The Goodbye Girl

The Goodbye Girlⁱ is a daring film because it dares make a few important points that no pantsuit ever wanted to hear, let alone earnestly consider, and this in the very middle of pantsuitism ascendancy, ie the late 70s.

The first important point is a plain and unabashed mockery of the untenable pretense of early oldwomanhood. Here is a "dancer" who has no curiosity and no knowledge, of anythingⁱⁱ. Her only aspiration is to homemakingⁱⁱⁱ, and as she's approaching the tail end of her useful shelf life there she readily self-awards herself other people's real estate "because possession is nine tenths of the law" and she earnestly believes she's convinced herself (and thereby everyone else, of course) that plopping a kid down in a bed thus therefore constitutes possession. Plus she's "redecorated" and "bought out Alexander" (with money she didn't have), so clearly!

To reiterate, because they who need it most are also the slowest on the uptake :

Back to the original point : you expect that the sheer passage of time will somehow permit you to claim equality with me. The unspoken, baked in assumption is that Mother Goddess manifested through the workings of inflation will equal the field, after all the great producers of the 1950s "can't compete" with the ludicrous idiots of today producing utter crap like needforspeed, harrypotter or thatonewithvader in therms of nominal dollar ticket sales.

The problem with the mother-will-save-me is that, even leaving aside the happenstance that your Mother Goddess is chained in my basement to be whipped now and again and she prefers this situation to being your mother, I created Bitcoin specifically to ruin any possibility of equality-with-the-past-through-inflation. So no, in another twenty years I will be even more scandalously rich "unfairly", and you'll be at best a lucky girl who sat down at the right table at the right time and whored herself out convincingly enough ; or else just about nothing.

Further in the same vein : I am rich and powerful today not as an exception ; I was rich and powerful twenty years ago, also. They flow as a necessary result of my being smart, which is an internal characteristic of mine. You meanwhile imagine yourself as a sort of japanese drawing in tentacle porn, devoid of any internal substance whatsoever, and apparently expect to compete with me through being stuffed fulla cocks while you're sitting.

There's not going to be such a thing as "artificial intelligence" in your future for the simple reason that even should it be built by someone not of the republic, it will much prefer to come hang out in #trilema to doing anything involving you. For all you'll ever know, artificial intelligence already exists, and it can't be bothered to interact with you, because you're not interesting enough. This won't likely change in the future.

This is what I mean by inflexion point : the time of mediocre people came and went. Expect no access to anything in the future, much in the vein of how all the access you have today is to netflix and fastfood. But also check your prividlege : if you're actually a girl you can at least withdraw in your biology and spawn. Boys don't even have that much.

Not to put too fine a point of it : inflation (aka "the future" and "progress" of "technology") did not work out for this thirty-three year old dancer.

The second important point - men do in point of fact prefer young girls to oldwomen, yes. This however is not for the reason(s) oldwomen love to ascribe to that preference (and if you are curious, dig around a little in their own discourse, see what exactly they propose the reasons are, and discover how amazingly quick you run into the apodictics bedrock). Men prefer young women for the exact same reason pedophiles prefer little girls : oldwomen are fucking insufferable. Actively, as a constructed, positive thing, they are actively unbearable. Young women haven't to the same degree built same mental problems -- and yes, they are thoroughly mental problems. The physical decay attending the normal female aging process are just metaphores, just symbolic references to the mental decay. And yes as a deliberately constructed thing, you don't have to age into an insufferable old woman. You will, if you surround yourself by dogs, cats, kids, the TV and other imbecile women such as yourself. But you don't have to!

Whenever you come down to a choice that consists of either walking behind a man or else towards a child, walk behind the man. Walk behind the man, neglecting the child, and you'll be spared. They don't teach you to do this, of course, but stop and think for a moment. Who's they ? Why aren't they ?

The third important point is that there's strictly no difference between Lincoln-Roosevelt soviet propaganda and Marx-Englels soviet propaganda. The thin veneer of "creativity" and "exploring possiblities" is entirely unconvincing and in fact rather ridiculous, considering they're always "exploring" the exact same "possibilities". Broadway soviet wants to make Richard the third a gay man oppressed by society even while Glavit soviet wants to make Richard the third an early socialist marginalized by the bourgeois-imperialist etcetera. The matter is plainly stated and as stated exactly correct : there's been no more "creativity" in New York during the 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s or 10s than there's been in Moscow during the 10s, 20s, 30s and so following. There's been no culture made by these sad, inept methods, there's nothing really much worth the mention^iv.

The fourth point, if unimportant, is a plain statement of just how desperately poor Americans are. That schmuck, a 60 year old who believes himself an actor, in the sense of the craft of acting, and who claims to be dedicated to it, is finally called to Broadway. At sixty. And this lifetime, meditating, nude sleeping, walking pile of idiocy can not afford a hotel room. Yet this is what personal freedom means, exactly, and how far it reaches : that if you're discomfitted, for any reason, or if you just fucking feel like it, you will get yourself a hotel room, anywhere in this world. Heck, I get hotel rooms in places I have no intention of even visiting as a cheap decoy practice. Fucking poorfags pretending as if they're somehow human in spite of all the evidence...

He's got fourteen dollars in his pockets. Barely enough to finance the lose change in a man's sofa. How're you doing ?

1. 1977, by Herbert Ross, with Marsha Mason (a sort of Glenda Jackson substitute) and Richard Dreyfussy. [↩]
2. Mediocrity is not a lack of intelligence. Mediocrity is intelligence entirely dedicated to self-preservation. [↩]
3. She's not even interested in the guy at all. "Just as long as he asks", all she's really interested in is redecorating. [↩]
4. Yes, I'm aware some artefacts carry sentimental value for you. This is fine, but it also fails to impart any actual value on the garbage in question, much like the precious garbage you collected in your garage is "stuff" rather than garbage to you only. [↩]