My first mister
My first misteri is the definitive, exquisite encapture of lost (female) youth. This is what they are, this is what they do, and how they do it, and why exactly ; and there's uncounted, uncountable millions of them. Alienated if eager -- the fictitious heroine depicted braver than most (though not all, far, far from all) but otherwise as thoroughly representative an icon as fiction could ever be squeezed into -- but alienated as prime substance, as central, essential quality. Young females are made of alienation like blocks of wood are made of cellulose, that's what they, substantially, areii ; everything else (including "apathy") a layer painted on top if not simply feigned atop (and in the case of "apathy" very much an' quite universally feigned if "present", yes, of course).
The problem, as you perhaps expect (and eminently brought to life by J. Goodman but otherwise subtly omnipresent and quite transparently visible throughout) is that everyone folds way the fuck too quickly, too easily, way way too fast in any case (and this includes the film's lesbauthors, though I don't want to spoil it for you, at least not beyond saying that yes, young women are quite as openly, plainly, pointedly an' fundamentally inheritable, of course they are).
All in all this is a delightfuliii if slightly AEsopic piece -- but then again, AEsops were never malum in se ; they're just as a rule terribly done by the marauding idiot party, which tends to give them an (undeserved) bad name more generally than can ever attach. You definitely should see this thing ; though unless you can see it with a woman half your age you're probably wasting your time. I don't mean, "you're probably wasting your time watching it" ; I mean you're probably wasting your time outright & altogether.
———2001, by Christine Lahti / Jill Franklyn, with Albert Brooks, Leelee Sobieski (John Goodman also plays a minor part, which is how I even found this thing in the first place -- or rather I should say the torrentmistress found it). [↩]Because the Japanese adolescent didn't merely not know how to do her hair before her husband showed her, but she actually didn't even have any hair, at all, it's just not a thing for her to have, of her own, by herself. Non so se mi spiego. [↩]The Polish chick in the vignette to the right (Liliane Rudabet Gloria Elsveta Sobieski, no shit) is particularly deserving of the epithet.
That bitch can act.
Do you realise she appears fat, somehow, throughout her screentime ? Yet she's not fat, she just acts it, as if to answer a question from the uninvolved public (that nevertheless would very much like to be actresses but also very much aren't, at all).
Too bad nothing came of her career (unless, of course, you count Cecile in Dangerous Liaisons [the made-for-TV miniseries] as a something). Speaking of which, you got any idea whatever happened to Alyson Hannigan ? You know, the "one time, at band camp" chick that was pretty much everywhere in the early 00s ?
Bitches really needed an agent, like, a real one, huh!
[↩]
« The dusts of days, a consolation.
Aaaalge-bra »
Category: Trilematograf
Thursday, 10 September, Year 12 d.Tr.
Mr. Riker visits the sleepologist
"Well now... so what seems to be the trouble, Mr... Riker, is it ?"
"Yes, sir. It's... hum, I have a lot of trouble sleeping, sir."
"Do you mean, falling asleep at all ? Or do you mean, staying asleep, after you fall asleep you just wake up ?"
"The former, sir. I fall asleep easily, rather all the time. But then I suddenly wake up."
"That'd be the latter then."
"It's what I mean."
"Alright... why do you think is that ?"
"I think it's what I mean because that's what I meant."
"No, no."
"Oh, oh. I think it's the former because..."
"No, Mr. Riker, pay attention. Why do you think it is you wake up ?"
"Oh, I see. That'd have to be the dreams. I think."
"What dreams are those, then ?"
"It's really always the same one. Dream, I mean. It's true that it always starts different ; but it always ends the same way, which is what makes me wake up."
"Would you kindly recount such a dream, Mr. Riker ?"
"Yes, sir. I beg your pardon sir, but it is... rather... What I mean is..."
"You needn't worry about any of that, Mr. Riker. We're here to get to the heart of the matter, and only for that. I can firmly assure you these walls have heard the worse of whatever it may be, you needn't worry yourself for me."
"Well sir... the heart of the matter's my wife. You see, however the dream may start, there's either a break-in, while we sleep in bed, at home ; or we're out at a picnic or even without picnic just going for a walk on the riverside ; or even on the bus or traveling abroad in a hotel or once on a boat, but the heart of the matter is, there's always my wife. She's on her back, you see, her twat forced wide open by one of those metallic things."
"A retractor."
"That's what it's called ?"
"I do believe it is, yes."
"Her twat's forced wide open by a retractor, and her head's forced, bent down. There's a man there, you see, a man hung like a beast. You know what I mean ?"
"Actually, Mr. Riker, the beasts in general speaking aren't so well endowed. Pound for pound man holds in his hands, apart from donkey (which, obviously, has no hands), the largest penis of all beasts."
"In that case, sir, there's a man there, above her head, hung like a donkey. He's forcing his huge penis down her throat, forcing it to bulge, hugely. You can see it go all the way down into her stomach and back up into her mouth by how her throat bulges out."
"Like a golf ball through a garden hose."
"I've never seen someting like that."
"It's just a figure of speech."
"It is a figure alright. And then the man behind me -- for there's also a man behind me, sir, and he's... he's..."
"The man behind you, Mr. Riker... he's ?"
"He's forcing himself into me, you see. Inside of me. Inside..."
"Also, like a beast ?"
"Truly it doesn't feel all that excessive, so to speak."
"Rather pleasant, in fact ?"
"I... I..."
"It's quite alright."
"I suppose so, sir. But then he says, 'lick her throat, boy'. He whispers it in my ear, as he's going in and out, as the other's going in and out making my wife's throat bulge, he whispers very warmly in my ear, though frankly it's more an impression than real speech. He wants me to lick the other man's cock, through my wife's throat, is the thrust of it."
"The man behind you, fucking you in the ass, wants you to suck the other man's cock through your wife's throat."
"That's it. That's when I wake up."
"Has anything like this ever happened to your wife, Mr. Riker ? That you know of, I mean."
"But... I'm not married, sir."
"Oh, right, right. Uh... hum... It says here you're nineteen."
"That's right."
"Are you employed ?"
"What is that ?"
"I see. Are you sexually active ?"
"I've... I've never had... I..."
"There's nothing to be worried about, Mr. Riker. I will ask you a few questions. Just relax, and answer my questions plainly, there's nothing to it. Have you ever seen the female genitals, in person, and upfront ?"
"I've never actually seen a twat..."
"Alright. Is there perhaps a very special..."
"Here's the truth : a coupla months ago this other boy came up to me, and he said..."
"What were you doing ?"
"Nothing."
"I'm sorry, do go on. This other boy came up and said..."
"He asked me if I'm a boy or a girl. Because he thought I'm not really a boy like him, he thought."
"Why did he think that ?"
"Well I am nothing like him, sir. We're completely different, you know."
"I see."
"So then I had to be checked, if I'm really a boy, you know. It's how it goes. So he took out his thing, you know, out of his pants ; while I had to take everything off, you know."
"Why did you have to do that ?"
"Well, it's like he said, you know, white girlyboys can't just take it out of their pants like real boys, they have to strip naked for the test."
"I see. So you took everything off."
"Yes, butt naked. And then... well... you know my thing's nothing like his thing."
"Aha."
"So he said I look more like a girl to him, and he asked me, you know, he asked me what I thought. Which I did have to agree, he wasn't... I mean... honestly..."
"Go on, Mr. Riker."
"That's when he said I have to take the real test."
"What is the real test ?"
"You know, the girly boy lays on her back, and the real boy puts the... puts his... inside."
"The real boy fucks the girly boy in the ass."
"Yes. And if the girly boy's a real boy her clitty strengthens up, you know, and raises up, all huge and swole. Right ? Whereas if the girly boy's really just a girl, her penis stays soft, like the clit does."
"I see."
"So you know, I tried to get it up, you know, to be a real boy..."
"With your hands, you mean ?"
"Oh, no. You can't use your hands, he told me all about it, you can't use your own hands for yourself. You have to hold your ass open for him anyways, that's what good girls do, anyhow."
"Then how ?"
"With my mind, you know. But it was no good, it was useless, it didn't do anything, just bopped to and fro all limp the whole time. And then, all limp like that, it came, at least I think it did. Maybe. It's confusing you see doctor, it certainly spat out like normal, but it didn't feel anything."
"Like normal, when you masturbate you mean ?"
"Yeah. When I do it in hand it gets hard first, right ? And then when it squirts I can feel it, a certain way, you understand."
"I do. But this was nothing like that."
"I mean... it was very nice, being all full. Very pleasant. Very enjoyable, feeling his going in and coming back and going in again... in me, you know. But the penis itself, it was... not really involved, I mean..."
"I see."
"So then he said I'm clearly a girl."
"Did he stop as you ejaculated ?"
"Oh, no, he didn't stop for that. He carried on, really it happened to me a few more times, sorta, but he carried on until he was done, inside of me. And he said I'm just a little girl with an overgrown clit. And that I have to start dressing like one now."
"Did you ?"
"Well... I mean... umm... I'm wearing girly panties and things underneath, but..."
"Yes Mr. Riker ?"
"I'm affraid, doctor!"
"Of being a girl ?"
"Yes."
"Oh, don't be. It's the most natural thing in the world ; why, think you about it! The majority of manhood's girls."
