The man who had a dog...

The man who had a dog had a dog. Every day he'd feed his dog, and pat it on the head, and scratch it behind the ears (because the dog had dog ears, from being so much a dog). Sometimes he'd throw a little dog, and the ball would fetch I mean sorry, the other backwards way around : sometimes a little ball would throw the man and the dog would run, fetch and bring it back.

One day, the man who had a dog started reading poetry to it. Nothing much happened, but the man was not one to be discouraged by phenomenology -- he could only be discouraged by the echoes in his own mind. Day after day the man, he persevered, reading poetry to the dog, over and over again, until one day...

Until one day the dog recited back. This happened, fie on unbelievers, the doke spoge clearly and enunciated euphonically, the man heard it and was happy. He was content, his life's work before his eyes : he, the man in question, taught his dog poetry. Let no one daught that all can be done, that if you can dream it you can do it, that indeed reason and clear enunciation conquers all -- difficulties and otherwise, phenomenological, gnoseological or formidontoninical.

Unrelated to the above, the Amerinians had a minority living in their country, they called the Niws. The Romarmans also had a minority living in their country, the Gyggers. Finally, the Gercans also had a minority living in their country : the Jesies. Follow along, it's not that hard (I even made myself a little guide for it : Amerinians/Niws ; Romarmans/Gyggers ; Gercans/Jesies). What all these minorities had in discomon, clearly and neatly distinguishing and diferentiating them from one another was varied, complex and extremely far-reaching, involved minutia of plurious uncountable endlessly complicated and utterly irreducible distinguishing difference : the Gyggers, unlike either Jessies or Niws were an ancient people ; whereas the Jessies, unlike the Gyggers or the Niws were living far from their place of origin, having been historically transported there by historical events, in history ; while finally the Jessies, unlike either Gyggers or Niws, had a peculiar conformation of their brainskin and bellybox, exhuded specific odours (that only a competent, well trained and aculturated nose could discern) and in a word, each were as completely different from one another as pompous cluelessness and inchoate ignorance could ever make it seem the case.

They also had one thing in common, the three minorities, just one thing : they were all hovering around the demographic extinction point, just about a tenth of the majority by headcount. You might not know this, being too young to remember and unskilled in the apeiron, aporisticon and kalemegdan, but there's exactly two things being just over the demographic extinction point does for a minority. Just and precisely two.

One thing is that the minority will never be self-represented ; whatever ideas of it prevailing "in general" being entirely constructed of them and without them. The other thing is that the minority will always be represented in the same exact way : back when the Amerinians were doing things, they thought the Niws universally (and self-evidently) cowards. Because that is the problem of doing things, one has to confront his own cowardice at every step of the way ; and that one decides that cowardice he has to confront every day and every step of the way is specific not merely universally but also self-evidently of... of... well ? Of the Niws, if there's any Niws on hand (but not too many of them such as'd perhaps argue the point). The Gercans meanwhile, not having any Niws on hand at all whatsoever, but just the right amount of Jesies, thought the exact same thing... about the Jesies. Similarily the Gyggers spent a century or more, during the "national formation" of the purely imaginary socio-political construction called Romarmia (just like all the others) being the most self-obviously and also thoroughly & universally cowards there could be had (since there couldn't be had any Jews or Niggers... ahem, I'm so, so sorry, what was I saying, Jiggs or Niwers ? whatever).

Before (or after) ; or rather should I say after (meaning, before) the Amartzipans, Gerzgratiati & Rompompoms did things, they also didn't do anything ; and the respective J-words, N-words an' G-words spent however long the respectives weren't doing things being... oh, you've guessed it (no doubt by ready reference to your official history narrative/storybook, ladden with such much better names made up through more respectable processes exactly in the same way) : for as long as the group was doing things, the minority was being cowardly, and for as long as the group wasn't doing anything, the minority was being dangerous. Bloody fucking assassins in the dark alleys raping our women with their really large hairdos and cutting up our children to make chesspieces out of their toenails. Seriously, this is a fact. You didn't know it was a fact ? Maybe you'd like your passport rescinded, or something -- because my cousin's neighbour's daughter's friend was once hid away on a yacht and the young man in an ascot (too lazy to rape her) made darts of brown paper which he languidly threw at her twat. So there! END OF DISCUNTION!

I could transcribe the story of the Gypster and the thousand wolves, which yes was a thing, as well as countless other stories. There's no point though, they all say the same thing : bugaboo hurr durr deeerp!

Now, confronted with this situation and in consideration of the consequences of circumstance as described (etcetera), the man who had a dog (and so he had a dog) was called in by nobody in particular meaning himself, to make everything right -- because I forgot to mention seeing how it's entirely pointless to repeat, that the man who had a dog (and so he had a dog) taught that it'd be for the best if everything were well. Perhaps I mean tought, though in the end one could just presume as much, on the basis of the foregoing. Yes ?

Moving on : the man who had a dog proceeded to notice that indeed in the course of historical unfolding, being perceived as dangerous by the majority turned out to be quite fucking dangerous for the misfortunate minority so perceived (through no fault, or merit of its own -- being as it is the case that minorities do not in any substantial sense exist, and certainly in no representative sense could ever), so he made a poem about it, on the spot. He titled his poem Hurr Durr Antispunkalism, Meine Damned & Herrein, and he proceeded to teach all dogs, both his own and random women's, the poetic poetry theirein incumbent. It had forceful contents of great socio-politico impact as well as dessert, it was well wrought not to mention autorshippy and quite lengthy, it had, in a word, all that's truly needful as well as necessary of good poetry in the view of men who have a dog.

Coincidentally the majority switched from doing nothing to doing something just about the time the man who had a dog (and his dog) were teaching/learning & thinking in their fashion, and so not only the resistence of the medium happened to momentarily be nil but the man who had a dog also had ample field to be impressed with himself : look, that his taught thoughts have an impact! Change society for the better (and promote the having of dogs)! Quick, quick, a tall triple ristretto and a puppy for everyone! The valuable workings on Antispunkalism by people who have a dog not merely were learned by all the dogs (whether people-had or otherwise) but also produced measurable improvement, change you can believe in, without!

All hail the man who has a dog, for he is truly his brother's keeper, and the finder of lost children. And also God help the misfortunate minorities should the winds change again, because it'll truly be a wonder if there's any blacks outside of taxidermic exhibits by the time your children are old enough to have dogs of their own. I mean, they have big cocks, right ? Or at least they used to ?

« The last blog

Canzone 'e Ciccio Cappuccio (orig. 1892 ; reprint) »

Category: Cocietate si Sultura

Saturday, 25 July, Year 12 d.Tr.

The man looked down...

The man looked down from the great show in the sky, shapely formless messesi of impossible hues -- oranges, and pinks, and purples streaking every which way with the sunset. The game was hold'em. The place was the weekly tournament at the old Nacional -- a pleasant little game most weeks, thousand dollar buy-in, good for almost a quarter million or thereabouts on the occasion of the occasional, more or less yearly win, and for a good few hours of mild quality entertainment throughout the rest of the year otherwise.

Seven of spades, king of diamonds in the hole. The man folded his small blind before the flop, to the sound of "I'm back where I belo-o-ong... back in baby's a-a-arms". Patsy Cline was a major, possibly the greatest favourite with the place on account of most of the men there liking her, after a fashion, or more properly speaking on account of most men there having a peculiar relationship with the liking of Patsy Cline by a woman, a woman in the past. Wife, they call them. Everyone having had one, everyone had moved on. Mostly the memories were gilt with the burnished, coppery dust time passing sifts over all things man made, as fine an approximation of gold as ever can be properly speaking had or, for that matter, should ever properly be asked for ; though for a few, for a younger, hapless minority it was rather bitter a taste, rather billious a recording. Nevertheless, the juniors disregarded the pulsions of their own spleen to favour the general atmosphere of peaceful, nay, outright serene tolerance there prevailing. Why fight it ? So what if "that bitch", forget about it. And besides... the worst were the ones who hadn't truly moved on. The ones who had had to move on, because sometimes that bitch doesn't actually do anything, not anymore. Sometimes that bitch just up and dies, in which case...

A five and a four, mismatched, "she's got the little things... I've got you." The girls'd mostly gaggle towards the bar side, occasionally a straggler or a coupla paired might go for a stroll up and down the floor, for no particular purpose. They knew nobody's really interested, nor will be for a few hours yet at the least, but... well, it's a job, innit ? The night cop's still walking his beat even if nobody's doing anything that night, the casino floor workers still strut their heels even if everyone's minding their own folds for a change. Besides, how bad for business can it be to stretch them legs a little now and again ?

Jack of hearts, ten of clubs, the man's attention drifted away immediately after the fold. People were buzzing, the whole floor humming slightly, together, like a sort of beehive. The usual low roar of gossip and chit-chat, so and so rented a boat for the day and took a pair of whores out fishing, where they went for a swim and one nearly drowned ; the brunette over there got in a fight with Linda, you know Linda, the redhead, the one with perky tits ? over something or the other, so-and-so had a heart attack, you remember him, with the hat/boots/whatever nonsensical "signature" item, twist, trick or nothing, and the girl on top as it happened was new, and she... it was endless, unimportantly interesting and most importantly endless, though nobody really gave it much thought. Because had it ever stopped, should it ever stop...

Pair of queens, worth taking to the flop, wherein running into the stiff resistence of a 7-6-4 and a very disfavourable table outlook they crumbled. One maybe drowned, the other vanished into thin air, who even knows, two queens may be worth taking almost anywhere in any case yet they were gone before the minute went out. The man looked about, not particularly interested, not seeing anything in particular nor looking for it really. Four to five dozen tables, stretching three-four thick in all directions. He generally sat himself somewhere towards the middle. They started immediately after lunch, driving most everyone to brunch Saturday, generally with Friday night's entertainment ; though if you wanted a late start after a lazy steak that presented no great impediment either, the tourney ran hourly rebuys until the sun set, and although most "serious" poker players wouldn't want to get into a mid-tourney short stacked nobody really cared that much about a few thousand to be bothered by the circumstance. Besides, everyone pretty much knew everyone anyways, if not directly then through the good oriffices of the girls working around, among and occasionaly under the tables -- a distant if very narrow sort of acquaintance.

King two, both spades, the man briefly contemplated their future before the bidding structure folded his hand for him. The umpires generally tried to keep the tourney going at a steady rate, and, knowing or unknowing most players helped. The goal was generally getting it to last through the night but not much past ; the only available lever being the setting of the blinds. Set them too high and it'd burn out fast, too low and it'd go too slow, the blinds update by far the most noteworthy news item among the gossipy aspic, and treated as such, everyone observing a moment of silence after each update announcement in honor of its comparatively overwhelming importance. Most everyone on the floor having played hundreds of thousands, perhaps literal millions of hands to date greatly improved the success chances of the administrative attempts, the whole floor more akin a well disciplined regiment of poker veterans than anything, a docile herd of independent thinkers, one and all, eminently steerable in the general direction of everyone having a good time together. Besides, old men aren't that hard : just like young men they don't really need all that much ; but unlike young men they also know they don't.

Her name was Ellen, it had been Ellen throughout. She bore him two children, an age ago. A boy and a girl, at first, for years and years a boy and a girl ; but then they left the house, a man, and a woman. They married, they went to their own jobs, had children of their own... On their last day together they had taken a room at the Plaza while the painters were repainting the house -- he didn't really want them then, but it wasn't up to him, it was up to whenever they had the time. She was excited, it was their aniversary, but...

The man folded without really looking, whatever it was, small, disjointed and unsuited. She had asked him, then, holding back the tears, holding back all sort and manner she asked him what is it he wants ; and he told her. He wanted... really, what he wanted was to do it all over again. It somehow... it hadn't taken, the first time around. Yet it was too late. Positively too late, too late for him ; though indeed if the Navy wouldn't take him again it wouldn't be because he couldn't pass the physical. They didn't have another war going, they're too expensive to fight, these wars, so everyone had just given up. Everything had become too expensive over the years, his house, raising a pair of kids, having a wife, even retirement. Everything. The younger men showing up, they had nothing, practically speaking. Everything was expensive to them, though as far as words, and labels and titles and gargle went they should've had him and everyone else outranked. An admiral, retired of recent vintage, couldn't really hold his own over the table against a retired ship's captain of the previous set, in fact being fifty-something as opposed to sixty-something or respectively seventy-something was the greatest predictor of poverty, ineptitude and failure. The girls didn't mind, perhaps didn't notice or perhaps pretended not to notice, but he knew, though he didn't like to spend any time thinking about it. Yet... it was hard not to, especially lined up against cards. The faces kept going out, small, disjointed and unsuited new draws coming up as if in replacement. What replacement ? A terrible trade, carrying within the seeds of a guaranteed end for his world. Ignominous, quiet, boring decay.

His world... He liked it fine, though he didn't think he'd be long for it. He certainly didn't want to be buried anywhere else. This was the place, it suited him alright, this here collection of retired fishermen, whoremongers and gamblers shipwrecked out of the taper end of upper-middle class lives upon an enchanted tropical strip of land stretching the hemispheres, this here colorful but not very colorful collection... they were good enough for him. When you're old enough everything's a retirement home, however you spin it, but out of all the possible or even coinceivable alternatives this was the place, between the beach and the volcano, among these old cowpoke natives of mildest disposition, kinder souls than chicken soup. Here, with the gringos pretending like they're playing poker, pretending like they're going fishing, out on the ocean, where the red snapper and the immense tuna lay, pretending they're picking up girls, pretty young things for a cien, all night long or at any rate as long as it can be made.

The girls knew them, after a year or two working the tables they'd have known one and all of the few hundred men composing the whole heart and soul of their country, making it the foremost power in its geostrategic space in spite of not having had an army for many decades. The men would trade them around, like things, lend them out like cars or pairs of binoculars, "oh look over there", a sporting sort of camaraderie borne of, ultimately, disinterest. Not like anyone's gonna marry anyone, right ? A juvenile, highschooler spirit, everyone worth fucking fucking everyone on the opposite side worth fucking, because why the hell not, what could keep 'em and why wouldn't they ? It wasn't customary among schoolchildren back in America, of course ; yet it was the rule of the land and the custom of the place in the old country, a country so old nobody really had any kind of link to it anymore. The natural peskiness of insecure adults combined with the avatars of sheer stupidity masquerading as "novel", reformation and religious revival systematically ruined the natural sexuality of children in America, so much so the expiring adults had to rediscover it all far away, at the other end of the world and of their own life ; but in any case the girls knew them all, whether they understood anything of it or not. Women often understand a lot more than one'd expect, though they rarely manage to do anything with it.

He'd... He never spoke much with Ellen, not anymore, not for many years now. Maybe she had nothing much to say, or maybe she'd just grown old. Maybe they raised together a houseful of strangers, maybe it was the nature of the place... He didn't miss it, exactly ; or rather the situation was that if you don't know where you're going any road will take you there. The road had taken him there alright, he had no idea where that was nor, crushingly, overwhelmingly, any clue what anywhere else'd be. Where else is there ?

They had talked a lot before, and it was the same gossipy molasses, the job, the house, the children, their schooling, the vacations, the... Back when they were young and stupid they spent a lot of time talking about more meaningful things, more substantial things ; awkwardly, especially in retrospect, stupidly, meaninglessly. What did they know ? Then it was time for the burdens, they carried them, together, a sporting sort of camaraderie, ultimately. They paid the rents and the mortgages and the rates and the... They paid it all, they worked, they saved, they built, it was... a life, right ? That's what life is, or rather, that's what's left of life when there's nothing in there at all, form enough to keep one busy while time flows, seeps, irreparably runs away. And then it's time for the flop, and then there's the river, you won't believe your eyes yet there it stands, old man in a worn straw hat looking to take two coins to ferry you over.

