Posts Tagged ‘2017’

A brief spike in traffic

Wednesday, 14 February 2018

For 3 days running I had over 100 views to the site, akin to a miracle.  I’m not that interesting, so it must’ve all been for recent Jeopardy! contestant Rachel Lindgren.

It’s my duty to warn you thirsty nerds AGAIN that smart women are not a solution to anything and being a sapiosexual is a road to nowhere.  If she’s smart while you’re enamored (subtract 25 IQ points for each boob and asscheek) you’re in QUADRUPLE the danger of being manipulated.  Not that I overly give a shit what happens to you, you’re probably better off than me.

I believe this blog is now 10 or 11 years old, which means little because I rarely posted after 2009, was it?  It has brought me neither joy nor grief, certainly no money or gavina.  I don’t read my own shit so I’ve forgotten most of it, except to remember impassioned movie reviews about Batman (pointless) or politics (far more pointless) and cussing out my wage slave job while doing nothing to improve my lot in life.

Two things happened in the last 5 years which changed the entire arc of my  inclinations, I got out of the shit job and I “discovered” whores.  Also, my father died  at 73 of natural causes, if you count lung cancer as natural.

The whores saved my life.  Once I was getting laid fairly regularly all the Mysteries of Womanhood evaporated, which was bittersweet, but poetry is either written out of your system or it burns you from the inside out like drinking bleach.  Poetry IS drinking bleach, usually for the reader. 

The women’s humanity made me less of a misogynist, and it even seemed a few of them enjoyed the ride beyond getting paid.  (I haven’t been laid in over a year due to health problems so that’s on pause.)

I’m closer to 50 than 40 now.  I’m not better than I was in 2006, but like to think I’ve learned much the last 10 or 11 years.  I wouldn’t trade my scant “life’s work” of writing for falling in love.   

Here are the final lines from a long ago poem.

I know it’s coming, death or a balloon.

The slitted eyes of a petted cat.

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Three Reasons Not to Suicide:

Thursday, 1 June 2017
1)  You’ll spoil your record of perfect attendance.  You’ve been alive since you were born.  Even when you’ve been knocked out cold you were still alive.  You’ve survived chicken pox, the dentist, learning how to ride a bike, maybe even had sex once or twice.  If you kill yourself, that all gets wiped out.
 
2)  Death is not an escape.  You know how life works, it’s the same shit over and over again in different packaging.  Do you really think the Designer of so nefarious a world would provide such an easy way out?  Have you ever tried getting out of a cell phone contract?  It doesn’t have to be the threat of a fiery Hell to stick around either:  you could come back to earth, only with a smaller penis, or as a Siamese twin, sharing a smaller penis.
 
3)  Death is guaranteed.  No one ever got to the ticket window and heard, “I’m sorry, we’re all out of death.”  Death is coming anyway, why pay extra for 2-day shipping?  God only kills happy people.  Make Him do the work.
 
 
There you have it, three reasons not to suicide.  Not very good reasons, but some kind of lubricant is always better than none.
From May 2014

‘Surrogates’ coulda been a contender

Monday, 5 October 2009

Surrogates is standard sci-fi action fare, so much so I’m not going to bother reviewing the plot. Bruce Willis is always likable, the limited action was decent, but I’ll be damned if I saw where they blew 80 million making it.

I’d never really thought about the possibilities presented by Surrogates: rather than having the entire world live in a computer simulation via the Matrix, turn the real world into a Matrix of sorts by having people cocooned at home, experiencing life via uplinked neural connections to androids that are perfect-looking idealized versions of themselves (or anyone else).

It’s a great idea for dangerous work (such as war) or play (extreme sports) but for everyday use seems kinda dumb. Why the hell would you pay for a younger, more fit robotic version of you to go to an office and sit in a fucking cubicle every day? That would mean you’d still have to dress and maintain your unit (ha) plus transport it.

I would hope by 2017 telecommuting is the norm. That and fuckbots.

Surrogates
dabbles in these ideas but doesn’t take them far enough. Like the Matrix sequels, there’s a great story here waiting to be told, but the one we got wasn’t it.

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