F4CE8F777BC59F9

150`000

15

1

28

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

3`250`000

325

1

Tii

98`948`912

9`899.6605

1.00048

Provisional statement, will be considered accepted within 24 hours. Make any observations or corrections below.

Miscellaneous

The sort of people who work continue working ; while the sort of morons that don't work continue snubbing the place to work (while contemplating the sky for pie).

This situation is expected to continue for the foreseable future.

———Apparently this is becoming a permanent item, I guess I'm going to have to make some sort of longer arrangement with Pizarro. [↩]For clerical reasons we're no longer issuing warrants monthly ; nevertheless employee compensation package remains in force, and we intend to issue 12 months' worth of warrants for E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E on January 2020. [↩]

« No Such lAbs (S.NSA), January 2019 Statement

Where da party at ?! »

Category: S.MG

Thursday, 07 February, Year 11 d.Tr.

MiniGame (S.MG), February 2019 Statement

S.MG incoming and outgoing

Incoming

Outgoing

Description

Value

Description

Value

Deposits

0.0

Loot pool provisioning

0.0

Serveri

0.05780660

Payroll

1.41522785

Total

0.0

Total

1.47303445

S.MG assets

Account

01.02.2019

Net change

28.02.2019

Cash

8`479.56969526

1.47303445

8`478.09666081

Tangibles

308.8120918

0.35497942

309.16707124

Intangibles and goodwill

79.6435133

0.35497942

79.28853388

Total assets

8`866.55226593

S.MG liabilities

Account

01.02.2019

Net change

28.02.2019

Player holdings

139.41888499

0.37772363

139.04116136

Shareholder equity

8`728.60641539

1.09531082

8`727.51110457

Total liabilities

8`866.55226593

S.MG has a total of 88`096`605 authorised shares outstanding. The shareholder equity per share implied value is thus 0.00009930 BTC.

S.MG has Special Stock Warrants outstanding, as follows :

#

Fingerprint

Shares

BTC

Par

1

6160E1CAC8A3C52966FD76998A736F0E2FB7B452

88`096`605

8`809.6605

1

3

5015BD3D0AE659C8B8632F31CF2950F23C844002

192`307

25

1.3

4

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

10`000

1

1

5

BBB0A99950037551F533850A677ABD62D0AEE7D7

10`000

1

1

6

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

170`000

17

1

7

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

8

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

9

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

10

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

11

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

12

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

13

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

14

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

15

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

16

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

17

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

18

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

19

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

20`000

2

1

20

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

21

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

22

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

23

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

24

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

3`250`000

325

1

25

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

910`000

91

1

26

FC66C0C5D98C42A1D4A98B6B42F9985AFAB953C4

150`000

15

1

27

57EE94EA6F2049A47DAFA8568F4CE8F777BC59F9

150`000

15

1

28

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

3`250`000

325

1

Tii

98`948`912

9`899.6605

1.00048

Provisional statement, will be considered accepted within 24 hours. Make any observations or corrections below.

Miscellaneous

This month we dealt in a principled manner with some unexpected failure in the emerging TMSR standard toolchain (alongside more ordinary work towards the eventual deployment of the same). Work continues unabated.

———Apparently this is becoming a permanent item, I guess I'm going to have to make some sort of longer arrangement with Pizarro. [↩]For clerical reasons we're no longer issuing warrants monthly ; nevertheless employee compensation package remains in force, and we intend to issue 12 months' worth of warrants for E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E on January 2020. [↩]

« Angels with Dirty Faces

Luci del varieta »

Category: S.MG

Tuesday, 05 March, Year 11 d.Tr.