Over where ?

Over there.

The End.

———The man changed "great messes" into "shapely formless messes", because... well, really, because that's just the kinda man he was. [↩]

« P&P, irl&off

Gosford Park »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Tuesday, 25 August, Year 12 d.Tr.

The making of a cuckold

"L'ho detto a mio marito, sai..."

"E lui, lui che ha detto ?"

"'a detto..." Rosalba stops for a moment and looks up, way way up at the reclining head butler. Is he scared ? He doesn't seem scared. Is he the least bit afraid ? "'a detto che te spacchia la testa, 'a detto..." she continues her strand of narrative truth. It's not true in its meaning, import or substance, of course... yet... nevertheless... it's somehow true. This language doesn't have a proper meaning for factice (lo dice Pitre, e lui non si sbaglia mai), yet narrative truth is true in some myopic sense, like any scam it has the one path through it that does appear right as light even if any other and all the others are pitch-grade opaque. Nobody could accuse it of not being true, that's what it is.

"E... quando ?" comes the question, vague, disinterested.

"Piu tardi..." she cooes back.

"Dopo ?"

"Dopo, dopo" she sings along his driving tune. The timelapse betwen her erstwhile occasional kisses by now collapsed into negative space, mashing them into each other on the timeline, turning the activity into earnest sucking him off, lovingly, dedicatedly. It wasn't always this way, though.

It hadn't been anything like this not half an hour earlier, as she hesitated before knocking on his door. She didn't ever do that before, neither of the two, both hesitation and matinal visitation novel items in her daily routine. She woke at daybreak, as she always had before, a maid's life begins with the dawn (and ends in pregnancy, they say). She woke at daybreak that day as each and every previous day, even as a little girl in her parents' house, before escaping that fiery, infernal hell into the frigid wastes of marriage -- at least nobody bothered her now, that's something. Isn't it ? Don't you find it's something ?

She woke at daybreak and then scurried upstairs like a giddy schoolgirl, about ready to burst down his door, when she thought better of it, half a second before actually touching that sacred representation of Signoria itself. She... she... she can't just barge in there like that, it occured to her. She has to knock. What's more, she has to prepare herself, she thought, as she pushed her breast out of its hiding, out into the open, as she lifted her skirt in front as high as it makes sense to, leaving a clear and unobstructed view of herself.

Then only she knocked, abashed, and with the vaguely irritated "Entra, entra, che c'e ?!" made herself scarce within. Within, the head butler's modest yet private apartment, a bedroom after a small parlour, and there he sat down, and there she kneeled between his legs, and told him stories she had to tell him while now and again kissing his manhood, worshipfully.

"Che merdaccia" he offered, neutrally.

"Asi l'ho chiammato anch'io", she retorted. Indeed she had ; the part of the past day's narration that had in fact happened but that she didn't air before the butler did in fact contain such matter.

What she had told Mosca was that after the first rage explosion cooled itself as it's wont to, a minute later, she ground her body into her husband's, and reaching into his breeches pulled on his penis, to irritation and then, still insistently pulling and pushing ever so slightly, back and forth, to excited paroxism.

What she hadn't told Mosca was that it was just what her other mother had taught her to, her secret other, latter Mother. What she told him was that she did it again, to her husband, that day, many times, to complete exhaustion and beyond ; but she didn't tell him why she did it, or how she learned to do it, or where. She never told him, or anyone, who taught her, nor would she. Yet she gave great luxury of detail as to the cuckold's hesitations, to the intricate meanderings of his "oppinion" formation, something entirely his own, derived at the impact of phenomena on his supposed "personality", a thing that exists like competence in bureaucrats exists : by autocratic fiat. Like sugar exists in poor household exactly -- because there's an empty box saying "Sugar" on the lid, and for no other reason.

She spent most of the time describing the other's waffling to a mostly disinterested one because that's what she was told she's best served doing and saw no better deed before her ; but she didn't mention their time in bed, she and her husband, except to say that as he turned his back on her she wanted to shove a thumb inside of him, and give him the release he so much craved, but didn't want to until Mosca himself had violated her anally.

"Fallo prima a me, e poi io lo faro a mio marito" she had said, but she omitted to discuss how much she had wanted to touch her man there, deep inside, how desperately she had wanted to put her thumb on his clou, on that enchanted nail whence it all hangs, personality an' pretense, emotion and eloquence, afect and fright and self-defense. She did it, of course, that same night, she didn't resist the urge to make her husband feel like the happy, loved little girl he absolutely was ; and afterwards, once his innard had grown stony and then he was done, afterwards she rubbed her finger into his pozzanghera, the little puddle that was left of him, and then on his uppoer lip, right under his nose. "Mia cara merdaccia" she whispered in his ear as she had done it, knowing full well that thence and forevermore he was married to her, and not the other way around.

"Una merdaccia vera e propria" she offered finally, roundly, and thereby closing the matter.

« Rosalba's awakening

Augmentum gratiae »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Wednesday, 15 July, Year 12 d.Tr.

The magics of cereal boxes

Discussion in the log brought something into focus. Do you perchance recall the discussion of how small children take tumbles ? How about the discussion of what hermeneutics even is ?

If you do, as if you don't : obviously all acts of interpretation, which necessarily include all reading, revolve around decoding signs into sense, symbols into whatever they signify... you're supposed to read the words but find their meaning and so following. How is that actually done ?

Depends by whom. Children, for instance, ain't got either the time or the resources for much reference lookup, look-ahead parsing or careful macroexpansion. Instead, they proceed in their usual fixed manner : here's a decoder ring they found in the cereal box, therefore everything will be an assembly-line-stamped flower-pattern to the child holding a plastic hammer.

This approach may even be good enough for a whole lifetime spent among the primitive (endonym : "traditional") hordes ; but over here in town children are supposed to intellectually mature past that point. It's a pons asinorum that should normally be cleared right around (though ideally before) sexual maturation. Such is the basic expectation civilised society runs on : that by the time the tits on her are anything like'd interest you, she's already solidly capable of decoding text with a decoder that's open to negotiation with the very text in question ; by the time she's about ripe enough to participate in adult conversation, she's also (and therefore) ripe enough to appreciate her breast being called dun for what it is : a conceit.i

Needless to say, most of the worldii stands very far from urban. Instead of anything like a city there's just endless fields still, today as five centuries ago ; and upon that endless field utterly uncivilised hordes of Joseph Smiths tarabostes all over, like bison exactly. Here, have an example :

There's no privacy interest in the dead ; yet fucking corpses is a crime.

What exactly could possibly be the crime, if indeed there's no privacy interest in the dead ?

Fixed systems interact with each other... "imperfectly", let's call it, though meaninglessly would probably be a better term. As a result the abstract downstream of a node was moved, to make way for socialism's ever-inflating needs of self-representation, while the concrete downstream was neglected in place. The result is illogical, and rationally indefensible, but then again that's why they call it "precedent" in the dead system, and that's why "community standards" have to be a basis.

Self-obviously the notional universe from which you inherited your corpse handling routines also included very similar protections for the abstract remains of the departed. Back in the day you're unwittingly copying, there was privacy interest in the dead, and in fact burial rites exist principally as a token for that interest. The logic of the time read along the lines of "so great is the privacy interest in the dead, we even go to the trouble of moving seven feet of earth : it's supposed to show how great that is by how inconsequential the great inconvenience of this is proposed to be." I expect you never dug a hole with your own hands, nor have much notion of just how damned heavy earth is ; but go, try. It'll round out your understanding of this world you supposedly live iniii.

Most first class abstractions floating about the brainbox of "people themselves" suffer from the same problem. From "traditional marriage" to "rape"iv, from "money" to "social mobility"... in fact you'd be hard pressed to find any abstract item that's not been well gummed over by redditards with magic decoder rings.

I shudder to think what Trilema must look like to one of those barbarians ; but I surmise it must very, very fucking scary indeed. Then again... I guess it should be.

———Not that this perfectly legitimate expectation is all that often satisfied. It isn't, the sadnesses abound, yet... what of it ? Failure has no effect, that's why it's called failure in the first place. [↩]Lost among this "most", our hapless, meanwhile failed colonies across the water. [↩]"Ioane, dragi-s fetele ?"

"Dragi!"

"Dar tu lor ?"

"Si ele mie!" [↩]Literally "the harvesting of biomaterial without permission from the owner", somehow retconned into "inconveniencing a precious cuntlet's self-narratives". [↩]

« Forum logs for 19 Feb 2012

Fixing the Trilema reference base. »

Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Sunday, 05 January, Year 12 d.Tr.

The Magic Johnson and other stories

"Sex, you know, I mean accuplation, between the man and the woman, is for begetting children, not mere tittilation of the man's pleasure."

"I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere."

"In all the good books."

"So only when you mean to get pregnant, huh ?"

"Absolutely."

"But don't you get... I mean... isn't it... don't you miss it ?"

"Miss what, Jenny dear ?"

"You know..."

"Oh. Oh you mean... do you mean the orgasm ?"

"Yeah..."

"But that has nothing to do, nothing at all. Husbands still have to worship the Heavenly Gate."

"They do ?"

"But of course they do! It's the magical portal all humanity crawled out of, right there in their living room. Of course they should do their part to keep it... well oiled, you know, in working order. I mean, what if it should break down, Lord's mercy!"

"So Ben..."

"Yep."

"Tongue in, tongue out, and all around..."

"Slurp slurp slurp, yep, yep."

"Oh my god Molly, you're terrible."

"I know, I know... they're just so funny, you know, all helpless between your thighs."

"What do you mean they ?!"

"Well..."

"Really ?!"

"Why not, you know ? They just make each other more eager."

"I bet that's a sight."

"So come by sometime, get an eyeful."

"Is that allowed ?!"

"Of course it's allowed... since I'm allowing it."

"I think I'd like to see that."

"All right, so let's make a little party next Saturday."

"You mean, in three days ?!"

"No, not this Saturday. Next Saturday. If I meant this Saturday I'd have said 'this Saturday'."

"Oh I'm sorry, it's just confusing. Sure, I'd love to come!"

"Haha, 'sure, she'd love to come'. Really love, do you love to come ?"

"Hehehehe. Got me there..."

"Are you bringing Joe ?"

"Oh good Heavens no."

"You two not really doing much, huh."

"Well.. you know, we're kinky."

"What was it you did ?"

"1920s romance, I think it's called. Though I don't know..."

"How does that go again ?"

"He keeps insisting, I keep refusing. You know, with the hands, everything. Then once in a blue moon I get drunk and he... well, he has his way with me. Then in the morning we don't talk about it."

"Doesn't sound like much..."

"It isn't much ; and can you believe at some point people lived like this ?"

"About people living I can believe anything. You know about the same time, 1920s, in Russia they had these people who cut off their parts ?"

"No ?!"

"Yeah, and I don't just mean the boys. The women cut off their breasts! With a knife! And then went around with 1920s Russian mastectomies, flesh sewn together with jute rope like in the horror movies."

"Wow."

"The tsar kept passing laws against it, you know, but when they're willing to do that themselves... what can you even do to them anymore..."

"That's horrifying."

"Maybe you should talk to him about it."

"Cutting my breasts off ?!"

"No no, you silly goose. Normal sex, you know, like it's done."

"Yeah... I really should. But tell me more about it first."

"Fine, but keep your hands where I can see 'em haha"

"Heh."

"What'd you like to know ?"

"How often do you do it ?"

"As often as I feel like."

"Really ?"

"Oh yeah. With normal sex, husbands get very eager, you know, they very much want to please."

"I had no idea."

"The truth is, men are pleasers, they really want nothing better, deep down, than to please you. It's just, they don't know about it at first, if their mother or older sisters or earlier girlfriends didn't tell them they just don't know. Men aren't very creative. And besides, they get anxious about it, I mean very anxious, you've never seen anything like it. But after they've gone through the motions a few times, after they know it makes them pleasant and it makes them pleasant reliably... why, there's hardly any stopping them!"

"So you sit on Ben what, maybe once a week ?"

"Oh no, absolutely not, nothing like that."

"Then what ?"

"Every morning, for starters."

"Every morning ?!"

"Absolutely. Ben has to sleep tied, you know..."

"No I don't know, how do you mean tied ?"

"Let me explain. The only good way for husbands to ejaculate is at night, you know ? They get wet dreams, and it makes them spurt."

"O wow, really ? I thought only young boys did that."

"Husbands do it to, if they don't masturbate. All men do, it's just they have to not touch themselves to achieve it. If he's not had any stimulation in a two, maybe three weeks, definitely they'll be dreaming of you."

"Is Ben allowed to..."

"Oh heavens no! Make his own pleasure ? Never! I'd divorce him right then and there!"

"If you caught him ?"

"Yeah!"

"But I mean... they hide, don't they ? Joe doesn't get it once a month, but I've never heard him mention wet dreams or anything."

"Well, Joe's got his own problems."

"Truth."

"Anyways, so when they get wet dreams, you know, they mechanically touch themselves. I saw Ben do it a couple of times, you know, and I didn't like it at all. I told him, it's not acceptable to touch himself, even in his sleep. It's one thing for the dreams to come from Heaven, and make him spurt, that's holy, you know, but if he just rubs himself with his own hand, it doesn't matter he's asleep, it's still the devil's work."

"Makes sense."

"So we put a pair of cufflinks by the bedstand, and every night when we go to bed I cuff his hands above his head. Not thight or anything, you know, just so he can't lower them."

"Doesn't he mind that ?"

"No, actually, at first when I forgot he'd remind me himself. He says he sleeps much better like that, hands tied above his head."

"Wow, really ?!"

"Yeah, he says it's very comforting, and relaxing."

"Is it because he knows you're there to tie him up, and to let him out again in the morning ?"

"Yep, that's exactly what he said, it makes him very confident to know there's nothing he can do without me."

"That's just..."

"Isn't it beautiful ?"

"Oh my god it is. It's the most romantic thing I ever heard!"

"Yeah, I love him for it."

"So what do you do ?"

"Oh, in the morning I straddle him, let him eat me out. As he does I check him for cummies. Nice and slow, everywhere."

"Doesn't that make him spurt ?"

"Oh, I'm very careful not to."

"Is that hard to do ?"

"At first it's a little challenging, but as you practice you get used to him, and you know exactly how far to go."

"And then what ?"

"Then nothing, I let him out, he goes about his day."

"But doesn't he want to... I mean... you know."

"Of course he wants to. What difference does that make ?"

"Not your problem, huh ?"

"It's very much my problem, of course he has to want to. I mean... what, are you saying the husband shouldn't want to make love to the wife ?"

"Of course... but..."

"So he wants to, it's all good. What he wants and what he gets..."

"... aren't the same thing, are they."

"Exactly."

"So what's the best ?"

"Eating me out you mean ?"

"Yeah."

"I'll tell you, I like it best while I'm peeing."

"What, on him ?!"

"Not necessarily. Usually what we do is, we get in the shower. I crouch on one knee, you know, support myself on my left leg and right sole. He lays on his side and sticks his head between my legs, and mostly suckles my clit, you know, hard. As I feel my orgasm welling up I just try and hold it down, you know, just hold it all in, tense everything up."

"Which of course just makes it harder."

"So,so much harder. Then when I'm overwhelmed I just let go, of everything. And of course he knows to just do me harder and faster then, I just... half the time I pass out, my brain just shuts down."

"That sounds incredible."

"It is incredible."

"But I mean... you said you search him for cummies every morning ?"

"Yeah."

"What's it like ?"

"When he did it, you mean ?"

"Yeah."

"Usually it's a mess. It dries up overnight, you know, so he's all glued together, his pajama, his balls, hair, everything."

"So what do you do ?"

"I tell him he's been a good little boy, and praise him, and so on. Also most of the time, not always but most of the time, I also tie his ankles up to the bed, and I get out Magic Johnson."