"Is that true ?"
"Of course it is, there's always more girls born than boys."
"I didn't know that."
"They used to teach it in school."
"So what should I do ?"
"Clearly, Mr. Riker, your trouble sleeping comes from this same place. You see, you very much wish yourself used, sexually, as a girl. Your body needs it, clearly ; your mind needs it too. But, for some reason, you're affraid, and this creates a blockage, which leads to frustration of natural impulse. Your trouble sleeping is basically your body and your mind rebelling against your hesitancy."
"Oh ? Really, sir ?!"
"Absolutely."
"Then what should I do ?"
"First, you take off your shoes."
"But doctor, they already made me take off my shoes. I had to leave them at the entrance, in the box. I don't have another pair, those were my only shoes."
"Oh, right, right, the new CoHysterid regulations, they just came in force since ten o'clock. It's quite alright, no matter. You paddle down the corridor to number nine. They'll take your clothes from you and give you a strap, and a ring."
"A what, sir ?"
"A strap, it's like a special kind of shirt, but it's made of sturdy fake leather, and the sleeves are long, with no openings. It ties your arms behind your back, so you can't move them at all. It's actually quite comfortable, especially considering the alternatives."
"Oh."
"And a ring is a special masticatorial aid. It goes in your mouth, and keeps it nice and open. Lets your tongue out."
"Why... why is that ?"
"It's so you can be fucked in the mouth whether you want to or not."
"Oh."
"You see, that way you don't have to worry about it. Since there's nothing you can do anyway. There's going to be as much cock in your mouth as anyone feels like stuffing in, and that'll be that. It will put an end to your psychological problems, which all come from your misapprehension of choice. You see, it's because you think you have an option that you can't sleep. You think you're supposed to figure out if you should suck cock, who knows, maybe even which, you think you're there to pick and choose. That's why that whole rigamarole with an imaginary wife and her throat, even though you've never even seen a woman upclose, let alone find one to marry you. But in your mind this wife is, you know, a fatherly figure, you look up to her, and want to do right by her, so that's why the mediation of her throat. It's making it alright, in your dream, to kiss the cock you need to kiss, in reality."
"Oh. And this is just as good ?"
"Be serious, Mr. Riker. This is modern science. There's nothing better. Certainly not such crackpot notions as stemming from a poor intellect yahooing ad hoc answers to life's great questions, on its own. We're really, as a society and a civilisation, advanced quite a little bit past that. Modern democracy, and the implicit progress in that great..."
"So... uh... do I have to say all that ? To them at number... what number was it ?"
"Don't you worry about it, I'll write it all down for you. Number nine. You take this reference sheet to number nine down the hall, they'll know what to do."
"So will they... I mean will I... right there ?"
"No, they'll give you a reference, just like I have. Once you're prepared you'll get another room number, just like you did here. Probably on the seventh or eight floor."
"But will I... Could I... I mean, would it be possible to keep my panties on ? They're really pretty, and they're slutty, too. All see through, they don't get in the way of anything..."
"Ask them in nine. And call the next one in, please."
« 10, Rillington Place
Miss Riker visits the sleepologist »
Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
Thursday, 01 October, Year 12 d.Tr.
Miss Riker visits the sleepologist
"Hello. Miss... Riker, is it ?"
"Yes sir, that's me."
"Is says here you're fourteen, is that correct ?"
"Yes sir."
"You seem very well developed, for fourteen."
"Yes sir. Thank you sir. Everyone tells me so, sir."
"Are you getting well fucked ?"
"Quite well, sir. There's three different boys at school."
"And at home ?"
"Two... two neighbours, sir."
"That's not quite all, is it ?"
"No, sir."
"You're really quite the little tart."
"Yes sir. Thank you, sir."
"When did you start ?"
"It was... it was with my mother, sir."
"Go on."
"You see, sir... three years ago, there was a break-in. In our home. There were three men, and... I don't think they were really there to steal."
"More of a rape-in ?"
"I think so. They had tools sir, retractors for my mom, and... all sorts, sir."
"How did it play out ?"
"Well sir, it was just us, my brother and my mother. They said my mother is too tight down there, you know, to fuck her. I mean they tried at first, but it really did not fit so well. So they put an extending retractor in..."
"You know what that is ?"
"Yes, I've had it in myself, last year."
"At home, you mean ? Or in a health&well-being-providing setting ?"
"Both, sir. They started me in a ho-tel, but then they said it's best if they get some professional grade tools, and do it right, open me proper wide rather than have it heal half way. They said I'm worth the trouble, that I have great potential. But then at the cuntery they said it's best if I wear it at home, put it in when I go to sleep each night, for six weeks."
"Could you actually sleep ?!"
"Eventually, but not really at first."
"Let's get back to your first time."
"Yes, sir. While my mother had it in they had some time to kill, so one of them fucked her throat. It was, I remember, the prettiest thing to watch, how his member blew Mom's throat all out of shape. It was something else, that's the first time I understood what sex is for and all about."
"Precocious of you."
"Thank you, sir. They also fucked my brother, you know, and made him lick her throat while fucking her, I mean it... you know what I mean."
"Indeed."
"They couldn't be bothered with me at all, I mean... I was really eager to participate, you can imagine. But... well, you know how it is, they sniggered mostly and looked over my head. But I would have none of it, I kept begging and begging, and kept going for their cocks and balls, to suck on them I mean."
"What did they do ?"
"They tied me up against a pole, all tight. To be out of the way, they said. But I begged and begged and cried and eventually I think they had enough of it, because they let me loose and told me to sit on my mother's face while they fuck her, if I want to be a good girl, and not let her breathe."
"Is that how you ended up in the Orphans' Home ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alright, well... let's take a look at you then, shall we."
"Sir..."
"What is it ?"
"Would you fuck me, sir ?"
"My dear girl. An examination is not that. I have to see..."
"Yes sir, I understand. But first, I mean. To open up my twat."
"Oh."
"I really feel quite awkward, and I don't want..."
"I see."
"What would they say, if word were to get out ? Me, naked with a man, and... just like that ? I must be fucked! Hard!"
"Alright, alright. Take off your clothes and then take the bundle out, see Mrs. Jenkins. She'll make you sign for that."
"Is... is Mrs. Jenkins in the other room ?"
"Oh, no, no, none of that. Across the way, you go outdoors just like a good lil' slut, cross on the crosswalk, then third door down. You ring the bell, and frankly speaking be prepared to yell your business. Mrs. Jenkins is a little deaf."
"Oh! So I will have to scream, where the whole street can hear, and see my all as well, bare, plainly exposed in the plainest of views, for each and any passer-by ?"
"That is the play."
"What should I yell ?"
"That you're a teenaged whore getting your cunt checked up and begging for a fuck. The usual fare."
"I'll be right back."
"If there's volunteers on the way don't take them on your back, it'll get your gibbets out of whack."
"Should I ride their cock ?"
"Nah, just bend over and take it like a bitch in heat."
« Mr. Riker visits the sleepologist
I look, I laugh, I leave. »
Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
Friday, 02 October, Year 12 d.Tr.
MiniGame (S.MG) Statement on Q4 2019
After the Q3 2019 statement (covering Jul-Sep, and thus logically due sometime in [preferably, early] October) came out (with apologies) November 10th, lo that the Q4 statement comes out... February 5th. I'm just as sorry about the delay as last time ; it was driven by just as richly assorted a platter -- we didn't even decide what we're in the end going to do until late January -- and I swear I'm doing my best to not let this spill out evermore.
S.MG incoming and outgoing
Incoming
Outgoing
Description
Value
Description
Value
Deposits
0.0
Loot pool provisioning
0.0
Serveri
0.01249624
Payroll
1.85910032
Total
0.0
Total
1.87159656
S.MG assets
Account
01.10.2019
Net change
31.12.2019
Cash
8`473.64876095
1.87159656
8`471.77716439
Tangibles
309.16705356
0.00000195
309.16705551
Intangibles and goodwill
79.28855156
0.00000195
79.28854961
Total assets
8`860.23276951
S.MG liabilities
Account
01.10.2019
Net change
31.12.2019
Player holdings
138.77785613
0.00435332
138.77350281
Shareholder equity
8`723.32650994
1.86724324
8`721.4592667
Total liabilities
8`860.23276951
S.MG has a total of 88`096`605 authorised shares outstanding. The shareholder equity per share implied value is thus 0.00009899 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
29
E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E
3`250`000
325
1
Tii
102`198`912
10`224.6605
1.00047
Provisional statement, will be considered accepted within one weekiii of publication. Make any observations or corrections below.
Miscellaneous
To summarize this quarter's wranglings (otherwise well detailed in the #eulora logs and on the relevant blogs), we decided to keep the latest generation server (eucomm y compris) and weld the legacy graphics stack atop a new, purpose-made (and already extant) client chassis.
The server has been up since Nov ; you can continue playing unmolested (make sure you use the new ip) -- changes such as the release of the Eulora 2.0 client will be announced in advance and we'll do our best to ensure a smooth roll-over.
———The unlikely value is the result of incoming 0.31271724 BTC from pizarro, on time (pro-rated 8 months of hosting, as discussed previous report) versus outgoing 0.32521348 BTC we've paid for three months of hosting on the new arrangement. Almost a wash. [↩]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. [↩]
« The problem with James...