MiniGame (S.MG), December 2018 Statement

S.MG incoming and outgoing

Incoming

Outgoing

Description

Value

Description

Value

Deposits

0.0

Loot pool provisioning

0.0

Serveri

0.05780660

Payroll

1.36117461

Total

0.0

Total

1.41898121

S.MG assets

Account

01.12.2018

Net change

31.12.2018

Cash

8`482.72611791

1.41898121

8`481.3071367

Tangibles

312.16529581

3.42384907ii

308.741446740

Intangibles and goodwill

76.29030931

3.423849072

79.71415838

Total assets

8`869.76274182

S.MG liabilities

Account

01.12.2018

Net change

31.12.2018

Player holdings

136.18926802

3.28725281

139.47652083

Shareholder equity

8`734.99245501

4.70623402iii

8`730.28622099

Total liabilities

8`869.76274182

S.MG has a total of 88`096`605 authorised shares outstanding. The shareholder equity per share implied value is thus 0.00009930 BTC.

S.MG has Special Stock Warrants outstanding, as follows :

#

Fingerprint

Shares

BTC

Par

1

6160E1CAC8A3C52966FD76998A736F0E2FB7B452

88`096`605

8`809.6605

1

3

5015BD3D0AE659C8B8632F31CF2950F23C844002

192`307

25

1.3

4

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

10`000

1

1

5

BBB0A99950037551F533850A677ABD62D0AEE7D7

10`000

1

1

6

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

170`000

17

1

7

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

8

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

9

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

10

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

11

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

12

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

13

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

14

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

15

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

16

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

17

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

18

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

19

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

20`000

2

1

20

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

21

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

22

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

250`000

25

1

23

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

70`000

7

1

24

E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E

3`250`000

325

1

25

EA0FAD90985B3025576A5061454B0FC0BC07B87E

910`000

91

1

26

FC66C0C5D98C42A1D4A98B6B42F9985AFAB953C4

150`000

15

1

27

57EE94EA6F2049A47DAFA8568F4CE8F777BC59F9

150`000

15

1

Tiv

95`698`912

9`574.6605

1.00052

Provisional statement, will be considered accepted within 24 hours. Make any observations or corrections below.

Miscellaneous

The sort of people who work continue working ; while the sort of morons that don't work continue snubbing the place to work (while contemplating the sky for pie). C'est la... vie.

———Apparently this is becoming a permanent item, I guess I'm going to have to make some sort of longer arrangement with Pizarro. [↩]That's right, the end of the year brought about the largest pop the game has ever seen to date : three and a half billion ECu, or roughly speaking a coupla new Toyotas (before % adjustments). [↩]Worst bath yet, if memory serves. [↩]For clerical reasons we're no longer issuing warrants monthly ; nevertheless employee compensation package remains in force, and we intend to issue 12 months' worth of warrants for E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E on January 2019. [↩]

« No Such lAbs (S.NSA), December 2018 Statement

I think it might be the case I'm becoming pretentious. »

Category: S.MG

Monday, 07 January, Year 11 d.Tr.

Messrs. D.O.O. & I. Sprat, International Communications Partners.

International and national!

According to the resident bear expert in such, the icecream here is actually very good! Therein depicted, chocolate-tonka (an American producer of toy trucks) and mango.

It really is very good.

What could this be ?

Oh... it's alien street! Specifically : No cars. No houses. No roads. No children or other small humans, playing or otherwise. No balls. And no humans at all!!!

It's all DENIED! THIS IS CA-RI-CE!!!

Now that carice's outta da way, welcome to the section of this national (and international!) article dedicated to the sex lives of manequins. Very buttocks-centered, as you no doubt can assttest.

Yum!

Isn't the kid cute, by the way ?

Only cute one in the lot, granted, but what significant difference does that make ? Theirs died, some other people's didn't, and your people never had one -- that year, or at all. What can ever be done...

Pick any bottle in this room! I will lift it over my head! Mandelbaum! Mandelbaum! Mandelbaum!

Yes, it's a Frantuski bistro with a cage in the basement. What ?

By now imposture is so utterly generalized, even twelve foot tall advertisements depict the idealized icon of professional perfection misarrayed. You're supposed to put the panties on over the straps, dumbass!.

It's like watching nine year olds go about "adult life" over here. What the fuck is wrong with all of you!

Do you suppose that's the buttpirate hostel ?

Kinda looks like it, huh.

This sad fat square, barely qualified to be a bad Elvis impersonator, is supposedly some kinda punk icon in this town. The level of imposture...