"What's that ? Is it a paddle ?"

"Oh, no, it's a dildo."

"Wow, really ?!"

"Aha. Usually I put it in, as a strap-on, but sometimes I just use it on him in my hand, while straddling him."

"But why do you call it Magic Johnson ?"

"Well... we did have to call it something. He's a great fan, you know, and one time watching a game it seemed to me he's gushing just like a little fangirl, you know, 'oh, Frankie!!!' sorta thing. So I started calling it Magic Johnson. We were saying it's magic before, and well... it is a johnson."

"How did he take it ?"

"Oh, he loved it. I made him kiss it, you know, I always make him worship it before going in, and he was saying 'make me your bitch' and things of that nature. He spurted buckets, too..."

"So you just rub him inside, until he spurts ?"

"You rub him inside until you're done. You have to be careful about the prostate though, not poke it, but rasp along and against it."

"I heard about that..."

"But we have a rule, he has to be soft. He must cum, yes, but he has to be flaccid doing it."

"That's possible ?!"

"Of course it's possible. Anything's possible if you set your mind to it, but this isn't even hard. Most guys naturally come soft if there's a big sweet cock up their ass."

"Really ?! I didn't know that."

"Of course."

"So if he gets hard, what do you do ?"

"I needle him."

"You what ?"

"I have an acupuncture needle set on the bed stand. If he gets hard during, I just needle him."

"In the penis ?"

"Yes, along the frenulum. It doesn't have to be very deep, you don't need to pierce the skin. He feels it, and it gets him in line."

"Really ?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"You know, I saw this on the telly."

"That was on the telly ?"

"Yeah, the Merry Wives show, last night. They had an episode about how husbands are not allowed hardness. They had to wear skirts so it made it obvious if they did, and the women would fuck them in the ass and hurt their penises until they were soft. They had all sorts of methods, one was using ice, another one had a little electroshock device, like a dog collar, you know ? There was one with needles just like you said, and..."

"Meh... you know, we've been doing this for years..."

"I know, darling."

"And now some half-baked TV suit is just going to walk all over it, appropriate it for his sponsor. Such crap, excuse me but it is."

"I know, and I agree with you... it was entertaining though, I mean at one point a husband got it hard on the bus, and don't you know it wifey made him strip naked right then and there and ride her strap-on. She didn't even fuck him herself, she made him fuck himself on her, you know, she just sat all normal as you please and he had to be naked and humiliate himself like that, while she chatted with the other passengers and apologized for her husband, you know, like her pet poodle or something. 'Oh he just can't keep himself, he's such a slut' she'd say, 'He really needs it in the ass, the poor darling' and 'Boys will be boys' and so on. It was one hell of a bus ride..."

"Isn't that something."

"Well... I mean..."

"Next thing you know there's going to be all these young couples doing it on the bus."

"I guess..."

"I don't know, Jenny. Some things are meant to be private."

"What's the harm in in, though ? I mean, we're meeting Saturday, right ?"

"I'll tell you what the harm is : all the kids will start doing it because they've seen it, but without feeling it. It's not the same thing at all, just going through the motions like that."

"Okay... but didn't you say yourself that men aren't very creative, and they get anxious, but if they've gone through the motions a few times, so they know it makes them pleasant, then there's no stopping them ?"

"I guess I didn, but I didn't mean it like that. It just ain't right, I'm telling you, it's not normal."

"Maybe you're right... what do I know."

« Ben doesn't get fingered

The Pishtar gate cathouse »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Monday, 14 September, Year 12 d.Tr.

The lulz of all time, today as each day

From my high tower of altitude & grandiose welfarei the common affairs of everyday pantsuit appear, other than distant, regularily amusing. Allow me to share this morning's installment.

As it happens, within the space of half an hour I read two different tales. But very different, okay ? We could almost say identically opposite, to wit :

The first tale was of a small registered company, which was sold by the owner. A few months later the owner's wife sued : she went to a court and claimed to have not known about the sale, and not be happy with the effects. The court found : a) that the wife and husband own a company jointly even if that company is registered in the husband's name ; b) that unjust enrichment is not a concern, because the wife is deemed to have contributed an equal value to whatever the husband actually did contribute (as a factual matter, established by the sale value) and the wife's constructive contribution is to be presumed indifferently of whether she had an income at all, or merely kept house -- in fact, she's not even required to keep house, "educating the children" is sufficient, and amusingly enough also presumed, their physical presence in whatever shape being sufficient proof in and of itselfii. So the first instance court threw out the contract, the other parties to this insanity appealed, and the appeal court... threw out the appeal. Don't buy anything from married men is, apparently, the new law in pantsuitlands.

The second tale was of a small unregistered company, which was destructured by the state.iii It consisted of a couple that contributed the work of business administration (placing adverts in newspapers and generally managing the customer flow, renting and furnishing apartments and generally managing the capital goods, along with assorted other such usual "taking care of business" activities) and a bunch of practically worthless girlies fuckingiv for pay. In this case, and in spite of the quite obvious and palpable contribution of the manv there's no recognition of contribution (let alone any constructive presumptions) forthcoming from pantsuit courts. In fact, the case against the misfortunate pair of business owners is, hold on to your butts, having benefitted from the work of the girlies.

So, to sum up pantsuit legal arrangements : males must work ; females may not work (they will be given freely and just-for-existingvi pantsuit spreading jobs instead). Males must share their income with whatever female can be found ; females can not share their income with malesvii. Gender is of course a construct -- so if you're being a good pantsuit, you may count as a woman (for as long as they don't change their mind, of course -- and no, I very much don't mean they, the women in question) whereas if you're not being a good pantsuit -- well, that's illegal, ain't it now.

Pretty lulzy, especially when one thinks about all the many ways in which you fuckwads actually attempt to live like that, and "make it work" and tell yourselves stories to go to sleep, and carefully not notice your entire world collapsed just like that spire ever since you've moved away from the more traditional women are property and men own all things worldview.

But... whatever, I laugh, then I move on, who cares two wits about you sad lot when not even yourselves do.

———What, you thought "welfare" is the living wage ? That's socialist plebfare, let's not appropriate words inappropriately. [↩]Seriously, go ask the court to look into exactly how much work the claimaint can prove to have put into their supposed "contribution", and what value was it. They'll review anything else in whatever detail, but those "standards" don't uniformly apply, like all the other "standards". Pantsuitism, in a word. [↩]Notice how all small companies end, there's no such thing in socialism as a small company that took over the state, yes ? [↩]I have no doubt very badly -- but hey, like with the education (and most other pantsuit things) the quality of their work is presumed. Why the fuck would anyone imagine most women fuck so well it's worth paying for is anyone's guess. [↩]The man in this case was a couple, but this is the problem with magical "rights" constructed by pantsuit courts : they come with an on/off button, you're only a "wife" as the pantsuit protected class if they say so, not otherwise. And they say so if and when it suits them and then only, duh. [↩]And don't fucking dare tell me "those girls worked to get there" -- when they do the sort of dumb shit they'd be doing anyway it ain't called work and it's not earning pay. [↩]And if they do -- the males in question go to jail. The females involved are "presumed to not have been capable to have agreed", like with drunk fucking and everything else that "happens" (in the sense of being retconned whenever the pantsuit overmind dun like the situation in the field). [↩]

« Temporary ornithology

Contrary to convenient fiction, they really haven't changed much, have they »

Category: Politica si Prostie

Sunday, 28 June, Year 12 d.Tr.

The little squirts of DOOM and other minor preoccupations of this philistine fin de siecle

Since we're doing something light & Summery, I've come up with an adequate tidbit to do the intro for you.

Ready ?

Here it is, coming crisp&clear, live&directly from the very teat of all stupidi :

Isn't she cute, thoughii ? Please, go ahead, explain how it all relates to her, she doesn't see, "maybe sometime in the past" &cetera.

The angles and inclines awaiting to be found upon this thin strip of land do greatly remind me of the hills and hillsides of my native land.

Maybe this particular god's own paradise manages to somehow avoid the sad fate of all the previous ones -- for I don't think Transylvania was ever as pretty as before.

Pretty rambunctious hillsides, also. It is not exactly uncommon for immense boulders to come thrundling through the implausibly suspensive roads here. The maintenance crews are doing the best they can, carefully manicuring endless miles of wilderness, but then it rains and all bets are off.

Mr. Elephantowel has a very urgert proposal!

Here's a thought : how long has it been since you've seen someone sneeze ?

And don't you miss it ?

Above : treats at SIBU coffee house in Uvita. Their tiramisu is quite excellent ; their coffee specialities ditto (try the fig coffee sometime, why not) ; the waitress quite cute not to mention most becomingly eager.

Below : a rare treat : the after shots. We totally destroyed that table, didn't we ?

And next time, your wife & daugther.

Above : Terraza Toscana in Escazu ; entirely the fuck deserted.

Below : "get in there, bitch!"

She's got it, doesn't she...

That's it for now ; mayhap see you again sometime, though odds are I won't be looking in your direction.

Because, after all, why the fuck would I ?!

———I don't mean quora specifically is the very teat of all stupid by itself ; I mean the teat of stupidity in current phenomenology is one of these USGistani alt-"private" cvasi-corporations with "digital" assets. You know, like Stanford or the CDC, socialist state agencies.

This hasn't changed, by the way, back when a more limited set of morons were "building socialism" aka "a city on the hill" fiddy years ago, the socialist state agencies were also the true teat of all stupidity in the world. [↩]It's the end, you realise this. Do you ?

The French expresion captured in the title doesn't merely discuss a "turn of the century", as in the English vulgate. It rather contemplates an end of an epoch, of an era, of a way to mean and some means & ways, you know ?

Just consider : "travel", as the concept has reached you (to pick just one example out of a well supplied quiver) is really the extension out of all proportion of an upper class habit (of sending the scions for a Grand European Tour once in their life). Just like marriage, as the concept has reached you, also an extension out of all proportion of a property arrangement.

Before being something the young Duke of Whatever did (when he didn't actually prefer sending his slavegirls to take it up the ass for him), travel was actually the core of economic activity ; for a good five centuries Veneto, Portugal & co built their fortune (and, consequently, their fame, Leo di San Marco y compris) out of precisely this, biddle upon the ship and sail-ho!

If you think about it, isn't this sort of pleasure travel, as the dying ember of the erstwhile commercial travel, really the logical continuation of a typically anti-dumbcunt activity (namely, rape and pillage) ? Wouldn't it be a lot better if everyone just stayed the fuck home ? What do you think the dumb lazy fat cunt thinks, how do you expect her reptillian brain sees the question ?

Instagram-"travel" should be enough for anyone (that's not sketch-shady -- or worse), wouldn't you say. Aren't you proud to be part (or rather, parcel) of the matriarchy's cheloid mass ? [↩]

« The insecure twits, the needy canadians, the RSR americans and ongoingly in this vein, until sanity falls over. And also -- beyond.

Furia »

Category: Zsilnic

Saturday, 09 May, Year 12 d.Tr.

The life & times, poolside

As you perhaps remember, we don't exactly believe in "quarantines" and assorted femstate bullshiti here at MP's world-famous harem. Nor should we.

Consequently, we've been enjoying life unfettered ; and down with "modern democracy"!

Ain't this country pretty though ?

The ever-encroaching Argentina. "Charla" is this typical word of the dumbas lexicon denoting superficial halfassery readily disavowable. A space "dedicat femeilor si inclusiv fata de persoanele transgender", an enchanted lala-land where "nobody can accuse you" and yakking's actually better than doing and all the rest of that pile of fussy nonsense.ii

It'll make entrepreneurs just as soon as Hannah lays eggsiii.

Dangers abound.

We're trying. Not quite there yet, it's true -- but we're trying.

Or rather... were.

Oh yeah, that's right, went out for Indian.

At a restaurant.

They were very happy to see us, too, because as the owner confessed we're the first custom he's seen in a week, and like the third group this month. This month, you understand me, fucking morti di fame rotti'n culo che non siete altri.

Oh, right, this is over in Escazu, Teraza Toscana. We're here for coffees, liqueurs and desserts ; also to point and laugh at facemasked passerbys (they tend to be mostly fatassed older females "working" in the bureaucracy and other deplorables), and touch our faces.

The staff remembers us, though we've not been there since before the Grand European Tour, so I don't have to as much order as confirm (and absolve, the poor maitre d' was very heartbroken over his menu being rendered swiss cheese by the hysteria).

For some reason there's a so-called Pick-up Station midwise on Avenida Escazu. I can't guess what the locals use it for ; but then again the locals are all in their hidey-holes, so... Feel free to try, I suppose, if you figure you've got cele necesare.

One of the better ways to wake up is to the sound of bitchez splashing in the pool.

Are we gonna join 'em ?

Butt of course we are.

How could we not ?

O, look at that, glass glasses! By the pool! O noes, call teh quarantinepolice, it's illegally dangerous, only plastic "glasses" allowed lest someone gashes themselves. Right ?

Laterz, suckerz!

PS. I also blend with the blender lid off if I wanna. Sue me.

———"Social distancing" ?! What the fuck's that, a ridiculous if hopeless attempt to enact the ways and tropes of being an engineer into social normalcy ? Get over the stupid, it ain't never gonna happen that you sterile drony lamers will be socially acceptable. It's good that you've given up on trying to be cool, a step in the right direction ; but that's not even nearly enough, seriously now. You've still to give up on being acceptable, also. Because you aren't ; nor ever will be.

And don't even get me started on that "don't touch your face!!11" cancerous meme. Yes, I'm aware most sexually worthless teenaged chickies in the pantsuit demo would benefit immensely from breaking their neurotic habits, among which lengthy list fucking with their facial features ceaselessly notably figures. Nevertheless, the problems of young cunthood are not important, let alone far, far from universal. If I hear another self-important moron whining about facetouching in adults I'ma stuff her in an oven originally built for jews. [↩]And yes, they accidentalied the copy-paste, ended up with the same item twice. That's okay though, not like any of the other ones are any different anyways. [↩]Speaking of which, if manticores did lay eggs (which seems a distinct possibility, I mean scorpion tail, right ?) what kind of eggs would they lay ? Jeweled ? Vacuous ? Do tell, I'm curious. [↩]

« Suburra

Probably the best personal blog of the moment »

Category: Lifespiel

Sunday, 26 April, Year 12 d.Tr.

The Lickerish Quartet

The Lickerish Quarteti is one of those cvasi-pornos from the 70s, back when "sex" consisted of strangely stiff, shockingly unnatural rubbing together of plank-straight weirdos. It's basically softcore shot by retards. I... really, I can't explain it in non-clinical terms. What supposedly compos mentis, mentally together, normally developed human adults imagined the fuck they're doing with that shit... it defies any sort explanation really. It's something like if all the films from the 50s featured "cars" sliding back and forth on skis, no wheels (or snow) anywhere in sight ; or if all the films from the 60s featured square umbrellas, notwithstanding they can't be opened or closed like that. We know for an absolute fact people fucked in the 70s just the same exact way we do and everyone ever did (seeing how the species didn't end, there's no suspicious shortage of 1970s born cocksuckers or anything), but apparently they never happened to catch a glimpse in a mirror or anything ? It's really incomprehensible, and therefore inexplicable, and that's all that can be said about it.

Besides the... technical problems of intercourse, let's say, the broad structure's that the old woman's a whore in denial, which is a trope common to the point of utter trititude or however you call triteness. Tritity ? Anyways, and the young woman's eagerly (or at the very least readily) open, which is kinda how the polarity stood back then (it reverses periodically). But, the idea is, these frame into each other, the original couple watches a film of an original couple and becomes a film of an original couple, time-telescoped into itself like that. It's not a bad cinematic metaphor of the very nature of both cinema and metaphor, not to mention the natural result of their interplay (and therefore causative agent of both interplay as well as the things interplaying) : culture.