What's not to like ? »
Category: S.MG
Wednesday, 05 February, Year 12 d.Tr.
MiniGame (S.MG) Statement on Q3 2020
S.MG incoming and outgoing
Incoming
Outgoing
Description
Value
Description
Value
Deposits
0.0
Loot pool provisioning
0.0
Withdrawals
19.00000000
Server
0.17053529
Payroll
1.55187115
Total
0.0
Total
20.72240644
S.MG assets
Account
01.07.2020
Net change
30.09.2020
Cash
8`467.41264612
20.72240644
8`446.69023968
Tangibles
309.16705564
0.0000123
309.16706794
Intangibles and goodwill
79.28854961
0.0000123
79.28853731
Total assets
8`835.14584493
S.MG liabilities
Account
01.07.2020
Net change
30.09.2020
Player holdings
138.77797496
18.99864282
119.77933214
Shareholder equity
8`717.09027641
1.72376362
8`715.36651279
Total liabilities
8`835.14584493
S.MG has a total of 88`096`605 authorised shares outstanding. The shareholder equity per share implied value is thus 0.00009897 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
29
E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E
3`250`000
325
1
Ti
102`198`912
10`224.6605
1.00047
Provisional statement, will be considered accepted within one week of publication. Make any observations or corrections below.
Miscellaneous
I had the pleasure of trying out a fully functional (in the limited sense of purely technical measures, such as compilation or connectivity) Eulora v 2.0 client. It talks to the Eulora v 2.0 server as per spec, for which purpose it produces its RSA and Serpent keys, encrypts and decrypts communication accordingly, requests, receives, displays and caches game data (the client itself consists of pure code, such that it doesn't include what's commonly called "game files", various gfx-related blobs etc). Some illustrative material :
None of this was easy, certainly not nearly as easy as it theoretically might seem (which it mightn't), principally for reliably inept (if unreliably useful) bumbling idiots always getting in the way ; nevertheless here we are, and therefore we continue. Besides more refactoring work, which is the constant companion of man (or, as the case may be, woman) working towards anything definite in the contemporary swamp (much like assorted vermin are traditionally the companions of Gulag prisoners), the next milestones are, in micro, setting up this client as an interface for me to better explore our gfx generation toolset (and in the process also stress-test the aedificium as it stands so far), and in macro the introduction of the old dream : infinite landscape.
See you later!
———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 2021. [↩]
« Travolti da un insolito destino nell'azzurro mare d'agosto
Pimp. By Robert Beck aka Iceberg Slim. Adnotated without permission. Introduction. »
Category: S.MG
Wednesday, 14 October, Year 12 d.Tr.
MiniGame (S.MG) Statement on Q2 2020
S.MG incoming and outgoing
Incoming
Outgoing
Description
Value
Description
Value
Deposits
0.0
Loot pool provisioning
0.0
Server
0.18060082
Payroll
1.79241306
Total
0.0
Total
1.97301388
S.MG assets
Account
01.04.2020
Net change
30.06.2020
Cash
8`469.38566
1.97301388
8`467.41264612
Tangibles
309.16705551
0.00000013
309.16705564
Intangibles and goodwill
79.28854961
0.0
79.28854961
Total assets
8`855.86825137
S.MG liabilities
Account
01.04.2020
Net change
30.06.2020
Player holdings
138.77684143
0.00113353i
138.77797496
Shareholder equity
8`719.06442369
1.97414728
8`717.09027641
Total liabilities
8`855.86825137
S.MG has a total of 88`096`605 authorised shares outstanding. The shareholder equity per share implied value is thus 0.00009897 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
29
E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E
3`250`000
325
1
Tii
102`198`912
10`224.6605
1.00047
Provisional statement, will be considered accepted within one week of publication. Make any observations or corrections below.
Miscellaneous
While we still don't have a tentative release date, the various chunks are passing testing and the whole's slowly starting to take shape.
———The reason player holdings can increase (very slightly, as seen here) even though the tangibles (ie, game loot pools) also increase (also very slightly) is the presence in the game of a very limited class of commemorative items such as the golden goose (besides that one item from the Eulora v2 release there's also less than a dozen of the original bags remaining, going back to Eulora's first days). As you might recall the former singular item was sold for a significant chunk of change, whereas the latter were generously distributed to all active beta players (most of which meanwhile destroyed them through sheer carelessness). There's no intention to introduce more such objects in the game (even though Eulora v3 is by and by rearing for release) ; but there's neither any intention to retire the extant stock. I deem these count squarely in the "one" category of the none-one-infinity classification, as it seems to me Eulora greatly benefits from having them at all, but would greatly suffer from having them substantially. [↩]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 2021. [↩]
« Survivor Legacy, or vidya games are dead
Rosalba's awakening »
Category: S.MG
Sunday, 12 July, Year 12 d.Tr.
MiniGame (S.MG) Statement on Q1 2020
S.MG incoming and outgoing
Incoming
Outgoing
Description
Value
Description
Value
Deposits
0.0
Loot pool provisioning
0.0
Server
0.21759135
Payroll
2.17391304
Total
0.0
Total
2.39150439
S.MG assets
Account
01.01.2020
Net change
31.03.2020
Cash
8`471.77716439
2.39150439
8`469.38566
Tangibles
309.16705551
0.0
309.16705551
Intangibles and goodwill
79.28854961
0.0
79.28854961
Total assets
8`857.84126512
S.MG liabilities
Account
01.01.2020
Net change
31.03.2020
Player holdings
138.77350281
0.00333862
138.77684143
Shareholder equity
8`721.4592667
2.39484301
8`719.06442369
Total liabilities
8`857.84126512
S.MG has a total of 88`096`605 authorised shares outstanding. The shareholder equity per share implied value is thus 0.00009897 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
29
E72DCCB73A5E06694C5CD781D5196EE6390F999E
3`250`000
325
1
Ti
102`198`912
10`224.6605
1.00047
Provisional statement, will be considered accepted within one week of publication. Make any observations or corrections below.
Miscellaneous
We've been making interesting progress towards better graphics this quarter.
———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 2021. [↩]
« Si, cum mai e prin Carantinia ?
Kitty Freipurr von Meow and other tales of Bring Your Own Adventure to Tamarindo »
Category: S.MG
Thursday, 16 April, Year 12 d.Tr.
Mie colt!
The titular expression comes from a place far, far away. There, in those distant lands, its time was long, long ago. During an age long, long past, back when people talked of "obsedantul deceniu" and "perioada interbelica", things you've never heard of, for how would you have.
All in all, its original context was a brief interlude so disjunct from the conceivable it's perhaps best approximated as an enchantment, something that perhaps never existed, anywhere. In that once upon a time I spent a year going to "normal" kindergarten, as everything else a state-funded, state-run institution. Generally I went to private, "language-speaking"i, but not that year. That year my kindergarten lived in a coquettish, two storey little building, with its own lawny back yard and a gate and evertything. There were hundreds of children there, and "selected" if such can be said, by the simple criteria of dwelling proximityii. Quite a departure from the suite-in-old-buildingiii standard fare of said "private" kindergartens, but then again the true mark of superiority is a proclivity to thrive in all environments. Thus those four hours a day six days a week provided for an interesting experience in plenty of ways, including the... tidbit we're now discussing.
You do know what a chant is, yes ? Like for instance, that
Emm eye see kay eee why emm ohh you ess eee, a friend to you and me!
thing in Full Metal Jacket ? It's in the second part, which nobody remembers (or much watches), a bunch of subnormal muricans gather with torches towards their Dom za vesanje equivalent. E vremea tiganilor, ce sa mai...
And so went the title : when lunch time came around, kids sat in the kindergarten mess hall, no kidding, six inch tall chairs around a long table in a reconstructed miniature mess hall! And as the bread came in first, they chanted, "Mie colt! Mie colt!" as a sort of... I'm not even sure, cvasi-religious activity perhaps ? In any case, the standard bread of communism, an item called franzela, was hand-sliced in the kitchen, the result piled on trays and brought in. Needless to say there were only two ends for each loaf, and that meant only one kid in about a dozen or so could have the end. Which is what they were chanting for, you see, "[Give] me the end!"
I was reminded of all this because ever since we've returned from Europe I've had a certain unicorn bake bread, which by now she's got down pat (she's also excellent with all sorts of doughs and pastries, a circumstance which I credit foremost to myself, for having had the foresight to place demands on womanhood -- she provides of her nature, it's the demand that truly matters). She makes a new round loaf every day ; in the morning I cut off the colt of a fresh loaf of bread, which usually ends up in the garbage later in the day (as the new loaf comes out of the oven). Because the girls eat very little bread, and... well, sometimes I'll cut another colt, leaving a semicircle of bread with a straight corner. The patterns of bread I throw away, by now an oft repeated form, indicative of the time and place, perennial enough to merit discussion on its own terms and of itself.
I have more corners now than I know what to do with, dear world. I wish I was in Carrickfergus, where there stood twelve kids do the damned thing, in preference of this ridiculous situation where I eat one, maybe two of four, and end up throwing at least half, often three-quarters away! Where the fuck is everyone!!!
Only... the night's in Brallygrand.
