Motto : How much should the Devil have to pay you
so you'd throw your soul away ?
This woman :
This indescribably misfortunate stringing together of empty corks and rotting flotsam, this example of "I stretched some leather on a bunch of qtips", this sad, sad survivor of a lengthy series of incomprehensible accidents is a socialite.
You understand, a socialite, the reward for really bulky jocky successful men who work really hard and are really very good and talented. This is what they get : not forty virgins, but a third to a sixth of a socialite. A fraction of this thing. (And all things considered, not getting the whole box is scarcely reason to complain.)
And she is a socialite in Tampa, of "I have difficulty merging the words tampa and socialite really" fame. But hey, you can have socialites everywhere, right, if you're an aparatchik you gotta believe all places are the same, and so Akron or Bute socialites are just as good as any others. They gotta be!
Then you get
What a Leader you were to these heads of State. You ROCK!!!
and you get
I wish that we could clone a couple thousand of you, but the land is likely not ready for that big an impact.
YES!!!! Honorary Consul General. I’m soooooo excited about the humbling honor!
WHAT IS THIS ALL ABOUT??? You never informed me of ‘3’ other Honorary Ambassadors??????
Look at that wolf eaten old horse again! Just look at her! Let the ugly burn your tender retinas and tell me : who wants this booty ?
You go to school, right ? And it's hard. Not least of all because you're an aparatchik, and your school's essentially built out of insanity and nonsense, a fictition wrapped in utopia, nonsense piled atop nonsense and to quote Orwell, a century ago :
The Communist movement in Western Europe began, as a movement for the violent overthrow of capitalism, and degenerated within a few years into an instrument of Russian foreign policy. This was probably inevitable when this revolutionary ferment that followed the Great War had died down. So far as I know, the only comprehensive history of this subject in English is Franz Borkenau's book, THE COMMUNIST INTERNATIONAL. What Borkenau's facts even more than his deductions make clear is that Communism could never have developed along its present lines if any revolutionary feeling had existed in the industrialized countries. In England, for instance, it is obvious that no such feeling has existed for years past. The pathetic membership figures of all extremist parties show this clearly. It is, only natural, therefore, that the English Communist movement should be controlled by people who are mentally subservient to Russia and have no real aim except to manipulate British foreign policy in the Russian interest. Of course such an aim cannot be openly admitted, and it is this fact that gives the Communist Party its very peculiar character. The more vocal kind of Communist is in effect a Russian publicity agent posing as an international socialist. It is a pose that is easily kept up at normal times, but becomes difficult in moments of crisis, because of the fact that the U.S.S.R. is no more scrupulous in its foreign policy than the rest of the Great Powers. Alliances, changes of front etc., which only make sense as part of the game of power politics have to be explained and justified in terms of international socialism. Every time Stalin swaps partners, 'Marxism' has to be hammered into a new shape. This entails sudden and violent changes of 'line', purges, denunciations, systematic destruction of party literature, etc., etc. Every Communist is in fact liable at any moment to have to alter his most fundamental convictions, or leave the party. The unquestionable dogma of Monday may become the damnable heresy of Tuesday, and so on. This has happened at least three times during the past ten years. It follows that in any Western country a Communist Party is always unstable and usually very small. Its long-term membership really consists of an inner ring of intellectuals who have identified with the Russian bureaucracy, and a slightly larger body of working-class people who feel a loyalty towards Soviet Russia without necessarily understanding its policies. Otherwise there is only a shifting membership, one lot coming and another going with each change of 'line'.
Russia is no longer communist, of course, but that doesn't mean so very much. You can't outthink stupidity out of this world. The same forms persist, except now it's homegrown stupidity, rather than imported stupidity.
And yet, you go through school, never once crying that you'd like some icecream, like those kids in the United States get. You're wise to the fact that this is where it is, and doublethink is where it's at, and sad as it may be, you go with it. Sad as it may make you feel, you take no notice of that, because hey, good kids take no notice of that. Notwithstanding all the other kids that do - obviously they must not be good. At any rate, not nearly as good as you. And notwithstanding that sad shape it imprints upon the corners of your mouth over time - that's just coincidence, not the shameful macula of life lived according to the devil.
Once out of school, you go to work, you fly a desk in many different places all through the corners of a room, a very tiny room that's slowly shrinking in your head. You do your job, you do it well, for what ? What kind of job ? YOU ROCK!!!!
And so it goes, and here you are, a four star general, a chief of this, a head of that... for what ? But leave aside for what. Each day, what do you do ? Why would you do it ? Why would anyone do it ? Who even thought it should be done, and in what state of bulbous dementia were they!
All that work, you definitely put in. All those years, that were your life - or rather, that could have been your life. All that supposed talent, the promise that they always said you showed. What's it gone for ? Where's it gone ? What's anyone to show for it ? Years, decades, you've done your part to build the great progressive future. Where is it ? What is it ? In what demented perspective was all the nonsense even worth considering, let alone worth pouring yourself into it.
Not your failure, of course. Not the clear sign that you tread in a muck, that your so called ideals are an affront to all that's good and honorable and worthy of respect. Oh, no, the work instead of imaginary devils, ever changing, ever shifting in the corners of your view, where mind does not easily penetrate - not that your mind still wants to penetrate anything - you're not sexist, you're not a rapist, you're not anything. Anything at all. Others did it, there's always somehow oddly others that ruin and wreak havok. Ones that started just as you, ones you trained for no reason to 'go to war' with the hobgoblins of yesterday are the bugaboos of tomorrow. And such a splendid job you've done, and now your prize!
Above. This is what you get. A fraction of a socialite, a badly cut plastic suit, one half a catered rubber chicken. Empty words, you rock, you this, you know them for you've said them thousands - trillions of time. They were a gain, they got "us" an edge every time, and now your time's come - come forth and be repaid, in edges, have your share of the empty grain. It's time to die, so hurry up, more talented, better boys are dead already. What are you still doing here ?
And she is so damnably ugly...