Thing should be re-shot with better fucktoysii. Until that happens, it's not really worth watching in itselfiii ; though your own harem if available can readily compensate for a lot of warts in the material.

———1970, by Radley Metzger, with Silvana Venturelli (whose career it pretty much ended, unless you count the occasional Playboy junket) and some inept fuck who drowned himself in his Hilton-provided bathtub afterwards, so (rightfully) ashamed was he of his misperofmance here. [↩]The treatment could well benefit from a re-write as well, especially the young colt's dialogue, and the "provocative" portions in general. What the fuck, "I don't have to read them, I own them", "your virginity and her virility" blablabla, seriously wtf. The usual rules apply : nobody forces anyone to discuss things they're utterly innocent of, be it prostitution or bisexuality or polyamory or anything else. [↩]Unless you're writing a paper on the failure of the 60s "revolution" from the perspective of the 1970s bankruptcy of the notion of "mixing" art films and softcore (in a sense of "mixing" limited beyond crumbling meaninglessness, it doesn't even qualify as "trying out the sea with a finger"), or something like that. Seems oddly specific ; but even if you are spending your time with reconstructed prints of Succubus and whatnot : the only possible conclusion of your efforts, slowly becoming ever more ineluctable (and by the time you're done with Camille 2000's shrieking banshees outright unavoidable) is that nothing's really worth saying on the topic. It was irrelevant to itself back then, not to mention irrelevant to the larger thing that it was trying to be relevant to that in itself was socially-irrelevant to a society itself utterly irrelevant -- the 60s did exactly nothing and mattered exactly not at all. If you think otherwise, it's only because you were there, neither of which circumstances is excusable. [↩]

« Babydoll and the Great Choice

Of sheep, and the women that love them. Not the sheep I mean, just some "them" in general. »

Category: Trilematograf

Sunday, 01 November, Year 12 d.Tr.

the-kids-know-words

« The kids know words, or The post-lulz festival of pointless imbecility

Category: Zsilnic

Friday, 10 April, Year 12 d.Tr.

shoot-her-in-the-face

« The kids know words, or The post-lulz festival of pointless imbecility

Category: Zsilnic

Friday, 10 April, Year 12 d.Tr.

The kids know words, or The post-lulz festival of pointless imbecility

Remember how I said that the disadvantage of teaching people NEETs the alphabet and nothing more is that you have to somehow put up with a bunch of retards that can now express themselves in writing ? Yeah, it was a few years ago, it's true. Nevertheless,

Last Friday's douche is gonna... I mean, "an art collective", right ? There's no barrier to entry whatsoever, if a bunch of unwashed junkies "identify as" an "art collective" that's it and that's all, they're now what they say they are. Because what you say you are... that is what you'll be.i and every time the salt writes "Pepper" on the shaker I end up with spicy soup. You don't ? So then!

And "all the tricks in the book". Has he seen this book ? Does he know anyone who has seen such a book ? If he ran into the guy that wrote the motherfucking book, would he even know when to shut the fuck up ?ii Nevertheless, all the foregoing notwithstanding, somehow, magically -- he's gonna... What's he gonna do ? Umm... well... he could say some words. Would you like that ?

You'd better like it, because guess what ? Yeah, I expect you guessed it : whether you like it or not, whether it works out or not, whether anything whatsoever at all, dumb idiocy will persevere.

For as long as you keep feeding them, that is. For as long as you keep feeding the morons, they'll be shambling about, saying the words -- all of the words -- and not doing any of the deeds.

Alternatively, the obvious approach would be adopting some guerilla tactics. You know, like shooting them in the face.

Shoot them in the face.

———All the tenses are the same tense, what will, was, could, might, can, whatevers... [↩]Hint : no, lol. [↩]

« Qntra (S.QNTR) Closing Statement

Erik and other stories »

Category: Meta psihoza

Friday, 10 April, Year 12 d.Tr.

The journall of the good Mr. Archibald Pizdys, as laid in his own hand for the year, of our King Charles, 19th, week 13.

19th. Up, and by water to White Hall, there to the Lords of the Treasury, and did some business, and here Sir Thomas Clitford did speak to me, as desirous that I would some time come and confer with him about the Navy, which I am glad of, but will take the direction of the Duke of York before I do it, though I would be glad to do something to secure myself, if I could, in my employment. Thence to the plaisterer's, and took my face, and my Lord Duke of Albemarle's, home with me by coach, they being done to my mind; and mighty glad I am of understanding this way of having the likeness of any friends at hand always. At home to dinner, where Mr. Sheres dined with us, my wife and her maid serving us and courting all the while and groveling by as becomes, she sitting on his lap and the maid on mine, though I perceive she had on my wife's stockings I had bought, and not her owne ; but we didn't do so much while eating, and after dinner I left him with my wife, and with Commissioner Middleton and Kempthorne to a Court-martiall, to which, by virtue of my late Captainship, I am called, the first I was ever at ; where many Commanders, and Kempthorne president. Here was tried a difference between Sir L. Van Hemskirke, the Dutch Captain who commands "The Nonsuch," built by his direction, and his Lieutenant; a drunken kind of silly business.

We ordered the Lieutenant to ask him pardon, and have resolved to lay before the Duke of York what concerns the Captain, which was the striking of his Lieutenant and challenging him to fight, which comes not within any article of the laws martiall, nor of good sense in this country, and very much I doubt in his, though have I never been. I had a good mind to ask they present the wench no doubt cause it all ; but upon discourse the other day with Sir W. Coventry, I did advise Middleton, and he and I did forbear to give judgment, but after the debate did withdraw into another cabin, the Court being held in one of the yachts, which was on purpose brought up over against St. Katharine's, it being to be feared that this precedent of our being made Captains, in order to the trying of the loss of "The Defyance", justified wherein we are in fact the proper persons to enquire into the matter of such as want of instructions while ships do lie in harbour, nevertheless evil use might be hereafter made of the precedent once established, by putting the Duke of Buckingham, or any of these rude fellows that now are uppermost, to make packed Courts, by Captains in name only or not even as much as that, made on purpose out of paper to serve their turns.

The other cause was of the loss of "The Providence" at Tangier, where the Captain's being by chance on shore may prove very inconvenient to him, for example's sake, though the man be a good man, and one whom, for Norwood's sake, I would be kind to ; but I will not offer any thing to the excusing such a miscarriage, and let them all die with their ships. He is at present confined, till he can bring better proofs on his behalf of the reasons and necessity of his being on shore, which no man I think sees how could be done, but let him try nevertheless. So Middleton and I away to the Office; and there I late busy, making my people, as I have done lately, to read Mr. Holland's' Discourse of the Navy, and what other things I can get to inform me fully in all ; and here late, about eight at night, comes Mr. Wren to me, who had been at the Tower to Coventry. He come only to see how matters go, and tells me, as a secret, that last night the Duke of York's closet was broken open, and his cabinets, and shut again, one of them that the rogue that did it hath left plate and a watch behind him, and therefore they think that it was only for papers, which looks like a very malicious business in design, to hurt the Duke of York somehow ; but they cannot know till the Duke of York comes to town about the papers, and therefore make no words of it. He gone, I to work again, and then to supper at home, and, my wife reading me, to bed.

20th. Up, and to the Tower, to W. Coventry, and there walked with him alone, on the Stone Walk, till company come to him ; and there about the business of the Navy discoursed with him, and about my Lord Chancellor and Treasurer; that they were against war with the Dutch at first, declaring, as wise men and statesmen, at first to the King, that they thought it fit to have a war with them at some time or other, but that it ought not to be till we found the Crowns of Spain and France together by the Bares, the want of which did ruin our war. But then he told me that, a great deal before the war, my Lord Chancellor did speak of a war with some heat, as a thing to be desired, and did it upon a belief that he could with his speeches make the Parliament give what money he pleased, and do what he would, or would make the King desire ; but he found himself soon deceived of the Parliament, they having a long time before his removal been cloyed with his speeches and sweet words, and were come to hate him.

Here Sir W. Coventry did tell me it, as the wisest thing that ever was said to the King by any statesman of his time, and it was by my Lord Treasurer that is dead, whom, I find, he takes for a very great statesman -- that when the King did shew himself forward for passing the Act of Indemnity, he did advise the King that he would hold his hand in doing it, till he had got his power restored, that had been diminished by the late times, and his revenue settled in such a manner as he might depend on himself, without resting upon Parliaments, -- and then only pass it, then only after none had more to benefit from it, having all performed their all in its consideration. But my Lord Chancellor, who thought he could have the command of Parliaments for ever, because for the King's sake they were awhile willing to grant all the King desired, did press for its being done forthwith ; and so it was, foolishly given away that which should have been long dangled as carrot before the ass, and the King from that time able to do nothing with the Parliament almost, and the whole Realm worse for the wear for it. Yet more in there, evinced he to me, that indeed it is not the place of Princes to ever credit any ; but any must credit them, and other proceeding is folly, and can only lead to rack and ruin ; at which I did abash at the depth and breath of these truly great men's learning, and their thoughts as clear as mountain springwater when strained by him before my eyes, and else as hid as the spring in the ground ; and presently I did express and give thanks that it is not upon me and suchlike as me to foolishly blunder in these matters with great detriment for King and country, but they are in his hand and suchlike as he ; at which speech I confess I was with tears and he looked merely meekly at me from where he sat, and then looked around, for the Lord Treasurer is in Westminster, and he here in the Tower, and Buckingham loose abroad. Thence to the office, where sat all the forenoon, with melancholy thoughts, and then home to dinner, and so to the office, where late busy, and so home, mightily saddened but a little pleased by the news brought me to-night, that the King and Duke of York are come back this afternoon, and no sooner come, but a warrant was sent to the Tower for the releasing Sir W. Coventry ; which do put me in some hopes that there may be, in this absence, some accommodation made between the Duke of York and the Duke of Buckingham and Arlington. So home, to supper, and to bed.

21st (Lord's day). Up, and by water over to Southwarke; and then, not getting a boat, I forced to walk to Stangate; and so over to White Hall, in a scull; where up to the Duke of York's dressing-room, and there met Harry Saville, and understand that Sir W. Coventry is come to his house last night. I understand by Mr. Wren that his friends having, by Secretary Trevor and my Lord Keeper, applied to the King upon his first coming home, and a promise made that he should be discharged this day, my Lord Arlington did anticipate them, by sending a warrant presently for his discharge which looks a little like kindness, or at the least like a desire of it; which God send! though I fear the contrary ; however, my heart is glad that he is out.

Thence up and down the House. Met with Mr. May, who tells me the story of his being put by Sir John Denham's place, of Surveyor of the King's Works, who it seems, is lately dead, by the unkindness of the Duke Buckingham, who hath brought in Dr. Wren: though, he tells me, he hath been his servant for twenty years together in all his wants and dangers, saving him from want of bread by his care and management, and with a promise of having his help in his advancement, and an engagement under his hand for L1000 not yet paid, and yet the Duke of Buckingham so ungrateful as to put him by: which is an ill thing, though Dr. Wren is a well worthy man, and his oldest a phylosopher in her own right almost, it is said, though I only remember her as a little lass of twelve or thirteen, barely easing in herself the little first brass balls. But he tells me that the King is kind to him, and hath promised him a pension of L300 a-year out of the Works ; which will be of more content to him than the place, which, under their present wants of money, is a place that disobliges most people, being not able to do what they desire to their lodgings, though he not think to see that a pension upon such a place is no better fate indeed. Here meeting with Sir H. Cholmly and Povy, that tell me that my Lord Middleton is resolved in the Cabal that he shall not go to Tangier ; and that Sir Edward Harlow, whom I know not, is propounded to go, who was Governor of Dunkirke, and, they say, a most worthy brave man, which I shall be very glad of, though the price of Arab girls at Newmarket ever increase and never seem to ever will be brought back down again, but we must hope for the best and let a man do his work first.

So by water (H. Russell coming for me) home to dinner, where W. Howe comes to dine with me ; and after dinner propounds to me my lending him L500, to help him to purchase a place -- the Master of the Patent Office, of Sir Richard Piggott, and in gage to leave his sister or any of his cousins, as whore in our house, to the receiving of the strangers and minding of their bedding. I did give him a civil answer, but shall think twice of it; and the more, not just because we receive so little and do not seek like my lord Buckingham the favour of such as young gentlemen make a habit of visiting, but most because of the changes we are like to have in the Navy, which will not make it fit for me to divide the little I have left more than I have already done, God knowing what my condition is, I having not attended, and now not being able to examine what my state is, of my accounts, and being in the world, which troubles me mightily ; though it might be observed that perhaps one goes with the other. He gone, I to the office to enter my journall for a week. News is lately come of the Algerines taking L3000 in money, out of one of our Company's East India ships, outward bound, which will certainly make the war last ; which I am sorry for, being so poor as we are, and broken in pieces as to almost have nothing left to mend. At night my wife to read to me, which she does in her old manner seated, and then to supper, where Pelling comes to see and sup with us, and I find that he is assisting my wife in getting a licence to our young people to be married this Lent, which is resolved shall be done upon Friday next, my great day, or feast, for my being cut of the stone. So after supper to bed, my eyes being very bad.

22nd. Up, and by water, with W. Newer, to White Hall, there to attend the Lords of the Treasury; but, before they sat, I did make a step to see Sir W. Coventry at his house, where, I bless God! he is come again; but in my way I met him, and so he took me into his coach and carried me to White Hall, and there set me down where he ought not -- at least, he hath not yet leave to come, nor hath thought fit to ask it, hearing that Henry Saville is not only denied to kiss the King's hand, but the King, being asked it by the Duke of York, did deny it, and directed that the Duke shall not receive him, to wait upon him in his chamber, till further orders.

Sir W. Coventry told me that he was going to visit Sir John Trevor, who hath been kind to him; and he shewed me a long list of all his friends that he must this week make visits to, that come to visit him in the Tower, or sent him meat pastries and sultry wenches ; and seems mighty well satisfied with his being out of business, but I hope he will not long be so ; at least, I do believe that all must go to rat if the King do not come to see the want of such a servant. Thence to the Treasury-Chamber, and there all the morning to my great grief, put to do Sir G. Downing's work of dividing the Customes for this year, between the Navy, the Ordnance and Tangier, which it did so trouble my eyes, that I had rather have given L20 than have had it to do ; but I did thereby oblige Sir Thomas Clifford and Sir J. Duncombe, and so am glad of the opportunity to recommend myself to the former for the latter I need not, he loving me well already, and his daughters well as well.

At it till noon, here being several of my brethren with me but doing nothing, but I all. But this day I did also represent to our Treasurers, which was read here, a state of the charges of the Navy, and what the expence of it this year would likely be ; which is done so as it will appear well done and to my honour, and so the Lords did take it ; and I oblige the Treasurers by doing it, as done at their request. Thence with W. Hewer at noon to Unthanke's, where my wife stays for me, she having a new girl with her, and pretty enough ; and so to the Cocke, where there was no room, it all being full, and thence to King Street, to several cook's shops, where nothing to be had ; and at last to the corner shop going down Ivy Lane, by my Lord of Salisbury's, and there got a good dinner, my wife, and W. Newer, and I, she having her girl kneeling besides us at the table all the while and suckling on her feet like a contented babe ; and after dinner she, with her coach and quarry, home, that I perceive she is mightily fond of, as she sometimes goes to great fondness of the maids, but I shall have her for myself soon as well ; yet he and I to look over my papers for the East India Company, against the afternoon ; which done, I with them to White Hall, and there to the Treasury-Chamber, where the East India Company and three Councillors pleaded against me alone, for three or four hours, till seven at night, before the Lords ; and the Lords did give me the conquest on behalf of the King, yet could not or would not come to any conclusion definite, the Company being stiff and unbending ; and so I think we shall have to go to law with them.