———In my case, mostly German, in that time and place rather undistinguishable from Yidish, or Plattdeutsch if you prefer, not like it makes any practical difference anyways. [↩]I nominally had my domicile reset from my parents' flat in town to my grandparents' flat on the other side of the same town, coincidentally four or five blocks away from said kindergarten. This because... well, Soviet era cities were rather a Greek object, in their own way, you see.
Actually, let's delve, why not. So, during the [great patriotic] war, the Soviets found themselves with the back against the wall ; at some point early on Stalin was weeping and it did look to everyone, not just the Germans but everyone, including the Soviets and the Allies, that Russia's pretty much fucked. Then Stalingrad "happened" ; but before Stalingrad could happen two separate managerial advances had to occur. One was the natural extension of the Soviet state's dim view of the peasantry (who were correctly regarded as little better than cattle) to the entire populace. This made possible the "political commissar", which is to say a line of people placed behind the front line, ready and willing to shoot anyone retreating right in their pretty skull they were so cutely concerend with safeguarding. It's not so much that this improved morale ; it's rather that it removed the question of morale altogether (look up muselmann if this is not directly obvious).
The other was industrialized building. It works like this : on the first stage, earth moving machinery is set in, leveling a plot of land worth a few square kilometers. Then track is laid (ideally with machinery, but then again meat is also machinery) in a particular, tree-like fashion, and rail cranes followed by trainloads after trainloads of prefabricated concrete flow in. The cranes set up the prefabs and there you go : a forest of hruschebas can arise practically overnight. This worked splendidly to leverage Soviet strengths, both active (a nascent rail-and-steel complex just like teh muricans had, for instance) and pasive (German bombers were great, but they couldn't fly past the Ural mountains, meaning there's plenty of air-safe space if one gets the railroads working correctly) such that enough tachankas could be poured out to eventually bog down the Germans to the point where they were no longer advancing fast enough, and from there on...
After the war (and after the post-war hurr played out), this wartime industrialized building thingee was leveraged to produce towns out of nowhere, one "cartier" (vaguely equivalent to "neighbourhood", excepting it contained no neighbours nor was there all that much hood going on) at a time. My parents, bright young things that they were, lived in the cartier collecting bright young things such as them, in the neighbourhood of the Institute For Catching Up With American Computers and assorted such electronica ; whereas my grandparents, old soviet gentry that they (mostly against their will) were, lived in the cartier collecting those, across the street from the only "national actor" from that particular town and so following. Even today it's the portion of town with the (by far) highest land values, and so no, the criteria of mere proximity wasn't exactly quite as open-ended as one might naively suspect.
What I'm saying here is quite akin to, translating for the commonplaces of the new (and oh so un-Soviet) socialism, that I had to spend a year comingling with the riff-raff such as one'd be stuck with if they just let anyone in who lived on Park Avenue, or whatever, Mission district, Beverly Hills what have you. Give yourself a moment to take that doozy in! Yes, it's the case that apparently, according to people who've seen the playbook you're following play out before, you're not even doing all that well! You're re-enacting stale old dramaz that went exactly the fuck nowhere, and that was back then, with way better actors! Nor is this any kind of idle posturing, but the most trite of lived experience : yes, such selection by home address is mere baseline, hardly worth the mention, no kind of standard. There are levels of selection above that, of course there are ; as a practical matter there wasn't the slightest chance of five year old me confusing the group of kids whose parents were cool enough to send them to hang out with Genossen Lehrerin for the group of kids whose parents were cool enough to have obtained living repartitii within the inner sanctum, dear lord, how. [↩]Obviously all the high bourgeoisie faubourgs that survived bombardment were simply taken over by the state, and allocated for... legitimate, you know, purposes. As a tween my sister practiced ballet in one of them too, I'm sure doing a better job (not to mention more of a job) than whatever chlorotic scions of original lineages had similarily attempted, a century prior. Not to mention her instructor was a) fucking hawt and b) such a memorable fuck I still remember it! Soviet ballerinas ftw, btw (I was going to link an old pic but I can't find it now ;/).
Anyway, the point remains, high vaulted ceilings and that "prospect" thing where all the doors are in line, you know ? [↩]
« So what's a steinvorth, anyways ?
What could Henry have done ? »
Category: Oda Superbiei
Thursday, 10 December, Year 12 d.Tr.
Meet Me in St. Louis
Today's header's perhaps more adequate to discussing what I did to the unicorn in the park ; but I'm irreverent and so therefore adequacy be damned. We'll talk instead of Meet Me in St. Louisi, a very... milquetoast production. It's soothing, I suppose, after a fashion, this imaginary world wherein the greatest possible conflict's someone having misunderstood something, and even then coming braced in a package with an absolute guarantee that it'll be benign in any possible perspective excepting pretense for the sake of pretending otherwise, and also readily remedied, as if by itself pretty much.
The singin's alright, I guess ; the dancing mostly absent. Otherwise there's the simpy male as per early 1900s Americana conventions -- the nominal "head of a household", though in practice his wife's more a subby to the maid than a maid to her husband -- and the eager young cunts looking for the filling of their belly... the usual stuff of underclass life. A very small film about a very small world with very small "problems" invented for the sake of me-too-ing it.
I'm mostly reviewing the thing because I have much better, closer and immediate-r access to the bare skins of life itself, though I'll say this much for Meet Me in St. Louis : when it comes to "find something to screen behind the whores whoring", it beats the pants off most porn out there. Most porn out there. That's gotta cunt for something, aite ?
———1944, by Vincente Minnelli, with Frances Ethel Gumm of Grand Rapids, Minnesota (whom you know as Judy Garland) and... Lucille Bremer, I guess. She'd be a lot closer to okay if she were doing her corseting scene bare cunt, like normal fucking women. They're cute though, the young one's mimicking sitting her butt down on a dong for the very first time pretty much exactly.
But seriously now : the panties go on last, if at all. [↩]
« His Girl Friday
To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar »
Category: Trilematograf
Thursday, 24 December, Year 12 d.Tr.
Maria full of... grace
Maria full of gracei is such an idiotic piece of dreck my mind can compass no alternative explanation for its existence besides some schmucks over at Femstate.DEA so firmly invested in the (thoroughly discredited) "silver bullet" bunk that they manufactured what they thought would be an effectual piece of agitprop, perhaps intended to work along the lines of "it'll clot the stupid in the the female Colombian adolescent brain so fucking hard through mere exposure, she'll become unusable for the drug cartels even as a drug mule". I mean, Argentine retardation is freestanding as such, but cretinolade in the degree here before us stands squarely beyond what's naturally possible. Outside of very "enlightened" ESLtards nothing can conceivably explain it.ii
Imagine, if you will, the juvenile gangbangers involved in receiving the mules on the US sideiii, a coupla dorksters barely organized enough to wash their own hair on something resembling a regular schedule, yet so willing an' dedicated (not to mention impatient) as to butcher some bitch in a motel room. These two kids, who've not in their life as much as carved a whole chicken, nevertheless opened a nubile girly from cleft to sternum, Hungarian hussar style. What, problem ? Not like they were gonna fucking wait around for her to shit the "double wrapped" latex glove fingers back out, holy hell who has time for that, stripping a carcass is a lot more fun especially without tools or as much as a meat hook! Not like it'll do anything more than maybe some delicate handprints on the doorways and such anyways! If only the 1920s Chicago meatpacking plants knew about these genius producers' magic sauce for slaughter...
But be all that as it mayiv, these dorksters as described have the following to say to the two dumb bitches who ran away from them : nothing. Yeah, that's right, it's date night on the New York dating scene, and the explanations preggo 17yo barefoot Colombian has to profer upon taking a powder are... not a fucking word. Instead, they'll give them money, I swear to fucking hell, all it takes is for the dumb bitches to assume the position (you know, hands on hips, nose upturned) and it'll rain thousands of dollars, not like a coupla bucks'd have bought five pounds of zipties at the local office store after which they could've simply fucked them in every hole (naturally occuring or not so naturally occuring) for the few hours they still stayed warm. Given the alternatives... what do you think baby gangbanger Hesus'd dov ?
The whole thing proceeds in this utterly insensate, incomprehensibly meaningless manner, nothing even remotely resembling characters or a plot or even common fucking sense at any juncture to any degree at all involved. Female interests from a female perspective, the bane of all cinema, all reason, all interest and everything else -- snails fucking'd be much more worthy of recording on film, at least those'd be doing something.vi
A shameful display.
———2004, by nobody, with nobody, for nobody the fuck ever. [↩]And if there's an active grant giving out "free tvs" to Colombian rural schools "in exchange for" screening this shit weekly, thereby you've got your answer. [↩]Which... seriously, who the fuck would fly them from Bogota all the way to La Guardia ?! It's twice the distance to Florida, and what the fuck business do a buncha Latinas have in Jew York ? Not like they're from Puerto Rico or anything.
Imagine also if you will how very fucking difficult it'd be for even the most addled customs agents available (as quite accurately depicted by the lanky weirdo in City Hall) to notice that "hey... there's a buncha seventeen year old Latino females traveling '''on vacation''' and alone, something that's never seen in their fucking culture ever". "If they catch one the others have a better chance to make it" indeed. [↩]The police involvement in all this stu also something beyond all possible lulz : it's all intermediated by a magical negro / bail bondsman / religious community leader, whom "the police of New Jersey, a small town next to New York" are more than happy to forward square inch bad photographs of random girlies recently murdered in suspicious circumstances, no questions asked, because... seriously now, why'd anyone ask any questions! At all!