In the cold hard light of day, the most shocking aspect of Belgrad is just how Buenos Aires-y it has become in the decade intervening since I last seriously dug through it. The people advertising don't know how to advertise just like the underwear model doesn't know how to underwear just like the girls about town don't know how to fuck just like the entertainers don't know how to entertain, bars can't bar, clubs can't even... it's just, it's done, what. The Belgrade of yore is no more.

And I blame the jews.

Rather posh joint downtown, as the menu will no doubt attest.

Above, the rather exciting street-facing display of some local joint.

"She has nice tits. How old do you think she is ?"

"50 or so ?"

"Myeah. Wait, and their Cabaret night is Wednesday ?"

"Apparently."

"Why the fuck weren't we here Wednesday then ?

"I didn't know about it. It's not very well advertised."

"Pshaw."

The gent moves towards the door, upon which very prominently a "Trip Advisor, best of 2019" thing is displayed front and center.

"Not well advertised, huh ?"

"Yeah, well, it's not on their site. They don't list it there, I have no fucking idea what this is."

What does the gent cracking a smile in the above reel think at this point, do you expect ? Are the hounds idiots, can't find way out of paper bag ? Are the femstate's supposed tools entirely worthless ? What's your guess, did I miss out on a great cabaret Wednesday because I surround myself with, to quote, strictly the very young, the female, the old, the ex-academics, and otherwise tired and immunocompromised meat ? Or is the entire thing fake from one end to the other, there's no Cabaret there anymore than there's anything else, they just paint some colored bits of paper in whatever color schemes look good at the time of painting and that's that, call it good ?

Well... only one way to find out, isn't there. So let's find the fuck out.

So we go inside, make reservations for the Opera night, have some excellent fresh squeezed juice, some very nice soup, salmon carpaccio, rather more dubios choux a la crab and well... move on. That's the fucking problem with finding things out -- it's not instantaneous. Coming up with random shit, banging out random symbols in arbitrary long strings, that's quick and easy, any monkey can do it. Shanonizing's not difficult ; checking whether a string's the product of reason or markov chains however... that's hard. And slow. And expensive. And fucking hell.

But we know how to do it, and so we do it.

She's having miniapples in Chardonnay. Because she's from Indiana, see ? She's a young adult from Indiana, eating mini apples in Belgrade ? Get it ?

Hannah (not depicted) is having fresh figs in Armagnac ; but we won't get into that.

So we made it for Opera night, and were shown to our booth. They didn't have the great soup anymore, but they did bring us one of each of their rakije brandy thing, a total liter's worth in small glasses, oh this is plum, this is honey, this is aged plum, this is greens what the fuck do you mean greens, that doesn't ferment I don't know, that's what I heard too, it's quince you dorks ohhh quince, that's why I liked it a lot better than I expected and so on.

Then the woman started singing, and good lord... I have never, not ever heard anyone less tone-aware. She wasn't even tone deaf, there's a difference between one of the three stooges, using his present limbs effectually to get in his own way, and a paraplegic bereft of their use or some amputee physically devoid of their presence. This chick's voice was beating her to death, I don't know how to explain it ; I don't even think it can be explained if you weren't there, most donkeys are better sopranos.

All this, of course, served in the thick sauce of her partner (not even that terrible on the piano) being all excited and positive and supportive and whatever the fuck else contemporaneous idiocy / redditardism. Establishing, yet again and once more once and for all, for the last time, except really it's just again and again and again and all over again yet again -- because what the fuck can you do, with these idiots ?! -- , that no, it's not my "immunocompromised meat". It's the insufferable extranumerary twats that'll say anything, and were irresponsibly given the means to say it. By, among other irresponsible fucks, yours truly ; you've watched me do it. Because, in turn, it's impossible to discern fact from fiction and moron from moron on a 0-expenditure basis. Which, in the end, is really all they ever wanted or for that matter needed.

What the fuck are we going to do ?!

« The orc in Miami.

Dur »

Category: La pas prin lume

Monday, 16 December, Year 11 d.Tr.