This done, and my eyes mighty bad with this day's work, I to Mr. Wren's, and then up to the Duke of York, and there with Mr. Wren did propound to him my going to Chatham to-morrow with Commissioner Middleton, and so this week to make the pay there, and examine the business of "The Defyance" being lost, and other businesses, which I did the rather, that I might be out of the way at the wedding at home, and be at a little liberty myself for a day, or two, for I have sampled enough of Jane as is ; yet wouldn't want to give offense or at all a bad omen by refusal or withdrawal, so it is best as it works out as being for my work thus, and it'll give my eyes also little ease ; though I do suspect my servant Tom will not give me peace of her until she is at first with child at the least. The Duke of York mightily satisfied with it ; and so away home, where my wife troubled at my being so late abroad, poor woman! though never more busy she was, and panting her breath, the new one between her legs as I encountered them, all knot up together, but I satisfied her in satisfying myself of her girle, who is a whole whore and well skilled though very young in years, but not of these parts ; and so begun to put things in order for my journey to-morrow, and so, after supper, to bed.

23rd. Up, and to my office to do a little business there, and so, my things being all ready, I took coach with Commissioner Middleton, Captain Tinker, and Mr. Huchinson, a hackney coach, and over the bridge, and so out towards Chatham, and dined at Dartford, where we staid an hour or two, it being untimely warm a day and they having at the cook shops some pretty wenches out in naught but pastry, and all kind and manner of morsel and fig-fruit and flesh and fowl affixed to their bodies thereof, for all to dine, as is tradition for Spring time first, and one had a whole great eel inside her which she could retract or push back out at will, though I do not think it were truly live ; but Capt. Tinker made jest of using his cutlery upon one such as to cut more than had been affixed on her, which affrayed the poor girl something fierce though it were only jest ; and so on, and got to Chatham just at night, with very good discourse by the way, but mostly of matters of religion, wherein Huchinson his vein lies. After supper, we fell to talk of spirits and apparitions, whereupon many pretty, particular stories were told, so as to make me almost afeard to lie alone, but for shame I could not help it ; and so to bed and, being sleepy, fell soon to rest, and so rested well.

24th. Up, and walked abroad in the garden, and find Mrs. Tooker's daughters are here as I expected, and so walked together through the yard, having left Middleton at the pay, and I only walked up and down the yard with the young lasses leashed like dogs, their mother having said they lack the practice and it should greatly benefit them in their finishing and education in this world, only they'd have not done without their undergarments, for shame and shy of their large bosoms dangling under them like cows' udders and in plain sight in their yard ; but I, making use of no cane, just merely in words stood upon them, that such it is for, and as it should be, and then they were most content to, and would have gone on for longer but I had not the time ; only at the end I mounted upon the youngest and then the middle one a little, who have indeed grown fine young things.

Then to the Hill-House, and there did give order for the coach to be made ready ; and got Mr. Gibson, whom I carried with me, to go with me and Mr. Coney, the surgeon, towards Maydston which I had a mighty mind to see, and took occasion, in my way, at St. Margett's, to pretend to call to see Captain Allen to see whether Mrs. Jowles, his daughter, was there; and there his wife come to the door, he being at London, and through a window, I spied Jowles, who perceiving me readily begun exposing herself, but I made no notice of her but made excuse till night, and then promised to come and see Mrs. Allen again, and so away, it being a mighty cold and windy, but pretty and clear day ; and had the pleasure of seeing the Medway running, winding up and down mightily, and a very fine country ; but only to my displeasure that it was run with bought slavegirls at this time and not with daughters, which I do prefer ; though I suppose it is humiliating to them all the more to be made to share the bought slaves' pens and to their great benefit in learning as they almost always find themselves, the daughters, under the savage girls and in all manner prevailed upon by those, yet I still would rather see them be run than the others.

I went a little out of the way to have visited Sir John Bankes, but he at London ; but here I had a sight of his seat and house, the outside, which is an old abbey just like Hinchingbroke, and as good at least, and mighty finely placed by the river ; and he keeps the grounds about it, and walls and the house, very handsome such that I was mightily pleased with the sight of it. The pillory was empty and seeming a while now deserted, such I suppose he must've been long time in London ; but thence to Maydstone, which I had a mighty mind to see, having never been there; and walked all up and down the town, and up to the top of the steeple, and had a noble view, and then down again ; there were not many maidens affixed by its bolts, being the weather yet on some days cold, but only a few urchin-looking, haggard ones thin and gaunt as bone without marrow, whom I perceive will more likely die there than be picked up again ; and in the town did see an old man beating of two small girles tied together and hung by the wrists, and did step into the barn and give him money, and saw that piece of husbandry which I never saw, it not being habituall in our parts, and yet it is very pretty. In the street also I did buy and send to our inne, the Bell, a dish of fresh fish.

And so, having walked all round the town, and found it very pretty, as most towns I ever saw, though not very big, and people of good fashion in it, we to our inne to dinner, and had a good dinner; and after dinner a barber come to me, and there trimmed me, that I might be clean against night, to go to Mrs. Allen. And so, staying till about four o'clock, we set out, I alone in the coach going and coming; and in our way back, I 'light out of the way to see a Saxon monument, as they say, of a King, which is three stones standing upright, and a great round one lying on them, of great bigness, although not so big as those on Salisbury Plain ; but certainly it is a thing of great antiquity, and I mightily glad to see it ; it is near to Aylesford, where Sir John Bankes lives. So homeward, and stopped again at Captain Allen's, and there 'light, and sent the coach and Gibson home, and I and Coney staid; and there comes to us Mrs. Jowles, who looks a very fine, proper lady, as most I know, and well dressed, after the French fashion, in the front open corsett. Here was also a gentleman, one Major Manly, and his wife, neighbours, who had brought their own daughter to play with Mrs. Jowles ; and here we staid, and drank, and talked, and set Coney and him to cards while Mrs. Jowles and I to talk, and there had all our old stories up, and there I had the liberty to check her often and in whichever manner I inclined, and had her pull off her modesty herself, where both her hand and otherwise mighty moist, and she mighty free in her opening to me, and je do not at all doubt that I might have had a most wonderfull amusement in her had I had time to have carried her to Cobham, as she, upon my proposing it, was very willing to go, for elle is a whore, that is certain, but a very brave and comely one, as is for the best. Here was also a pretty cozen of hers come in to supper along, come of a great fortune, she mighty pretty but had now such a cold, she could not speak, but pert and eager nevertheless, though I perceive over-ready to put herself over the other one. Here mightily pleased with Mrs. Jowles, and did get her through the door out into the street, and there to expose her breasts, and abased herself without any force, eager to any and all else, though it was not time nor place, though she did demonstrate her petit mort there in the publick street, her breast growing most red from cold. Here staid till almost twelve at night, and then with a lanthorn from thence walked over the fields, as dark as pitch, and mighty cold, and snow, to Chatham, and Mr. Coney with great kindness to me: and there all in bed before I come home, and so I presently to bed, therein finding it warm and pleasant scented, Mrs. Tooker having sent her eldest to prepare it to my liking which doth shew the skill and wisdom of that great woman, and so to sleep among that girls' warm bosom, almost larger than most any I ever saw in my life.

25th. Up, and by and by, about eight o'clock, come Rear-Admiral Kempthorne and seven Captains more, by the Duke of York's order, as we expected, to hold the Court-martiall about the loss of "The Defyance" ; and so presently we by boat to "The Charles", which lies over against Upnor Castle, and there we fell to the business ; and there I did manage the business, the Duke of York having, by special order, directed them to take the assistance of Commissioner Middleton and me, forasmuch as there might be need of advice in what relates to the government of the ships in harbour.

And so I did lay the law open to them, and rattle the Master Attendants out of their wits almost ; and made the triall last till seven at night, not eating a bit all the day for it, only when we had done examination, and I given my thoughts, namely that the neglect of the Gunner of the ship was as great as I thought any neglect could ever be, which then might by the law deserve of death, wherein Commissioner Middleton broke off and did declare for himself that he was against giving of sentence such. Thereupon we withdrew, as not being of the Court, and so left them to do what they pleased ; and, while they were debating it, the Boatswain of the ship did bring around to us two of their ship wenches, with old but very solid-looking leather straps about the wrists and ankles, with large brass rings inset, like I learn it is customary for such as them, but the straps very worn and smooth ; and they carried the one a piece of hot salt beef then out of the kettle, and the other some brown bread and brandy ; they being almost completely black as ever did in my life see in a negress, except in their mouth and otherwise as pink as any woman, which we made great sport of and the girls, who both spoke French the more and one Spanish, took a long while to understand the point of our jests but then fell in a-laughing like it was novell matter neither had ever heard of before or thought of in their life. So thereupon we did make a little meal, but so good as I never would desire to eat better meat while I live, only I would have cleaner dishes, and girles. But with much merryment, and by and by they had done, and called us down from the quarterdeck; and there we find they do sentence that the Gunner of "The Defyance" should stand upon "The Charles" three hours with his fault writ upon his breast, and with a halter about his neck, and so be made incapable of any office.

The truth is, the man do seem, and is, I believe, a good man; but his neglect, in trusting a girl to carry fire into his cabin, is not to be pardoned. This being done, we took boat and home; and there a good supper was ready for us, which had been meant our dinner. The Captains, desirous to be at London, went away presently for Gravesend, to get thither by this night's tide; and so we to supper, it having been a great windy and mighty cold, foul day ; and so after supper to bed, whereat my wife did eye me with raised brow and thereupon falling to sniffing my breeches inquired whether I had been with negress, and upon my recounting her the story of the ship girls she begged to be permitted, and I did bid her feast, which she did with great contentment, and so in her arms to sleep.

« Pesk-u, in all timelines, and dimensions!

The journall of the good Mr. Archibald Pizdys, as laid in his own hand for the year, of our King Charles, 19th, week 12. »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Friday, 03 July, Year 12 d.Tr.

The journall of the good Mr. Archibald Pizdys, as laid in his own hand for the year, of our King Charles, 19th, week 12.

12th. Up, and abroad, with my own coach, to Auditor Beale's house, and thence with W. Hewer to his Office, and there with great content spent all the morning looking over the Navy accounts of several years, and the several patents of the Treasurers, which all he has and was more than I did hope to have found there with him.

About noon I ended there, to my great content, and giving the clerks 20s. for their trouble, I to leave, but their master Beale having been told, at first set to refuse any money, which I protested that it is naught and merely to ease some trifle the life and goings of hard working clerks as had done very well by me, which melted him some but he then protested I must stay at their table which I could not refuse, which I was inclined to not for the wants of company but for the many burdens presently on my mind in these matters. Yet not being able to refuse I then stayed, determined to make the best of it, with Beale and his clerks all at the office, over some little collation ; and by and by discovered Mr. Beale a most good and sensible man, and doing a lot and well in the king's work, which I am glad for, all the more as the rarer it is seen these late days.

Here a singular thing, that had occasion to inquire about, all being at much ease, namely a young girl, who I then found is Berber and bought at the market, like any other no different, three years thence, but sitting at table with the clerks and in suchlike manner, not like a girle but clerk truly, and dressed like them and all, which is indeed a rare sight ; at which her Master Beale, who doth owns her outright like it is the manner, as any horse or slave are, told that she is the cleverest of his clerks there and all the others nodding and in agreement, and that she hath made improvements both large and numerous to their method in the office and all, and he should truly not trade her for half the Patent Office. Only she blushed at such talk, like a young girle which at the bottom is, though truly not as young as some I have seen sold and are, but very still, which is unheard for one to know so much so early. Mr. Beale's manner being so free in this gave me pause, for I forthwith wanted to ask of him the girl, to loan a while, which truly had I asked he could not have now refused in the circumstance as we were, but I did not so ask for not to put him to regret his candor to me and welcoming manner, but I labour with the thought and can not set it aside, so in some manner ask I must, yet I have to find one honorable and in good feeling.

And, thinking of naught else than how can girl become clerk, sent for W. Howe to me to discourse with him about the Patent Office records, wherein I remembered his brother to be concerned, I took him in my coach with W. Hewer and myself towards Westminster ; and there he carried me to Nott's, the famous bookbinder, that bound for my Lord Chancellor's library ; and here I did take occasion for curiosity to bespeak a book to be bound, only that I might have one of his binding. Thence back to Graye's Inne: and, at the next door, at a cook's-shop of Howe's acquaintance, we bespoke dinner, it being now two o'clock; and in the meantime he carried us into Graye's Inne, to his chamber, where I never was before ; and it is very pretty, and little, and neat, as he was always. And so, after a little stay, and looking over a book or two there, we carried a piece of my Lord Coke with us, and to our dinner, where, after dinner, he read at my desire a chapter in my Lord Coke about perjury, wherein I did learn a good deal touching oaths, and so away to the Patent Office ; in Chancery Lane, where his brother Jacke, being newly broke by running in debt, and growing an idle rogue, he is forced to hide himself ; and W. Howe do look after the Office, and here I did set a clerk to look out some things for me in their books, while W. Hewer and I to the Crowne Offices where we met with several good things that I most wanted, and did take short notes of the places in the dockets, to send later clerk to copy all.

And so back to the Patent Office, and did the like there, and by candle-light ended. And so home, where, thinking to meet my wife with content, after my pains all this day, I find her in her closet, alone, in the dark, in a hot fit of railing, upon some news she has this day heard of Deb.'s living very fine, and with black spots, and speaking ill words of her mistress, which I owned with good reason might vex her ; so I listened to her rail like a madwoman for a while, which by and by softened her and brought her back to ground, whereupon I told her Mr. Beale's clerke, the girle, and she would not believe, saying in her hotness of anger rather that it is my seeing what I like to see, as it is and I oft admitted myself with girle's behinds often, where I think them at first sight moreso than they are ; which yet I own may also be, but I think not.

So thereupon she fell to scheming in aiding me how to make use and get hold of that girle to try out, which I could see truly did set her mind at ease, but we came not to anything. For if I were to ask him to lend her out to do my copy-work at the Crowne Office it'd be as if I had asked then and there only colder and to my shame would look hidden in suchway as children hide behind fingers, which I would never have ; and if I were to ask him to dine with us as if in furtherance of my debt to him having stopped me over to dine it'd be in the first place so pretentious as to almost slight his kind and open hearted offering for somehow being insufficient or even had insulted me somehow, neitherwhich I would, and more, if the girle is not spoken of he not likely would think to bring her, and if she be mentioned it'd be such as to make a cold mockery of the whole and us ridiculous above pompous. But then she said we could next there's a guest of substance and import invite him, Beale, as well, and thereby propose he bring her to shew himself off to greater advantage, which I own is the cure to one, but the source of ten troubles, for who knows what they there may say or do thereupon ; nor is it easy to have her shown as a clerke outside the office, for the girle is comely enough and men will see what they will.

Yet one good thing came of our confering, my wife's thought, that it may be so that he aims to sell her but in discreet, for settlement of debts secret or for maybe secret jealousy in his home but if it were, then indeed he would think to bring her if asked for dinner, and so we could in that case make offer then and there. Excepting of course it would be a heavy sum I think, and more than one is wise to keep ordinarily about the house or willingly dispense with, and more it is, that if indeed this be the case then before I would make such offer on the spot I'd have to know if indeed he is pressed, and how and by what, thereby I'd have to inquire, which may well make more noise than all is worth. But I do resolve to keep an ear out and see if I hear aught, which is more than if it were naught at all.

By then she had come to very good and kind terms, poor heart! and I was heartily glad of it, for I do see there is no man can be happier than myself, if I will, with her. And she begged if it pleased me to permit her to again swear her vows before me, which I gladly did, and she begged to worship me, and so with all possible kindness to bed.