The magical negro also does corpse repatriation, for a $2`500 fee, which has to be paid to him (apparently, in cash, and -- also apparently -- tax extempt). [↩]I have also a picture of a figurine holding its balls, somewhere, I'm pretty sure, but now I can't find it. [↩]Dumb bitches can't even swallow grapes whole. Fucken grapes!
What the fuck is everyone in this imaginary "Columbia" even doing with their time ?! [↩]
« King Ralph
One day »
Category: Trilematograf
Wednesday, 02 September, Year 12 d.Tr.
Made in Romania
Made in Romaniai is one of those "mockumentary" / parody pieces that used to come out of collegiate dorms and frat houses, back before the cockroaches took over America.
The script is well researched, to such a level as one'd expect of a human undergrad working on his own project and therefore trying earnestly to give his true measure before the world. In the post-1993 world such results only ever get replicated by painstakingly selected teams of dozens of the damned bugs, working for ungodly intervals of time around the clock (or, occasionally, by employing a single human undergrad somehow inexplicably remaindered among the morass) ; but in any case it's a welcome respite from the endless festival of plot holes in a thick fridge logic sauce unrelentingly assaulting the senses from all quarters lo these past two sad decades. I have no objections to raise, this is pretty much how it'd go, by reason of this being pretty much how it went. Some parts are thickened out, but the charicaturization works passibly well within its scope, so...
Jennifer Tilly disappoints in the role of an unemployed hairdresser. It seems to me pretty much anything besides using her in tighly cropped shots to deliver whispered dialogue steeped in sexual innuendo is a complete waste of her time on set. I am aware there's this widely fashionable (if utterly counterproductive) notion that "actors are people too" and "being typecast is bad" therefore it'd be somehow desirable or valuable to "know the real X". In cold, hard reality nothing could be further from the truth : I'm not particularly interested in playing golf with a celebrated opthalmologist, because I'm not fucked in the head enough to imagine that getting three holes over him makes me almost an occulist or somesuch nonsense. It happens to be the unfortunate situation of mankind that most talented actresses are personally unremarkable at best, if not outright unpleasant ; just as there's no need whatsoever to trial boats for flight nor inspect colanders for electric conductivity, just so there's absolutely no need to see "the human that is inside Jennifer Tilly". Her "normal talking voice" is between chihuahua-yappy and "please stop smoking old tyres" scratchy, her "everyday behaviours" nothing besides tedious, she's deeply mediocre throughout and there's just nothing about her to recommend her to attention. On any personal note she's uninteresting to a superlative degree.ii
Other than that, Joey Slotnick is painfully miscast in a role that absolutely should have gone to Tim Roth ; Joe Shaw works quite well in the role of the Ingenue abused (and the amount of abuse they pile on her is beyond satisfying, exaggerated to the point of squeezing compassion even out of me!) ; Florentina Boureanu's bolt-ons look okiii and the reconstruction of that fundamental scene as retold (and perceived) from the awkward perspective altogether convincing, self-coherent, the weirdos' misbehaviour still unacceptable, but at least culturally congealed into something recognizable (if despicable).
The film has relatively little to do with any meaningful Romania as it has relatively little to do with any Tilly sister worth the mention ; but nevertheless it manages a close enough description of the neurosis afflicting the generation that sunk the world, a description all the more convincing for being an obvious insider job. It may not have much to say about how Romania works or what Jennifer is ; but it says lots about how the NEET perceived its interaction with either. Whether this is a service you're welcome to judge for yourself ; it is in any case the best possible anything they could have ever produced.
Perfection in anything, even the narrowest corner of obscurity, is still worth a gander. Isn't it ?
———2010, by Guy J. Louthan, with Jennifer Tilly, Jason Flemyng. Allegedly Elizabeth Hurley is also in there. [↩]This being the very weakness of the entire concept, and why nobody besides college-age kids would attempt to make it : there's clear need for a star, but there's no possible way in which a star could fill the role. The whole film is based upon a self-contradictory premise, which is why it can't ever possibly work, as a film. It could work maybe as the springboard of youthful talent -- but then again the Christina Applegates of this world need no particular springboard, aged 19, in the sense that whatever's handy will do just as well. [↩]If the yet-another-countless Bodgan weren't ineptly blocking her half the time the whole thing'd look a lot better. [↩]
« Kitty Freipurr von Meow and other tales of Bring Your Own Adventure to Tamarindo
The Nude Wedding »
Category: Trilematograf
Friday, 17 April, Year 12 d.Tr.
Lui e peggio di me
Lui e peggio di mei is possibly the apogee of the Celentano-style Italian comedy.
Their structure is always the same, from supposedly rural Serafino to the supposedly "in [VHS] America" Geppo [il fole] : boy meets girl, his previously arrangements that he had previously considered well adjusted and to which he had deemed himself committed no longer satisfy, he decides he must have her (and therefore necessarily does, of course), the end, we can all go home.
The decors have no more substance than cardboard, they're there (if painstakingly painted to very high realism) merely to confer context, not to get themselves mixed up in the story -- which story is practically Tigerfibel but for a lesser kitten. You still ride it around and even (somewhat) get inside of it for the purpose ; it even still shoots (though admittedly with longer reload times), though it takes no diesel. The same thing, really, in the only possible sense of that concept : the operator is pretty much the same, to the marginal ape-man holding a Fibel, all kittens are tigers. Then again we kinda knew this going in, who the fuck needs (or for that matter wants) a simple-to-read (and preferably illustrated) manual to mating ?
Adriano Celentano works well for this role principally because a) he's ugly as sin, quite literallyii, and b) he's quite well known in the original market, such that he's liable to have been the subject of infantile fantasy occuring at some previous moment in the scant and rare inner life of the atomic unit of intended audience. To reinforce these natural assets, the producersiii universally choose to construct the "previous arrangements" around as tough a skeleton of machismo as they can possibly conceive in context, which has the interesting if unforeseen side-effect of turning Celentano into the literal icon of European 70s-80s macho man. Some of the shit he says is just the height of comedy through the precise mechanism of humour, and it works fine irrespective of how smart you are, because it doesn't work through scarcity driven by "I just didn't imagine", it works through scarcity driven by "I never heard this", and that's not in your hands. Since al sorts of stuff that was just as benign fifty years ago but also deemed benign and thereby rather discoursively common meanwhile was "awareness-risen" into scarcity, Celentano's boat was by degrees elevated to where he's probably the funniest thing of 2020. Fancy that wonder!
This particular installment is possibly the pinnacle because... heck, I don't know. Renato Pozzetto is just as uselessly dismal here as anywhere else, for sure. Yet... somehow the structure strikes me as more elegant, the relationships more convincing, that thing where the two best friends share a converted duplex and the chicks switching beds meet in the middle to exchange a pleasant "how is he ?" "not bad"... people actually lived like this, you realise. I lived like this. It's... not bad. I suppose in the end that's what it is : I've known farmers, but they weren't anything even remotely like il bisbetico, I've known lawyers, but none of them worked like il burberoiv, I've known bus drivers but none were at all a sorta Barnaba (though the coupla actual princesses I've ever known were rather trying in the vein of Cristina) and so on. I suppose, if you must, this one wins because it's the only one where the hero's educated out of (non-sexual) gayitude, rather than indolent boyish normalcy. Hey gay boys, did you know Celentano has a manual for how to heal your gayness ? Spoiler : you've just not met the right girl yet, with the correct slack jaw, no tits, ugly mouth and inexpressive eyes! Keep diggin'!
———1985, by Enrico Oldoini, with Adriano Celentano, Renato Pozzetto, Kelly Van der Velden. [↩]As per the Euro-saying, "to marry men merely need to be slightly comelier than the devil himself". Which is only fair in that context, seeing how the young woman merely needs to be slightly smarter than an arboreal hollow to... well, maybe not exactly marry, but you get the idea. Fairness is always a matter of qualifications.
Incidentally : the producers make sure there's a reference made by the girl early in the mating dance, about how he looks just like a horse. Which... [↩]These are TV "films", they're producer-driven, the director merely ornamental, like a glorified secretary/gofer. [↩]Though in fairness, that probably has the greatest concentration of utterly excellent one-liners, between the "gialli Mondadori", the "promise you'll make some other friends", the "if I had any friends they'd confirm" and so on, it's just a blow-out laugther machine, that one.
See that you could figure that all out by yourself, without needing me to suggest the right answer to you at all ? [↩]
« The Great Buck Howard ain't letting me sleep.
Com'ear! »
Category: Trilematograf
Thursday, 13 February, Year 12 d.Tr.
Le clan des siciliens
Le clan des siciliensi is a very... how shall we put this, it's a film made by and for twelve year olds. It manages to capture the very stunted intellectual worldview typical of the prepubescent male, with its narrow perspective and the tell-tale difficulty of harmoniously handling higher-order effectsii splayed in all their nude glory.
Yet the twelve year old must be in fact rather thirteen, because the scene where the man catches an eel (ineptly called "poisson" in the scriptiii, but it's self-obviously and most respectably a fucking eel) while the woman rolls her underwear off her generous hips and lays herself out naked, lifting a calf under the burning gaze just like a cat would (if cats were women), and then the fellow approaches, dead eel dangling limply in his hands all the way to his ankles... how shall we put it...
Let's put it inside : it has all the sexuality that matters. Before it dies, sex is this thirteen year old boy affair, what can I tell you, impetuous and desperate, hopeless and incomprehending. She's in for a thrashing. It'll be anything but a sound thrashing, yet it she'll long remember, be it as technically unaccomplished as you like. That they gasp in horror and desist upon a small child showing up is oddly adequate, in context. Indeed, only a twelve year old boy fucks like that, running off mid-thrust to beg the child not tattle (to his mommy of all people!). Wouldn't you rather say along with me, "hey kiddo! tell your mom to come over!" ? Isn't that how it goes, isn't that how they're made, the kiddos ? Yet... you didn't say that when you were twelve, did you. Not that, nor anything like it. Twelve year olds don't own their environment, not the land, not the women upon it, it's how it goes.
It's a great fucking scene, it almost renders the whole pile of clingy blouses and pubescent bungheliiv somehow endearing.
———1969, by Henri Verneuil, with Jean Gabin, Alain Delon and the very perky titted, shapely assed Irina Demick. [↩]Why did the man come to Rome personally ? Once there, why did he waste his wristwatch when anything else'd have worked as well ?
These contradictions require a twelve year old boy to navigate -- how can that "New York mobster" be at the same time powerful and important, and also have the time to show up on "mysterious" adventure calls, just like a pre-internet preteen bored with the dreary nothingness at home, where all there ever is to do is homework ? How can he at the same time be an iconic 1970s man's man and not give a flying fuck about his wristwatch ? This is the sort of mentality that produces petty thieves, stunted children stuck trying to push mud uphill one spoonfull at a time, too myopic to see that inasmuch as the whole hill's made of mud in the first place, they're at most a very ineffectual moving part in a mud convection engine. [↩]"I've never seen any man kill a fish like that before."
"Then you haven't seen anything." [↩]A Romanian word whose meaning is barely conveyable. Technically the word's a regional re-spelling of bumb (button), but the figurative sense of the past participle noun is something like... imagine trying to fuck without looking, without touching, it's this kinda-sorta affair, you keep poking in unexpected places. It'll resolve eventually, it has to, it's made to ; but until it does it'll be a great source of unintentional comedy and ample frustration, conveying the experience of the inexperienced wench trying to sew in a button, forming some expectations upon her activity on one side of the textile, and being well surprised by what that conveys on the other side. Ever been surprised of how an' which way a needle point came out ? [↩]
« Are you a sovereign citizen ?
The slap and human dignity »
Category: Trilematograf
Friday, 21 February, Year 12 d.Tr.
Le Cercle Rouge
Le Cercle Rougei (and which, we may point out to the readership, is NOT a French film, being a Franco-Italian "coproduction", or rather copro-duction, which very well does not count!)ii is more of the usual French nonsense. A dude bends a safety pin randomly and opens a pair of cuffs while his guard (in the train! they're transporting prisoners by vagon au lits, for some fucking reason) is awake, even. Try this shit sometime. Try it, go for it, let my girls (who have actual experience, with rape, and handcuffs, and all the rest of those things you fritter your days away dreaming of) have a good laugh. At you.
Then instead of dropping a heel on the guard's neck, and tie him in the cuff, and leave with his gun as peacible as you'd like, sight unknown, he... jumps out the window. Try this, try it some fucking time, who knows maybe your window's exceptional and we're rid of one.
And then the policemen look for him, a line of men shoulder to shoulder, five hundred idiots to the hundred yards, with a poor confused German shepherd in the middle. A single solitary guard dog they had sniffing a spit spot, a misfortunate creature that's not even a bloodhound. That's how they do the whole baying hounds thing in France, this Everglades of yurp where a man could hide and never ever be found at this rate (except of course if he's in a film). No skeeters, no gators, just dumb oozing everywhere. What a place!
If I sound offended it's because I am fucking offended. For my great merits and Fortune's own cares I had to play both sides of that tiresome game, and it ain't anything like the fucking spurious mommyboys & French papitoi imagine it to be. Anything at all.
That all said, the scene where the two men face-off in a field, "t'as pas peur ?" "de quoi ?" followed (as it necessarily must be followed) by "C'est le fin de la route, Corey!" "Mains en haut!"... That sequence has all the round, resplendent weight of absolute truth, just like the ancient motifs of ancient legends. The man marked for death, you see, saved from certain death by the dubious. By the sheer coincidence of the man hidden in his trunk, the agressive, the dangerous inconnu, the thieving, the conniving autre, breaking and entering, holding him at gunpoint... Yet, what shall I fear of the unknown ? True danger always lies with the familiar, never the alien. "We only off each other", as the man once said. I wouldn't go as far as to say it rescues the film ; but it's definitely worth seeing in its context, unworthy of it as that, or any other, context may ever be.iii
But for the record let it also be stated plainly that I will shoot the inept poseur in the fucking face for pompously purporting to check out gems by the firelight with sunglasses on. In his own fucking house, wearing sunglasses! As the man once said, "if you give that Nimrod as much as a length of rope Ima shoot him on general principle". It's simply a matter of hygiene (and as La Santa once said, "hygiene is important"iv)
———1970, by Jean-Pierre Melville, with Alain Delon & Bourvil (De Funes' bentnose sucker). [↩]Oh and by the way -- I notice now Un prophete was not merely reviewed back in 2014, but greatly influential in Republican culture. [↩]I suppose, in fairness, things like the furniture girly standing for no reason in the shot, immobile, incomprehensible in her impossibly inadequate outfit are also pretty lulzy, after a fashion. [↩]She might've been talking of tubers instead of hygiene ; and you shouldn't call her La Santa anyway, because, you see, she is a saint, but technically isn't one. [↩]
« La moglie piu bella
Closure. »
Category: Trilematograf
Wednesday, 11 March, Year 12 d.Tr.
Lasagna & other factors of domestic tranquility
As the title promises, above depicted lasagna, made with quite excellent local cheese and very imported pasta -- for some reason it doesn't seem possible to ever find decent local pasta. Somehow. I don't know what gives, it makes no sense, but pretty much everywhere I go I'm stuck importing Italian dry pasta.
Below, you'll never guess this in a million years, but I do suspect it's actually a... firebug. No kidding.
This gecko has evidently suffered an accident. I can't imagine what, the geckos here are very peacible (unlike the rather aggressive lot we observed in Nicaragua, those guys actually gnawed on others' legs and things)... but maybe a bird or something ?
I find the resemblance quite striking ; don't you ?
Above : homemade hamburgers, because what's slave labour four if not to recreate ironically the irony of slave labour in "modern democracies" ?
Below : continuing that old lulz series, admire this accomplishedly precious cuntlet -- a nineteen year old on sale under the very transparently borrowed terminology of "emprendedora" &cetera.
O tinara speranta atit a modelingului cit si-a muzicii din gura & refren. Ca daca-i ziceau pur si simplu jitica de monta nu ierea bine.
Meanwhile at reality racy-ranch... life's hard, and the fates unfare. Mean streets, what's a bimbo to do, you feel me fam ?
This sad atrocity is a "monument" to "peace" made so as to have made something during Oscar Arias'i sad reign. The problem with it is that the remnants of the instruments of war impress the thinking observer by their sheer excellence, by so much accomplished with so little... they're remarkable artefacts of human accomplishment, unbridled ingenuity, perfection, dedication and... pretty much everything else good and worthy. The only possible takeaway from exposure to these -- after so many years, after such indignities as they've endured, yet still so very powerful items -- is that one'd definitely want more, not less but more things in his life just like them. Cheap, angry, polished practicality.
Whereas the monument to... whatever it is -- "peace"ii, let's call it -- rather stands as a monument to unthinking, indolent imbecility. What the fuck is it even, some brutish concrete poured in approximate geometric shapes ? The damned guns are machined (in wartime ; under bombardment) to micrometers and these dumb peacefucks can't manage inch-level resolutions on their votive to idiocy ?
Moreover, the flaunting thoughtlessness on display is grating -- not for a second did these dumb schmucks stop to consider "hmm... we'd better be on our toes here, bring the top game to the table, otherwise better pick something else to fuck with because these guns might shine through our inept nonsense and make a mockery of us and everything we stand for". Nope, not even for a second did the nacidos por vencer stop to consider that no, it ain't their fucking birthright, and moreover they're not ever winning jack at the rate they're going ?
Basically the end product of "well meaning" stupidity stands entirely against the originating intent : much better war like that than peace like this.
Truth in advertising, I'm guessing ?
Teens in fridges, you know...
Oh, yeah, this is the sunset I was discussing in a recent article. So now you know.
Doesn't the vegetable vendor look fucking hardcore, like he's the cell block boss in some Mexican joint ?
Peace.
Oh, pi-si (of broken dreams, and broken shoes) :
I might be the one human owner that drives the poor beasts quite so hard their break the shoes walking. Dozens of pairs a year, fara mila-n pula mea.
———A pantsuit-aligned fraudster & despoiler of the public budget, which is why you've never heard of him, A+++ upstanding fellow, Nobel prize laureate etc.