13th. Up, and to the Tower, to see Sir W. Coventry, and with him talking of business of the Navy, all alone, an hour, he taking physic. And so away to the Office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, with my people, and so to the Office again, and there all the afternoon till night, when comes, by mistake, my cozen Turner, and her two daughters, which love such freaks, to eat some anchovies and ham of bacon with me, instead of noon, at dinner, when I expected them. But, however, I had done my business before they come, and so was in good humour enough to be with them, and so home to them to supper, and pretty merry, being pleased to see Betty Turner, which hath something mighty pretty. But that which put me in good humour, both at noon and more night, is the fancy that I am this day made a Captain of one of the King's ships, Mr. Wren having this day sent me the Duke of York's commission to be Captain of "The Jerzy", this done in order to my being of a Court-martiall for examining the loss of "The Defyance," and other things ; which do give me occasion of much mirth, and we made merry and fancied at having all the girls ship wenches and my wife and my coz officers until we had turned the house upside down with such sillyness ; but besides it may be of some use to me, at least I shall get a little money by it for the time I have it ; all being designed that I must really be a Captain to be able to sit in this Court.

They staid till about eight at night, and then away, and my wife to read to me. I set her upon the papers of the Dutch India company, and therein was the report from Peter Schaghen as to how that island in New York, which was indeed, some sixty years ago, bought for sixty guilders worth of trade, which is as pretty a thought as can be had, and we made much sport of it ; but then she said idly that men must have done so before, and must still be doing so and will do so, and thereupon it came to me the thought, that what Beale had by chance was none different, every day our ships bring forth slavegirls for the markets who are traded on the appearance only, but appearances deceive and it is as if selling poor land for farming to one who buys it to collier. She owned it being so, as it must be, and then we had silence, and then she asked with me if I would have her procuress, chiding in jest that it'd be much more than her 30 a year she presently has.

Yet the truth is, none can ever go broke buying silver but paying clay ; nor as that one said to the King, will one who doesn't bend knee for a penny ever be worth a pound. And in my office and at my work, the trouble I perceive to have, viz, my sight ever worse, is readily helped by my wife's and others' reading, which is so, but moreso is the trouble I have that I had not afore perceived, which is, that my lord the Duke had asked me to name a man when I had no man to name, for clerks can be had that do work, but the more they do the moreso ambitious, and it is almost worse to have a very smart boy about than merely a smart one, for the smart one wants twice what his work merits and is still barely content, even if his work be twice what is ordinarily seen, but paid contentedly for by a piece of fourpence ; whereas the very smart will want to be a baronet for it, which the other did by half and he did whole, but this can not be on the Earth, where a quarter wine is a half-shilling but a half is ten pounds sterling and a full measure the country seat of Devon ; though this the boys would, if they could, and even if could not, which is indeed the countenance the lords do put upon the Temple troubles late. So I had long hence resolved to not have much court or household about me in this manner and for these reasons, but one or other of the family or a servant or two, which course I do fully credit with my private felicity and also being of more substance in this world than debt, and bless for it. For all they others of the opposite view, whether they knew themselves their views or not, from my Lord Buckingham down are all broken and beggars and of no substance whatsoever, though they may clamour loudly as they might, yet they are one and all like sailors overboard, each moment just that moment's struggle of all the limbs to keep the mouth above water ; and so it is with the King, may God help me, in that the young gentlemen about him did save his life at first only to ruin him and his kingdom afterwards.

But coming otherwise at it, if I would have my wife procuress she would be out of the house on her business, all the time, and I would not see her as oft ; but then it could be said I'd see another girl she'd leave behind, to do her stead ; but the truth is I would not have another do her stead by me, but her ; but then how is it to her, to make her do a lowly job when she could do so higher ? It is as if she were a slave in her turn ; but this, she is, and so she says, though she be my wife, she kneels and owns herself below the traded girls, which is in truth the only right and proper way, as Christ himself below went, though he, like her, went there by himself. Yet I would miss her, is the truth, but for my missing will I then keep all ships in port and all lads with their Mother's breast until the Moor or Turk do come and this time past Medway into Whitehall fair, and put us all to swing ? And add besides, that in all the things there can be as likely one measure as another, if she were procuress she would not live at the market, but live in my house still ; arrangement can be made to serve all purpose... But then again, the woman is hot, and she cuts to the quick too quickly, which is her trouble, and not in the way of merchantry at all ; but then perhaps in working it she'd polish it as all things worked are polished thereby, and I would have a better wife throughout for her being half procuress and for what she in that learns of the world, and of herself foremost, than if I kept her wife wholly, emprisoned in the house ; yet this is liable to cost, pray God almighty it only cost that which I have and naught beside.

Thus to bed, in mighty good humour, but for my eyes, and head full of swirl in thoughts.

14th (Lord's day). Up, and to my office with Tom, whom I made to read to me the books of Propositions in the time of the Grand Commission, which I did read a good part of before church, and then with my wife to church, where I did see my milliner's wife come again, which pleased me ; but I wanted naught to do as other time I might have wanted, for my head full of thought on these matters and if I do finance my wife in her thoughts, what room for milliner wives ? So here we heard a most excellent good sermon of Mr. Gifford's, upon the righteousness of Scribes and Pharisees. So home to dinner and to work again, and so till dinner, where W. Howe come and dined with me, and staid and read in my Lord Cooke upon his chapter of perjury again, which pleased me, and so parted, and I to my office, and there made an end of the books of Propositions, which did please me mightily to hear read, they being excellently writ and much to the purpose, and yet so as I think I shall make good use of his defence of our present constitution.

About four o'clock took coach to visit my cozen Turner, and I out with her to make a visit, but the lady she went to see was abroad, the girls about the house eager to please, but I having no mind to it we back and to talk with her and her daughters, whom I did each in turn spank on the bare buttocks for their release upon their confessions of silly little girlish misdeeds, that did set them visibly at ease and all merry. Then home, and she and I to walk in the garden, the first time this year, the weather being mighty temperate ; and then I to write down my Journall for the last week, my eyes being very bad, and therefore I forced to find a way to use by turns with my tube, one after another, and so home to supper and to bed. Before I went from my office this night I did tell Tom my resolution not to keep him after Jane was gone, but shall do well by him, which pleases him ; and I think he will presently marry her, and go away out of my house with her.

15th. Up, and by water with W. Hewer to the Temple; and thence to the Rolls, where I made inquiry for several rolls, and was soon informed in the manner of it ; and so spent the whole morning with W. Hewer, he taking little notes in short-hand, while I hired a clerk there to read to me about twelve or more several rolls which I did call for ; and it was great pleasure to me to see the method wherein their rolls are kept; that when the Master of the Office, one Mr. Case, do call for them, who is a man that I have heretofore known by coming to my Lord of Sandwich's, he did most readily turn to them. At noon they shut up ; and W. Hewer and I did walk to the Cocke, at the end of Suffolke Streete, where I never was, a great ordinary, mightily cried up, and there bespoke a pullett ; which while dressing, he and I walked into St. James's Park, and thence back, and dined very handsome, with a good soup, and a pullet, for 4s. 6d. the whole. Thence back to the Rolls, and did a little more business, and so by water to White Hall, whither. I went to speak with Mr. Williamson, that if he hath any papers relating to the Navy I might see them, which he promises me ; and so by water home, with great content for what I have this day found, having got almost as much as I desire of the history of the Navy, from 1618 to 1642, when the King and Parliament fell out. So home, and did get my wife to read, and we talked some more, but indecisive both from me and from her, though I do perceive she'd rather do than not do, but will not out herself too far so as not to thereby displease or give rise to divergence ; so to supper and to bed.

16th. Up, and to the office, after having visited Sir W. Coventry at the Tower, and walked with him upon the Stone Walk, alone, till other company come to him, and had very good discourse with him. At noon home, where my wife and Jane gone abroad, and Tom, in order to their buying of things for their wedding, which, upon my discourse the last night, is now resolved to be done, upon the 26th of this month, the day of my solemnity for my cutting of the stone, when my cozen Turner must be with us. My wife, therefore, not at dinner, as mayhap a taste of things to come ; and there comes to me Mr. Evelyn of Deptford, a worthy good man, and dined with me, but a bad dinner ; who is grieved for, and speaks openly to me his thoughts of, the times, and our ruin approaching ; and all by the folly of the King, he says. His business to me was about some ground of his, at Deptford, next to the King's yard ; and after dinner we parted. My sister Michell coming also this day to see us, whom I left there, and I away down by water with W. Hewer to Woolwich, where I have not been I think more than a year or two, and here I saw, but did not go on board, my ship "The Jerzy", she lying at the wharf under repair.

But my business was to speak with Ackworth, about some old things and passages in the Navy, for my information therein, in order to my great business now of stating the history of the Navy. This I did ; and upon the whole do find that the late times, in all their management, were not more husbandly than we in any great or notable degree, and I very well suspect that if I changed but the years and retold the events none could say if it was come to pass in the time of this King or of his father, be it not just things small and of detail but many large enough as to undo a man but the greatest thereof ; and other such observations of good content to me, that now I think perhaps it is more the times to foresee future evils and claim it all going to rat than it is the times of real evils and true ruin. Though it was never before the Dutch warships sailed Thames, yet it was never before for want of weakness in our forts or for want of Dutch that'd show them weak ? But even if this were so, the smoke into the chimney again packs not ; and so in this way it still can be said that what was enough oat for the ass may not suffice for his son horse, and if it were not proper to call this ruin it can not be called any great prosperity either.

Thence, after seeing Mr. Sheldon, I to Greenwich by water, and there landed at the King's house, which goes on slow, but is very pretty. I to the Park, there to see the prospect of the hill, to judge of Dancre's picture, which he hath made thereof for me ; and I do like it very well ; and it is a very pretty place. Thence to Deptford, but staid not, Uthwayte being out of the way ; and so home, and then to the Ship Tavern, Morrice's, and staid till W. Hewer fetched his uncle Blackburne by appointment to me, to discourse of the business of the Navy in the late times ; and he did do it, by giving me a most exact account in writing, of the several turns in the Admiralty and Navy, of the persons employed therein, from the beginning of the King's leaving the Parliament, to his Son's coming in, to my great content ; and now I am fully informed in all I at present desire.

We fell to other talk ; and I find by him that the Bishops must certainly fall, and their hierarchy ; these people have got so much ground upon the King and kingdom as is not to be got again from them ; and the Bishops do well deserve it through their conduct not now or last year but for many years hence. But it is all the talk, I find, that Dr. Wilkins, my friend, the Bishop of Chester, shall be removed to Winchester, and be Lord Treasurer. Though this be foolish talk, yet I do gather that he is a mighty rising man, as being a Latitudinarian, and the Duke of Buckingham his great friend. Here we staid talking till two at night, where I did never drink before since this man come to the house, though for his pretty wife's sake I do fetch my wine from this, whom I could not nevertheless get para see to-night, I think for her husband did seem to call for her. So parted here and I home, and to supper and to bed.

17th. Up, and by water to see Mr. Wren, and then Mr. Williamson, who did shew me the very original bookes of propositions made by the Commissioners for the Navy, in 1618, to my great content ; but no other Navy papers he could now shew me. Thence to Westminster by water and to the Hall, where Mrs. Michell do surprize me with the news that Doll Lane is suddenly brought to bed at her sister's lodging, and gives it out that she is married, but there is no such thing certainly, she never mentioning it before, but I have cause to rejoice that I have not seen her a great while, she having several times desired my company, but I doubt now to what end. Thence to the Exchequer, where W. Hewer come to me, and after a little business did go by water home, and there dined, and took my wife by a hackney to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Coxcomb," the first time acted, but an old play, and a silly one, being acted only by the young people. Here met cozen Turner and The. So parted there from them, and home by coach and to my letters at the office, where pretty late, and so to supper and to bed.

18th. Up, and to see Sir W. Coventry, and walked with him a good while in the Stone Walk: and brave discourse about my Lord Chancellor, and his ill managements and mistakes, and several things of the Navy, and thence to the office, where we sat all the morning, and so home to dinner, where my wife mighty finely dressed, by a new maid that she hath taken since we discoursed, and is to come to her when Jane goes ; and the same she the other day told me of, to be so handsome, and a maiden. I therefore longed to see and check this maid, but did not till after dinner, that my wife and I going by coach, she went with us to Holborne, where she was permitted to lower her hems again and we set her down. She is a mighty proper maid, seeming most dedicated, and pretty comely, but so so; but hath a most pleasing tone of voice, and speaks handsomely, but hath most great hands, something rare as fit for Spanish foot in bigness, and I believe ugly ; but very well dressed, and good clothes, and the maid I believe will please me well enough, and my wife. Thence to visit Ned Pickering and his lady, and Creed and his wife, but the former abroad, and the latter out of town, gone to my Lady Pickering's in Northamptonshire, upon occasion of the late death of their brother, Oliver Pickering, a youth they called Potts, that is dead of falling down a well. So my wife and I to Dancre's to see the pictures ; and thence to Hyde Park, the first time we were there this year, or ever in our own coach, where with mighty pride rode up and down, and many coaches there; and I thought our horses and coach as pretty as any there, and observed so to be by others. Here staid till night, and so home, and to the office, where busy late, and so home to supper and to bed, with great content, but much business in my head of the office, which troubles me, and of my wife, also.

« The journall of the good Mr. Archibald Pizdys, as laid in his own hand for the year, of our King Charles, 19th, week 13.

Please don't eat the daisies »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Friday, 03 July, Year 12 d.Tr.

The Jolson Story

The Jolson Storyi is... holy god of chocolate Ganesha Ganapati, how shall I begin!

Let's try this : Asa Yoelson / Al Jolson is a god-awful singer, possibly one of the worst singers imaginable. I'm not saying "one of the worst of his generation", he is atrociously bad on a cosmic scale. He sings about as well as any Singer-brand home appliance, like say his mother's sewing machine. This is neither exaggeration nor rhetorical flourish, but bare statement of fact.

This self-same Al Jolson was the principal, main, chief attraction of the 1920s. No joke, it's golden, check it out for yourself. He is utterly fucking terrible yet nevertheless the main entertainment attraction in the United States for a fucking decade, owing to the shocking backwardness and utter cluelessness of that rural population on one hand and his outright insane psychopathy on the other hand. Dude's Narcissism writ large, he can't sit long enough to read through anything longer than his upper lip, he can't even listen to anyone say anything because he's got shit to say "of his own" burbling out of him. The most he can take in of other people's a slight hint of their facial expressions, and that's that, go Nut McManiac go! Coincidentally he was just the right brand of pedestrian, saccharine lyrical the US farmhands relocated by Stalin Roosevelt and Wilson wanted to hear (or could conceivable digest in their diminutive cranial gizzards), and... well, you believe in Democracy or don't you ?

Here's the capper though : he did it all in blackface. No I'm not fucking kidding, with the white gloves (ever wondered where "jazz hands" came from ?) and the magically peckerwood neck, with the prop straw hat and the eye poppings, blackface, what. Minstrel shows.

Given this hot mess sprawling underneath, the film does a decent job of doing justice to America, true right and proper such as it was : little Jew boys imported from Lithuania to impersonate blacks for audiences in the Northeast much too disinterested in their environment to ever talk to a black guy, and large Irish boys imported from England to impersonate soldiers for audiences in the South, much too disinterested in their own survival to make any kind of sense. That's what it is, you know ? America, that's what it always was. And you wanted to make it great again...

You can probably live out the rest of your life without having any sort of mental truck with this cultural artifact ; and that stands true whether you see it or not.

———1946, by Alfred E. Green, with Larry Parks, Evelyn Keyes, William Demarest. [↩]

« A Raisin in the Sun

Anyone who uses the term "sexism" straight is an "anti-elitist" (aka lazy spurious fuckwad) with political ambitions (ie won't admit it). »

Category: Trilematograf

Friday, 27 November, Year 12 d.Tr.