Were he not-so-aligned, it'd have been a very different story altogether, all of a sudden the usual prostitextuates out in force, harping all about fraud and embezzlement and all that. It'd matter, then it'd matter, let's talk s'more about how you believe the women you'd like to fuck and etcetera. Right ? [↩]I recall in third grade we had clay modelling class. Exasperated by the dude in charge never grading me A, I once made a weird sorta votive dedicated to "peace". At the time there was a lot of political agitation ongoing (you'd call it "awareness raising" or some dumb shit) on the topic of peace, so I was pretty much openly daring the dude. He caved, yielding my first (and only) A grade in a clay modelling class.
Because this is what dumb shit, "consensus" and whatnot does for the world -- it permits ten year olds to effortlessly overwhelm professional adults. Isn't it fucking dumb ? [↩]
« The pool party
The Omnistatement »
Category: La pas prin lume
Wednesday, 20 May, Year 12 d.Tr.
La moglie piu bella
La moglie piu bellai is not particularly remarkable an exemplar of the systematic effort at pantsuitist agitprop produced throughout the 70s by the captured Italian state. Not nearly as well madeii as say Morti di Fame, it's basically the same old "Romanzo Popolare" as long ago invented and ever since tiresomely, ceaselessly recounted by the mulas -- but arbitrarily set in 1950s "Sicily" rather than 1970s Milano. Si-n rest tatatat la fel, as the poet so aptly put it.
Ornella Muti is not naked by way of exception, being actually fourteen at the time. Fancy that wonder, a fourteen year old actress overwhelming under the lens such requirements as the role of a precocious fifteen year old everyone conventionallyiii takes for sixteen could possibly put upon her. This is the sorta powerhouse that chick was ; and if she didn't come to better greatness it's all and entirely not her fault. Besides that, the film's only other claim to fame is having found a great match for her, Alessio Orano may be as toroughly hollow and entirely vacuous as a "quality" shoes model, but his eye color matches hers and in all respect they look the original couple. It's a strange thing to behold, and that perhaps may entice you to behold it.
Otherwise the lulz just keep piling on, her problem's that "he wants her for having made up his mind, not for wanting her" as fucking if, the same fanciulla that "ask of me what you will, but be gentle" is, in her husband & owner's remarkably correct words so very superbuousiv she'll run herself out of any possibility of existence. She'll just replace herself with an impossible imagined object, that's just HOW utterly UStardian she really truly is. Believe! Why don't you believe ?
Whatever, films being dumb is an impediment to watching them like women being stupid's an impediment to fucking them. The hole still works, whatever comments you may have on the quality of the light behind the glass.
———1970, by Damiano Damiani, with Alessio Orano, Ornella Muti. [↩]The dialogue as wanked off by Damiani is especially, offensively inappropriate. No Sicilian mother ever, to this day (and certainly no poor subsistence farmer) asked her obnoxious spawn "what she wants to do", what the fuck dumb question is that ? C'e la luna mezzo mare! [↩]The convention in turn stemming from the simple fact that they have no other way of dealing with her thoroughly mature sexuality. So they just assume they don't have to, and "nobody could accuse them" of this approach not working, or being impertinent. Because nobody is actually me, and so... [↩]Check this wonder : the sin of superbia, superby is somehow magically "not known" in English. Did you perhaps mean "superboy" ? Superfluous is what superbuous should have appeared as ?
Idiots. Not even genuine idiots, false, self-pompously idiotic, the sort that blow up through blowing air up their own asshole. [↩]
« Arenal 2020
Le Cercle Rouge »
Category: Trilematograf
Wednesday, 11 March, Year 12 d.Tr.
La Grande Guerra
La Grande Guerrai continues an unapologetically noxious tradition unfortunately about as old as cinematography itself whereby war films attempt to meld frank and therefore credible accounts of the psychology as well as physiology of warfare together with the most brazenlyii prepubescent and therefore utterly discredible conception of gender relations. I guess everyone else being forever virgins it is then my sad lot to point out that while the life (meaning, death) of soldiers is rather exactly as depicted, the sexuality (meaning, rape) of soldiers is nothing like it at allllll. Nor should it be, this being the more offensively impertinent portion of the shameless infantilism attempting to sprawl itself over things that readily constitute its antithesis. Nor should it be, the sexuality of soldiers should absolutely not be fit for girly consumption. The sexuality of soliders should be consumptive of girlies, girlihoods an' girlyworlds ; and is.
That abomination aside, the parts that work do work : Mangano is a beautiful whore, Sordi is a superlatively faggoty knave, war is war, the happy sibilant widow just doesn't know it yet and peace's this fairy tale kids go to sleep with. Like Babbo Natale. I suppose the item aspires to some sort of destructuring parody of the facts of life ; but in that line it works exactly as well as these ever do.
Still, there's many worse ways to spend a couple of hours.
———1959, by Mario Monicelli, with Alberto Sordi, Vittorio Gassman (I soliti) and a most delicious Silvana Mangano (Il Scopone).
Really one perfectly practicable avenue into discussing this film is to deem it a remake of I soliti ignoti, composed of a cheaper, taller Cardinale and the same Calabrese (Memmo Carotenuto), substituting Sordi for Mastroianni as the public anchor, but outside of these purely cosmetic adjustments of drapery nevertheless draping very much the same narrative structure. Its "war" rather than "theft" that the impardonably inconsequential Italians are pursuing this installment, but really... [↩]Sfacciata, sfrontata, spudorata, you get the idea. [↩]
« Augmentum gratiae
Il Seduttore »
Category: Trilematograf
Tuesday, 21 July, Year 12 d.Tr.
Kitty Freipurr von Meow and other tales of Bring Your Own Adventure to Tamarindo
Motto: Can you explain the differences between a formidonologist,
a formiphenomenologist and a formiphenomenophenologist ?
It will be your hopeless if thankless lot today to try and make sense of what's what and which puzzle piece goes where in this our latest installment of Trilema verbiage (and unlike all the other times). But don't worry too much about it : you have me on your side, and I promise to not help nearly as much as I hinder. So... are your spurs ready ? Is your spont-aneous gland in gear ? We begin!
First off, and to be immediately left aside, you'll have to identify whom the kitten is.
Then, of course, comes the self-serve bowl of factual matters and things such as they are, in the shapeshifting presentation of a bunch of truthful and correct statements bereft and well peeled of any context that'd permit them to also be meaningful. These'd be : 1. A kid who used to MongoDb ; 2. A kid who went to MIT ; 3. A kid who's gonna ride the wave of being a surfin' fool captive in the hot body of an ancient Greek god for as long as that lasts, and then... whatever ; 4. A kid who got out of the zone just in time ; 5. A kid who's gonna work hard and make shit work, enough of the bullshit already ; 6. The piece of land one of the kids bought, which has a well and some previous developmenti ; 6. The teenybopper homemaker-wannabe ; 7. The good Spanish girl, quite ready for the yoke ; 8. The girl who's not quite yet decided if she's gonna live or if she's gonna die ; 9. Teh girl who's quite made up her mind this'll be the last try ; 10. The girl from Texas ; 11. The girl who's happy. 12. The girl who's sad ; 13. The girl that's blonde ; 14. The girl that's shy ; 15. The girl that only now realises just how much mileage her boo-hoo joke's gonna get.
You realise, of course, all the girls wanna be good an' all the boys wanna make something, that much is a given. That much is always a given. Now : who's the kitten, why's she meow, and whence freipurrs ?!
While you let all that sink through the thick, let's go for a ride. It'll be fun, and besides, gotta respect dem quarantines, don't we ? So then, adelante, dark peshkesh horse of apocatastasis!
But first, let's have a bite to eat.
I find travel proceeds much better after having eaten, don't you ? There's a lot more patience for all the nooks and crannies of immediate experience, not to mention quite a lot more inclination towards the fair valuation of the fuller parts of existence. There's no such thing as fine wine in a hurry, hence fast foodii, and moreover there's an impedance mismatch in the complexity involved : everything insufferable is thus very grossly, whereas everything delightful is delightful in detail, and especially in the interplay of abundant detail precisely fitting. Some ugly broad is just some ugly broad, directly, but the best slut you've ever had is the best slut you ever head because of the exact moan she let out just as she was melting and also everything else, lots and lots of tiny, numerous, giddy somethings elses. The list of why a broken piece of software is broken satisfies if it's one element long, whereas the list of why perfect software's perfect tends to outlength the software itself. In all cases the unfurling of the story of why good is good takes a while, and if you've not eaten you'll miss out on it.
There's scarcely imaginable a place in creation blessed with less efficiency of capital good utilization. You think this is the first semi carrying a half-wheelbarrow's worth of bricks ? It wasn't even the first one that day!
Then again... that might be a good thing.
As I was explaining (and illustrating, again and again) a coupla years ago, Costa Rica doesn't exactly sit on stable terrain.
Admittedly the roadside decorations are a lot more interesting than commonly seen in Europe. I was about to write out "albeit unintentionally", but really there's no room for that albeit in there. Specifically because unintentionally, homo homini lupus est by intent and by nothing else. By the best of intentions, and only by the best of intentions, everything's always ruined.
And now we come to the eternal Taiwanese Friendship Bridge. Costa Rica being one of the ever-vanishingly fewer countries recognizing the white government of China (in opposition with the red government currently in power over most of the mainland), the grateful state of Taiwan donated this bridge (the policy was later reversed through the good offices of the ever-more generous donation of the Sabana stadium by the commies, yet the bridge still stands, epitome of that endless story of friendship, truth and human "arbitry of all creation").
And here we are, the destination of our pleasant little jaunt, three hundred kilometers that passed like nothing : billymg's Jardin de los Mangos (sadly the trees in question were not properly tended during the interregnum, and as a result there's no fruits this year ; but as Rosella O'Tree once aptly observed, "tomorrow is another year"). Whaack joined us later, because their car is that proportionally slower! And so in the time we drove twenty miles to the local Automercadoiii and back they managed twenty miles from the beach (in fairness though -- uphill. It matters, because por algo es Toyota).
Above : the little slut's room.
Below : the master bedroom / livingroom / kitchen / fuckery / etcetera. It's not a bad plan, there's a half dozen or so such units on the property, each comfortably housing a man with his travelling trim-down of a harem (logically since you're not going to take more than three girls to the car, therefore four beds roughly suffice ; if you take more cars take more units). It's almost as if the place was built by someone after my own taste (from what I hear, rumour has it some runaway / retired Nazi did it, which seems to check out). There's also a porch with hamock, lounge, armchairs and so on for all your public exposure needs.
Above : there was a bird hidden in this tree. I was certain I got a great shot of it, but now reviewing the pictures for publication... I can't fucking find it!
Below : the most recent model of wi-fi appliance (I have it on good authority).
Above : ministrations towards a coconut that fell right out of the tree as we were lounging about.
Below : iguana entertaining his own reflection. Maybe it's a friend ?
Time to hop in the pool! Guanacaste is pretty hot, which means the water is absolutely perfect.
One of the units has this large self-portrait of a toucan enthroned as if he had been you know, the master of the house, and had his face there so everyone coming in knows it's his housy. Goosy boy found the idea mindblowing, and sat there as you see him, in quiet contemplation of the wide horizon and vasts oceans of possibility suddenly open before birdkind. If this Mr. Toucan could make himself such a great house, what could a goose do ?
And not just any goose, mind you!
Endless stale bread granaries sprawled before his very eyes, goosy effigy made out of barley in wheat bread, what could the limit be ?!
The next day,
That's right, he even has convenient little girls rooms / jails scattered throughout the property. "How come you have so many of these", inquired the bimbo ; the host didn't quite know what was being asked, for never having encountered their proper use in regular practice before. But, there's a first time for everything, and after that first there's always lots of times -- just make sure you pick a good one for the punishment of insufficiently eager dishwashing (pro tip : store a few inches of nettle on the floor, for the educational needs of the barefooted wayward girls).
And with that, we're back on the road. Goodbye!
———And is actualy surprisingly easy to reach : you just stick to the 1 forever -- past San Ramon, almost all the way to Nicaragua -- but turn off to the 16 towards Santa Cruz and then make a right at the Pipa Fyia stand towards Lagunilla. Your destination's beyond the small "Jardin de Mangos" ceramic sign propped on a wall on the right side of the road ; if you reach the Chinese restaurant on the left you've gone a hundred meters too far, so you turn like we did. Asphalt all the way. [↩]You think fast food's bad because governmental conspiracy ? Because fuck-age girlies of little brains personally hate you ? Because capitalism is intrinsically evil ?
No. None of that. Fast food's bad because there's nothing else it could be intempestively. Then the habit of insulting sense and sensibility forms, and the sin of gluttony's just around the corner -- if you've inhabituated yourself to not care about one thing that matters, what chance do all the other ones have ? [↩]Which by the way sucks balls when compared to my local version -- they even had the unmitigated audacity to "not sell alcohol", because who knows what bullshit "state regulations" or whatever nonsense.
Needless to say I fixed that in short order -- ever since yesterday the hapless inhabitants of Guanacaste can buy liquor in the store like normal people, and I bet you dunkens to donuts they don't even know whom they have to thank for it. [↩]
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Category: La pas prin lume
Thursday, 16 April, Year 12 d.Tr.
Kitty Foyle (The Natural History of a Woman)
Kitty Foylei is a systematic, consistent, hour+ long attempt at girlsplainingii being a stupid cunt.
It utterly fails in that tendecy, of course, being as there can never be either such a wonder as a true defense of being a stupid cunt nor such miracle as girlsplainationiii capable of standing to examination. By its very nature girlhood is a self-limiting diseased state, exactly like mongoloidism but without oligo-organic basis ; whereas being a stupid cunt really needs no explaining whatsoever, it's all self-obviously cointained in its own appearance. Just like the petty thief can readily be understood without recourse to more elaborate figures than his immediate person, just like the bum needn't carry the explanatory sign reading "hard work pays off later while laziness pays off now" to be entirely, thoroughly and without remainder comprehended by any observant bystander, just so the stupid cunt's directly and immediately accessible to the spirit.
Other than that fundamental doom, the film also suffers greatly under the crushing weight of accreted coincidental misfortunes. For instance, the greatness of the scene where the deeply yellow Strega meets the deeply red Rogers is immediately perceived in the imagination as phenomenal, even though the print... the print's just black and white. More instances are available of the sad pile of mishaps, none of which as vibrant or self-obvious ; though the supporting cast of faggoty USian males is particularly atrocious (and in that deep, shameful failure of even vaguely representing any kind of manhood perhaps noteworthy, though dubiously so at best).
Aside the Escherian nature of the broad design and the hapless collection of warts and barnacles befouling the execution, the film nevertheless articulates clearly enough the mechanisms of the transition from girl to stupid cunt (as opposed to natural growth into sane womanhood) :
Firstly, the outright insane self-allocation of maximal value. Kitty's okay by herself and unto herself sufficient, she doesn't need anyone for anything, bla bla bla in that vein.iv
Secondly, the utterly inappropriate relationship with the alpha. She's wishy-washy, non-committal (because, as per the above, "she can only commit" on an strictly impossible deal, and until the strictly impossible "comes along" she'll... wait).
Finally, the screamingly inappropriate relationship with the beta. She doesn't plainly exploit him, because reasons (in the vein of insanity already contemplated), which'd effectualy anchor his existence and give his life meaning. She doesn't reject him, either, because... well, it's hard out there for an overgrown girl. The wiffle-waffle back and forth manages to waste as much as possible of the alpha's time and frustrate the beta to high heavens, resulting ultimately in societal breakdown ; as it must, because this whole idiocy is nothing aught and nothing besides a frontal assault on standards.
Ultimately, girls are bad news ; failure to employ some sort of monopoly on violence towards their forcible education towards humanity necessarily spells the end of any society irresponsible enough to allow itself to fall into that hole.
That's be all, really ; though you might also appreciate the incidental depictions of careerwomen's lives (and the interiors they populated on their own power) in "the richest country in the world" back when it still had somewhat of a shot at that title. Three girls to the room, two to the bed plus one on the couch, it's all in there. It's all in there waiting.
It's all in there waiting for you.
———1940, by Sam Wood, with Ginger Rogers. [↩]This deplorable activity being the principal substance of Ginger Roger's life and career, such as each was. The curse of weak directors backed by even weaker producers, I suppose. [↩]The (always reductive) attempt at recreating a narrative description of the world which doesn't conflict with such priors as compose the mental universe of a girl, that human female mentally immature enough to not yet be a woman. [↩]What, you thought "social media" invented the girly voice ? Hurr. [↩]
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Category: Trilematograf
Saturday, 05 December, Year 12 d.Tr.
King Ralph
King Ralphi is a delightful lightii comedy from right before the idiocracy kicked in. Admittedly a difficult set-up to pull off ("mittelamerica white trash becomes royalty"), John Goodman's beyond ample, truly capacituous latent capacitiesiii prove once more and once again equal to any draw. This man is probably the least appreciated actor of his generation, and certainly one of the greatest -- when you thought of that set twenty years ago you imagined it'd be Donald Duck Pacino, but it ain't Pacino. It's Goodman, and De Vito, and... not that many others, really -- much like it wasn't Burton, but O'Toole, not Heston but Scoffield and so on. Multe bat la poarta vietii...
They could've hired better looking women for the good looking women parts, I suppose -- but then again there's much fewer good looking women than there's good jokes, so necessarily it follows that you can't have one per comedy, even if you manage their time for them.
Anyways, there's much worse cinematic phates than having to watch this thing -- not necessarily the case if you're going through "what else came out in 1991", but abso-fucken-lutely if you're going through "what else came out, 2010-2020".
Faceti si voi o contestatie, ce sa zic...
———1991, by David S. Ward, with John Goodman, Peter O'Toole, John Hurt (who for you probably is the antagonist in V for Vendetta ; but for the harem forever shall be Rich). [↩]There's but this one scene wherein O'Toole revs his engines just a moment, half-taking out serious metal at a kiddy-pool splash party and in the process eliciting a literal "whoa there!" out of the entirely unprepared yours truly. [↩]You had to do a double-take such that the "talent" you had read resolved into the "latent" I had written, didn't you ?
Might as well admit it, your brain's not yours to work for you but mine to... work for you ; and we both know this (no, not including you). [↩]
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Category: Trilematograf
Tuesday, 01 September, Year 12 d.Tr.