The insecure twits, the needy canadians, the RSR americans and ongoingly in this vein, until sanity falls over. And also -- beyond.

I asked a girl recently, you know, "did you ever imagine, you indigent girl from nowhere, that you'll ever live to laugh at them like this ?"

The question wasn't originally posed in this language ; but in another. The recipient wasn't originally here ; but somewhere else. The answer came, predictably as it is mindblowingly impossible. Nobody, absolutely nobody imagined, back in the days of the Republica Socialist Aromaniai, that these "Americanii" would ever or could ever end up with a meat shortage. The item was so deeply symbolic in the erstwhile sovok space that the usage in the phrase wasn't, couldn't even be descriptive ; by virtue of how language and the stringing of signs and symbols necessarily work, it'd have had to have been some kind of joke. No three guys ever walked into a bar, see, it's just not possible for reason of reference overpowering denotation, and similarily meat shortages never do nor ever could happen in Americaii.

Yet it has occurred, because phenomena are not captive in the stringy net that keeps the endless immensity of representation at bay for the meagre needs of the human "mind". It's happened, the successor state of America is confronting a meat shortage (and don't add "of its own making" as if that were somehow palleative -- it isn't, aromania's also was "of its own making", who the fuck else makes stupidity for the dumb, the fucking aliens ?!)

Canada meanwhile has a (slightly) different problem :

No "if you try to interfere with my property rights I'm going to shoot you in the face", which'd be the reasonable, albeit overly limited, individual response to the outrage.

Absolutely no "the government" arresting the alleged mayors &c for what is out and out rebellion and sedition, obviously -- because what's a "government" for if not maximal eatage with minimal delivering ?iii

None of that, just idle fretting about how "bring your money and leave it at the door, we don't want to see you" awkward recluse pantsuitisms. Apparently "the limited resources" (such as can be had on the available tax basis) properly belong only to "those who need them" (in their own estimation)iv and eminently not to those who... made them! How do you like that for Africanization of canada ?

But all that's a little too... how shall we say, too real ? To direct, too practical, to bound with phenomenology, insufficiently validating of dreams and aspirations and self-improvement (consisting of yakking, ie self-defense) and so forth. Right ?

Fine, I have a video for you too!

Your browser does not support the video tag ; the mp4 is here.

I asked my elder slavegirl (she's in the header today), I asked her... you know, what the fuck is the relationship between those two. She retorted quite securely that "they've never seen each other before in their life", and I absolutely see why. Anorexic bordersleeve there hasn't seen anyone in her life to date to begin with, while pedosmile awkward weirdo lacks even the basic capacity to represent the world outside in any terms besides whatever his favourite manga series provide and in any case you can bet (your) dollars to (his) donuts that he's still not quite figured out how come some cartoons move about in his field of vision whereas most of them sit put on the dedicated screen. Magic of technology brought about by lovengeneering, must be.

Nevertheless : the above depicted weirdos (along with some other people, including a 30-something heiress) were convicted since being arrested at some point last year of a strange array of guiltsv, witchcraftsvi and kulakityvii. They are also known for coralling the dalai lama into giving them gifts of sashes on stage through one of the group fucking Tenzin Dhonden, who apparently was some big deal monk or whateverviii, ongoing civilian nonsense in that vein.

And she, let me underscore and thicken and blink this out, she's his elder slavegirl. That's right, that's the fantasy they're entertaining : that he's practically me, and she's practically Hannah, and on and on with the lame fakerism along those lines.

These dumb fucks were "maybe", you get it, maybe eventually "going to" construct like you know, a dungeon, full of BDSM gear and things. Meanwhile they just rented some junky office space in a mostly abandoned mall and asciilifeformed all over themselves for twenty years ; but one day, you feel me, fam ? One day they were going to.

That day never came, not for them like it ain't gonna ever come for you ; but in the meantime they did what they do, trying their best to pretend like they're me from a safe distance. Not that it works ; but then again the insecure geniuses don't really want anything that works. All they really want are things that don't work intricatedly, tiresomely and over long intervals.

Outro : Since Trilema became (quite literally) the most widely read blog on this planet at some point last month I spent some time each day reading through all the other websites about as widely read or moresoix. Pretty slim pickings, too -- if it's not scams trying to steal other people's shit (mostly worthless, "dowload out selection of TV dramas" sorta nonsense) it's scams trying to steal your shit (find out how "our solution" can "help" you -- give us the valuable in this here hole through this peculiar procedure and we'll provide you with all the asciilifeformin' tools you could ever want "in exchange") and otherwise aggregators of mostly "news". It's true I've left out the third or so written in non-Euro languages, but it's just as true that the items discussed above are pretty much allx that's available as potential alternatives to Trilema in the "most visited websites" list.

The sad world you lot live in, I swear...

———The article is in a language you do not understand (irrespective what you may think on the topic -- you don't understand it). Its gist would be that outside of my own person there's no possibility (let alone any discussion of actualization : outright no potential) of being Romanian today (or rather, a decade ago, and hence) ; and that everyone claiming otherwise is committing the usual socialist fraud. [↩]Which indeed is the case ; they happen in "the US", a different thing altogether. [↩]Seriously now, what the fuck do you even pay taxes for, if the crime boss you pay them to doesn't even fucking protect you ? [↩]Laugh not, for there's memorialized somewhere (maybe on qntra ? I'm too lazy to search) how a British supreme court judge enacted just such idiocy in that sad island's legal precedent -- something along the lines of how the legal system's only open to those who bring pantsuit claims, and not to those who bring legal claims. [↩]It may or may not be the case that they harbored illegal immigrants, producing fake paperwork for them and such, which apparent moral obligation of every pantsuit in the face of Trump's evil regime that sends children away from their mothers to other places than the Clinton Foundation's own child fondling designated prison islands nevertheless is apparently also a crime in the eyes of the pantsuit press, "underground train" etcetera shared hallucinations notwithstanding.

What can I say, #IBelieveBiden myself! If he says child rape is wrong if done off Epstein's island, whether it consists of Trump repatriating illegal immigrants or some dorks from New Jersey (Albany, right ?) making up shit about their maid... IT MUST BE SO.

What, you don't believe Biden ?! But it's with science and things, don't you know!!! [↩]They enslaved women and branded them and things, tulai doamne. [↩]One of the "defendants" was foolish enough to post a $100`000`000 bond, which in itself may be the entire fuel powering the "legal" charade. [↩]When the Chinese laugh at the USGistani puppetry, you get butthurt and indignant ; yet... look what a joke of a faux nothing you're fronting for! Seriously "dalai lama", spiritual leader etc ?

I could buy thousands of them. Literally, remember, I was already a bilionare last decade. [↩]The estimate's a 0.2% reach, meaning out of every five hundred pages anyone loads off the web, Trilema's delivering one. [↩]There's of course also shadbase, let's not forget. [↩]

« Coltunasi

The little squirts of DOOM and other minor preoccupations of this philistine fin de siecle »

Category: SUA care este

Wednesday, 06 May, Year 12 d.Tr.

The Indian bride

The man opened his eyes, lazily. The morning Sun sent its blessings over the endless plain, no sight of human disturbance anywhere but for the large bus, alone moving on the empty road.

"Shhhh." The woman's hand moved instantly to cover his eyes. She had been waiting for him to stir, patiently but very attentively, her body coiled though not like a panther's at all. In fact it was coiled like a wife's engaged in the activity of becoming pregnant against impediments, her feet together, remarkably dirty ankle socks resting jointly on the headrest in front of her, knees bent up pressing down her breast, her ample bottom almost resting on the back of the seat opposite, her head quite low, her face turned to him, watching him. "Don't wake up." she whispered, then drew her breath and whispered it again, adding a baby at the end.

The man grunted vaguely. "Let me tell you a story." her whisper continued, gaining a sing-song quality as if she borrowed liberally from the craddling traditions of her land. "Would you like mommy to tell you a story baby ?"

There was no answer, nor was an answer strictly speaking necessary. "There was a pretty girl", she continued, evenly, a faint smile curling on her face, "who never in her life had any notion of what things actually are. She always half-suspected it, but her parents very carefully kept all mention far from her ; her older brothers silent ; her older sisters even more silent still. When she was married she didn't even know what it was for, but vaguely, to make babies, and be happy with her husband."

She continued, dreamily, "After her marriage her husband took her on to see his parents, before they'd lay together. She didn't know what it meant, laying together, or why he did such things, but she imagined it must be because he wanted his parents to see her first. The place he came from was very far, and they did not have too much money, so they took the bus. It's a very modern service and elegant he said, and so it is, there's even places to sleep, made special, and many other things."

"The first time her husband went to use the lavatory," she whispered, toridly, biting her lip, "the serving woman came to her. It's just a lowly job, serving on the bus, but the girl was very much intimidated by her. Earlier, just as they climbed in, the woman looked at them both together and then said 'No shoes for the lady. Barefoot only please.' She didn't even look at the girl as she said that, nor at her husband, yet the girl couldn't help but obey her. He didn't say anything," at this juncture the man grunted and stirred, but she shhh'd him again, sweetly, and carried on with her whispered tale "though she could tell he'd like to say something maybe ; but she kneeled down and took her sneakers off, then stood with them awkwardly in her hand. She didn't know what to do, so eventually she offered them to the woman, who looked at her with a snicker and took them away. The girl paddled in just her ankle socks to her seat and sat down. Her husband asked her what will she do now, but she said she will be okay."

She reached down and unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down on either side of him, and lifting his shirt to his chest. She then ran her hand over his midsection softly, caressing aimlessly from his belly button down through his thighs. She felt him stir in his underwear and smiled widely, then whispered "Careful not to spill, baby." Then she continued with her story, the central point having been somehow perfectly made that it all depends on him, her continuation entirely rests on his abstention as she had defined it. "The first time he went away the serving woman came to her, and gave her a pill. She said 'put this in your husband's drink when I bring them, it will make him sleep'. She didn't know what to do, it seemed to her maybe dangerous to obey a stranger in that way ; but then again she was the serving woman, and you're supposed to do what she says. Besides, maybe she knows best, and the girl's husband always complained about sleep and being woken up. As he came out the woman served them drinks, and the girl took the pill into her mouth, and turned over the seat to give her husband a deep kiss. He took the pill from her mouth himself, with his own tongue, and then she held up his glass to his mouth, so he could drink it down, which then he did."

His underwear had reached his jeans by now, and her hand, wrapped firmly around his bulging penis, stoked firmly, carefully. He wasn't much longer than her palm was wide, and so her stokes were more like vibrations, her fingers bumping against the very large flare on his head with every slight movement. "Just as soon as he had fallen asleep, the woman came to the girl, and said to her 'It's all set, he's waiting for you in the lavatory.' The girl didn't know what it means, but she needed to pee desperately, though she didn't want to walk there in her socks. She wanted to ask for her shoes back, but the woman gestured that way as if to say 'well go on, then' and so she had to stand up and walked there, whether she liked it or not. It seemed to her everyone on her way is looking at her, like she's delicious candy, weighing her as she went by. Inside the lavatory there was a man, waiting for her. He said 'oh hello there, pretty whore!', at which the girl" stopped, and looked at the man officially sleeping right next to her. Irrepressible impulse made her lean over, and climb on top of him, his arms now captive under her knees in the seat, on either side of him. She rested her ass right above his hair. Lukewarm, thin manhood came flooding out of her, spilling on him as if to anoint his body with her love, or anyways other mens' love for her. She reached behind and re-assumed her firm grasp of his manhood. He kept his eyes closed by himself, his whole body spasming, as if electrocuted.

"Do you like the story, baby ?" she needled him, while stroking behind her, evenly. His breath was uneven, belaboured, "You like it, don't you. Be careful not to make it end, it's hard for me to see like this. You have to help me hold you up, away from it. Okay ?" He nodded vigurously, and she reached her other hand to his lips, caressing them at first, then her thumb finding its way inside his mouth, for him to suckle on just like a newborn babe as she went on, "The man in the lavatory waiting for the girl said 'hello there, pretty whore!' when she went in. She didn't know what to say. She tried 'I'm not a whore, I am a married woman' but the man just laughed and took her clothes away. 'That just makes you even the bigger whore', and then her blouse was off, then her bra. She shuddered but the man pushed her down, and then unbuttoned himself and pushed his penis in her face. It smelled, of sweat and of another scent she didn't know back then, but he rubbed it on her lips, and then as she opened her mouth he shoved it inside. He made her head move and told her tongue to lick and love. The door was wide open. She'd have liked to close it, but there was no room inside to somehow close the door. She focused on the man in her mouth, doing just what he'd showed her, exploring his sausage with her lips and tongue. When she looked up again the woman was taking phone pictures of her ; the girl wanted to say something but couldn't, because her mouth was full."

The man let out a groan, but she pacified him, "There there baby, we're nowhere near done. There's so much more to tell of this beautiful long story. Hang on." She re-arranged herself, shifting her weight, and taking the hand from his mouth to grab tight on his balls instead. "You won't be able to do anything like this" she said to him reassuringly, while squeezing him hard as he winced. "The story must go on, baby. I know it's not easy for you, but it wasn't easy for me, either. It must go on." He nodded, and she continued "The man flooded the girl with a sticky goo, it's what men do, though then she didn't know. It went all over her face, and on her neck and breasts. Then the man left, but the serving woman grabbed her by the wrist and took more pictures of her like that. Then she gave her two bills of five thousand rupees each. The girl didn't understand, but the woman said 'Unless you want me to give it to your husband instead ?' The girl reached out and took the bills, because she didn't want the woman to bother her husband, waking him up. She put it in her pants pocket, and then the serving woman said 'Your next one's ready' and she made a gesture with her hand. An old man came over quickly, and as the woman left he said 'Oh, what a pretty whore!' but the girl said 'I'm not a whore, I just need to pee!' and he laughed and said that's all the better for a whore. He took her pants off, and then he rubbed his penis on her lacy underwear underneath, as he told her to go on then, pee! She couldn't hold it inside any longer, so she let go as he rubbed his penis on her. She squeezed him tight between her thighs as she did, and he moaned and made his white pee before she was done making hers. Then he left, and the serving woman came back. She was surprised at what went on, and upset she missed it for her phone pictures ; but she said she's never letting the girl out of her sight again, she's too much of a whore. The little girl said 'but I'm not a whore, you know that!' The woman looked at her from toe to eyebrow and then asked 'What do you call this ?' and the pretty wife looked at herself in the mirror and she said 'I look just like a whore.'

He struggled against her, painfully. His erection had much subsided, almost gone. She let go of his balls, and ran her hand in the slick spot developing under herself. She carried the substance to his mouth, rubbing it against his lips, coating it inside his open mouth in specific places she came up with on the spot. By degrees she focused less and less on this tasks of transportation and more and more on rubbing her fingers against herself in the slick. Soon she was bent over him, her mouth open, panting her breath into his open mouth. She tortured herself mercilessly as she came, yielding nothing of the demanding fingers even as her clitoris became engorged, so very tender and unbearably sensitive. She exploded again and again inside herself. But as her orgasms subsided, her rasped voice continued "The little girl said 'I look just like a whore' and the woman said 'That's just what you are.' and then told her to take her filthy panties off, and mocked her for having an accident, like she were a little kid. There was a rich businessman waiting outside, sitting on the chairs by the door. As the little girl came out in just her socks, he grabbed her by the hips and forced her down, to sit on his penis he was playing with. He hurt her bad, inside, and she squealed. He looked at her with glazy eyes and just forced her up and down faster and faster, until she could feel him squirt molten shame inside of her. Then he pushed her aside from him, and she felt to the floor. 'Filthy whore!' he grunted in disgust, then spat on her before he left. Two young men were already waiting, their penises out, engorged in their hands. She just looked at them from the floor, but they helped her up to her feet, and bent her over. One propped her from behind, and the other put his penis in her mouth like the first man who took her blouse off of her. She's just like a fingertrap, the pretty girl thought to herself, and then the young man behind her came to front, and they switched places, because he was done the first time. They switched places many times, but when they let her go she went back to her husband, who was by now just waking up."

He opened his eyes to look at her. She smiled at him, and said "I'll let your seed spill on the floor, I hope you don't mind." He closed his eyes and groaned deeply, while she did exactly as she had promised. "I'm sure I'm pregnant already anyway" she continued, while his manhood was spasming uselessly, confined in her hand. "I can feel it, deep inside, it's full and happy and alive." He didn't say anything, but she continued her thoughts in the same, relentless sing-song voice she had discovered in herself "We'll live like this from now on, it's very good. I'm sorry that the thirty thousand rupees I earned aren't even enough to pay for the nice jeans you bought me before we left ; but I will work more cocks and we will make it all back. I can't wait!"

And on they went.

« If any of Reggie Renner (CEO), Mike Langin (CTO), Brian White (COO), Pete Schiecke (CCO), Joe Bossone (CFO), Trey Blazic (VP, Ads), Brandon Caudill (VP, BizDev), Mike Harmon (VP, DOps), Kimberly Leatherman (VP, Eng), Mike Beamon, Peter Cheng, Ilaina Dassatti, Brad Fleischman, Branden Stall, Ari Sterenson, Mitch Widau, Megan Adams ever google their own name...

The Devils »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Tuesday, 15 December, Year 12 d.Tr.

The incomprehensible tale of Paularthur and other commentary

There was a poet, long ago (for the manner in which illiterate louts keep time, very long indeed, being before anyone they've any chance of running into / fuck-or-fight-ing with / etcetera was born ; but otherwise recently in the sense of long after anything important or interesting last happened). And for that matter, there were many poets, long but not so very long ago. The poets that were, you know ?

One of them was a bum ; the other of them was also a bum. Comfortable circumstances don't seem to well comingle with versification, or a lyrical vocation, or rather : because the epicurean ideals rest firmly on the golden mean (possibly the worst idea yet, and certainly a horribly worse gift than the original Pandora's box, seeing how it and naught else is whence mediocrity as a vocation came upon us, along with its impudently offensive if overwhelmingly indefensible pretense to gilt, especially self-applied) whereas literary accomplishment is always a matter of excessi, it then follows that the comfortable and the readable rarely happen to be the same people. Specialization, you know, that thing for ants, is not something poets are magically above of simply for being poets ; au contraire.

In any case, one had a wifeii, the other also eventually had a wife ; one was seduced by a boy's letter he received, and engaged in a pedophillic homosexual relationship with an underage "victim"iii for many years and in the direst of circumstances -- something that was not merely practicable but outright common at the timeiv whereas the other moved on to trafficking arms in Africav and other avatars of the... well, excess, what would you call it, what could it be called... The unmastered (lit, nestapinita), the disreigned (lit, desfrinata) life.vi

Do you know, by the way, how come the young boy, the future "victim" and so on even had the time in the first place to write missives so as to be rescued ? Why, school was closed! The authorities took it over to turn it into a hospital, as part of period mobilizations to "fight" and etcetera! Yes, that's right Nannare : you dun it now, you big goof! What do you think all those bored fifteen year olds that deeply (and for good cause) despise you will do with their time ?vii Huh ? What, you really thought they might not notice you're despicable ?! Beeeeehehehehehe...

Anyways, the observation providing the impetuus for this article was that lo, it's been a week since last I wrote on Trilema ; and upon consideration it became undeniable an' obvious that indeed my lifestyle's changed sensibly. These days I spend a lot less time with machines, and a lot longer with nature, human or otherwise. As I was observing in private to a friend, who confessed dropping her attempt at Diablo II after a few brief weeks, that indeed twenty-some years ago I'd spend a few hours with the girls and gladly game for half the day ; but these days I'll spend half day with the girls and barely manage an hour or two of screen time, during which...

Well, that's the thing, writing is the product of reading rather than of thinking as such ; the less one reads the less one thinks in the specific sense and meaning of thinking involved in writing, and therefore one can, apparently, be done -- in the sense of deciding to be done -- with the muses : all it takes is activity of a different sort. Which brought to mind the story I've not really recounted above (for to me and whoever else might be familiar it needs not recounting, and anyone else couldn't be helped by recounts anyways). Apparently this has happened before (long or not so very long ago, dealer's choice) ; but once I sat down to write I obviously proceeded to reading, and as my eyes followed the lines of letters and my mind followed the mists as from such lines might thereupon exude... what I was going I thought I was about to write became something entirely else altogether, different not in one way or another but in myriad ways incomprehensible if they were expressible ; but inexpressible anyways, not merely for complexity but firstly for structure : trees form the way they form, and cutting one stump at the root cuts out also the leaves -- and all of them.viii

And so now... here we are, again, the subservient paper in its true and only Master's hand, shivering and sighing. Paper, endless or otherwise, virtual or cellulose-bound, might not blush for idiots ; but it does always blush under my hand, it's always palpitatingly covered in rosacea when bearing my tools as a projection of my will as a manifestation of... what does it manifest, one's own mind is not one's own as clearly seen here (and everywhere else), for never yet it has been the case that one wrote what he thought he sat down to write, not since letters were invented in any case (nor before -- do try and draw what you mean and see what I mean ; whence and wherefore is your drawing of what you mean actually depict what I mean instead ?)...

In the end, writing's not for everyone because, specifically because, everyone could write.

———Oh look, I made a joke. Can you spot the joke ?

Oh look, I [ab]used the form of function, I deformed it into denoting something perhaps akin to lizzards... It's what I do, you know ? It's what I do, and what you'll never be rid of.

Ha-HA! Say it with me now, trace it with me now, pretend you're laughing with me now : ha... ha.

You know we're laughing at you, and there's no we, right ? [↩]Speaking of the Westermarck : Elisa growing up with him very much didn't deter him sexually, which renders plausible the hypothesis that perhaps the psychological problems and mental issues of the cvasi-male spawn on the wrong side of the Hajnal line aren't nearly as universal as the cripples in question seem doggedly decided to pretend ? [↩]Not to mention the "other victim", a pregnant young woman abandoned to her fate.

I'm sure that's the sort of thing that preoccupies you set of "oh, how can Celine Dion marry that old guy" snitch&bitches. Here's the thing : the abandoned pregnant young woman's better off with the wolves than with your help. [↩]What did you think "punk" even means ?! [↩]No, it didn't work out for him ; business and literacy don't mix so well. [↩]Don't you find it suspicious that absolutely needful words, utterly workhorse epithets, tools squarely required for the most cursory, plainly minimal exercise of examination are so... misplaced, so underlain in silt and overgrown with grime in this pigdin you supposedly employ for some purpose (though I can scarcely think, and you certainly can not explain, what the hell that'd be) ? [↩]Let's put it this way : the first white man to wet his pecker in Ethiopian cunt directly on the very farm was an erstwhile bored boy of Charleville. [↩]It's starting to irritate me that italics are ambiguously both the sign of words in other languages as well as the mark of stress or counterpoint ; but I don't know yet what I'll be doing about it, if indeed anything whatsoever can even be done.

Can anything ever be done ? [↩]

« De-as fi crai de ghinda...

Film d'amore e d'anarchia, ovvero 'stamattina alle 10 in via dei Fiori nella nota casa di tolleranza... Or, Emasculation as the female vocation. »

Category: Cocietate si Sultura

Friday, 25 September, Year 12 d.Tr.

The Hasty Pudding Society,

Of which you've most likely never heardi, was originally the following thing : a fifteen year old (boy) with a taste for hasty puddingii got together twenty-one of his peersiii (in a loose sense, I'm sure most were older) in some room then within their power to occasionally squat ; and it was there agreed that each week thence, two of their number (by alphabetical order) will provide a pot of the stuff, for the society to enjoy. That'd be it.

The year was 1795, but really, exactly nothing's changed. What can ever change ?

~ * ~

I've seen over the years many, numerous women with successful litters. They all had in common one fundamental thing, epitomized to a superlative ideal by the she-goddess aforementioned :

So she had a kid in junior high. Big deal. She's going to have more, or not, she loves them very much, sure, maybe they die, big fucking deal -- she'll forget all about it in a week. Maybe they survive, all the better, maybe they're inventors or writers or plumbers or NASCAR drivers. Maybe they go to jail, maybe they sling dope, maybe they program computers, maybe they get knocked up aged 14. Or 12, or 2. Makes as much difference to her as your tie color to you. It's all the same really - just as long as they don't get too much in her way, whatever she happens to be doing the current five minutes. And if they do she'll aggro on them and then forget all about it in another five minutes.

It's not at all difficult for the trained if unpracticing pediatric psyschiatrist to distinguish healthy from afflicted babes. It's also not difficult to make predictions, on a short to medium term (that's by force of circumstance about as lengthy as the time interval they so far spent on earth). Children are truly very simple things, the difficulties come from within, they're the fabled mountains of whimseys, heaped in one's own brain.

Why the fuck is it that the only women with successful litters seem to be the ones that utterly, from the root, thoroughly and entirely do not care, do not give shit one about their babies as persons ? Why should it be that the only known way to produce human beings is by treating the early worms as things (which they definitely are) rather than persons (which they self-obviously are not)iv ?

~ * ~

I've known more successful businessmen than you, I'm pretty sure. And whores and happy women and slaves and whatever else if it comes to it, sure, but none of that's the point.

I've also known heaploads upon boatfulls of smart people, intelligent people, intellectuals, mindfuls, life-of-the-mind-ers, however the fuck you call it. Not as many as you, I'll readily concede, but do grant me this much : enough.

You know these are almost never the same ?

I've also met numerous "answers" (in the shape of the one self-same perpetual answer in ever novel hats and bandanas, sure) to this question. Luck, you know, society, even the celebrated "pentru ca esti o vita spastica si te uraste soarta" longhand form of the same damned thing.

Are you perhaps beginning to see a pattern here ?

~ * ~

I don't know how familiar you are with the history of the "Southern States" (eventually, "the Confederacy") -- though if you're speaking this language natively I expect you're anti-familiar, you're about as familiar with it as forum date experts are acquainted with "women". Nevertheless, before becoming the Congregation of the Shockingly Stupid, they were the remnant of the original Republicv. What is it, then, about being in the right that also makes people fucking dumb ? I do not mean a little maybe touched in the head ; I mean out and out broken to the degree breathing's a wonder (and like all wonders -- soon discontinued).

As you can see, a lot of questions ma framinta these days. I don't expect any answers to be forthcoming, either. Just... well, here they are.

———I know because "Leather and Lace", but let's leave the matter be, it's... well, really, it's not for you -- and what the fuck was this 1996 anyways. Hubba hubba ? [↩]A dish very much like what I recently had, I suppose. Hasty pudding is maize (indian corn) boiled in a little water, like say gruel/grits or mamaliga/polenta, but of a different cereal. The item depicted on my table was flat-fried, like a pancake ; the item traditionally eaten in the Northern colonies was usually pot-boiled -- but I suppose this incident of manipulation aside the substance's the closest you can conceivably get. [↩]This, incidentally, is a measuring standard of boyish quality. The boy who's not (naturally -- as opposed to exam-takingly ; and of his own power) gathered a group of boys in excess of his age needn't really be continued past 16 years or so, can readily be sent back to the fermenters (or, as the Romanian expression goes, "du-te-n pizda ma-tii"). [↩]I'd expect it's obvious enough that all persons are things even if not all things are persons. [↩]Consider, what were the Kentucky and Virginia Resolutions ? When fighting the socialist wing that had taken the colonies into statehood (yes, there's a fucking reason I adnotated Hamilton, the chief force of that wing ; that reason is precisely tac-tac-tac) why did Jefferson run to South Carolina ?

Consider, what'd have come of Washington's shivering and starving barefoot horde at Valleyforge, if not for Hamilton's (apparently sufficiently credible) "we're a socialism, just like the rest of you, let us in" argument abroad ? What do you think won that war ? And why ? [↩]

« Shawrmy...

Forum logs for 28 Mar 2016 »

Category: AICMF

Sunday, 15 March, Year 12 d.Tr.

The grape of wrath

There's an undying clang-pocalypse coming unyieldingly crescendo from the kitchen, thoroughly overpowering the abundant deathrattles of legions of videogame monsters and their various rare bosses. Apparently electric sound columns punctuating putative events of virtual importance are to be cast entirely into shadow by the belaboured manual noises of... Bang! Clash! Shppt-shhhptpt...FGHSZBBBPT!

"What's she doing in there?!"

"Dishes."

"I don't know..."

SMASHEREEEEEEENSpbbtthpttintin.

"Causing general havoc."

"It sounds like a really angry badger trying to pretend like it's all calm and considerate, you know ?"

SMASH! BANG! BANGBANG! SHRRRRCHHH-bing!

"And improve things."

"Oh no... the shards are all flaaaat..."

GBLOOOOWING!! Psssshhhrrschhhhhhttt! Klog! Blong! BLIFDJUBUNGBUMB!"

"Maybe she really is a bear."i

"God help us!"

CRRRasHHHtsphphphpic.

"Maybe she lost a grape."

"Yeah. The grape of wrath!"

"Ahahahahah"

"She is trampling forth the kitchen where the grape of wrath was lost."

True story ; I'm sure she'll be delighted to read all about it, whoever she is.ii

Anyways, pictures :

Ain't that a cool monitor ?iii 1920px tall ftw.

We also met billymg and his homemaker-in-trainingiv over coffee at some local sportsbar, a rather pleasant affair. Originally we were going to meet at this nice Italian place, but shockingly enough their maitre d' is irresponsible enough to actually take reservations which then omit calling when they decide to fucking close. We mayhap shall have words on the matter...v

I really don't know how much of the civilised Costa Rica will be left standing once the spurious idiots' hysteria blows over, to be honest. No top shelf restaurant can weather three weeks of 0 custom no matter what happens, and I can't eat all my meals out just to try and keep the country afloat. (Not to mention it's really really hard for any restaurant currently extant to meet the professional excellence of my very own harem.)

In fact, it's fully my expectation that once this thing blows over, the whole pretense to "wealthy" and "rich" and "first world", "developed economies" etcetera inherited by the current set of wasters through their slightly less deadbeat parents from their almost-human grandparents is permanently going away. Come Q3 there's going to be exactly no difference between Zimbabwe and America, Congo and Germany, etcetera. Which, I suppose, was "the plan" in the first place, rite ?

The other available title was "you've made your bed, I'm curious if you'll enjoy sleeping in it", but I decided to save it for a closer. Laters.

———At one point I had 0 champagne flutes left. Took me a day to buy them, a year to enjoy them, then in a few weeks they were all flattened. [↩]I just can't remember the name, is all. [↩]Since decommissioning the whole irc always-on infrastructure I have so much gear I no longer need it's scary. In retrospect I suppose it's quite mindblowing what a man's capable of doing while smoking the whole "better world" pipe -- god knows entire slut villages could have lived whole lifetimes out of the dough I blew on pointless hardware. [↩]Endonym, I didn't come up with it.

It's also possible he's kidnapped her, I've not probed the matter too extensively. They seem happy enough together, what more. [↩]I fully expect the place's going out of business, actually. It offered excellent everything at very reasonable prices, which means that on the days I didn't take my friends there the place lingered ~empty.

But at least you saw the pheasants. [↩]

« Dr. Strangelove (or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb)

The problem of standards »

Category: Zsilnic

Monday, 23 March, Year 12 d.Tr.