A lot of hay was made, in the circumstances of the last Great War, of a supposed "chthonic nature" of the nazional-sozialismus of the Third Reich by the press agentsi of Roosevelt's feminine-socialism. Supposedly natsocs are bad because they want to Ragnarok the world, say the femsocs, whereas they (the femsocs) are good because they just want to spawn indefinitely until the (eminently un-Ragnaroked) world is so full of their translucent, worm-like cunt-dribble that you can't anymore see (let alone smell) neither bank nor ravine through the thick, squirming slime. Which is self-evidently so much better than burning everything down I couldn't begin to describe it to you.
But let's leave these "lofty"ii topics where they sit, on dusty shelves among dust, and instead let's go with me to buy a bong. So there we are, me holding the centerpiece in hand, when we suddenly diverge -- because I know what to say, and you don't know what to say.
"Me discuenta por efectivo ?" is what I say, meaning, do I get a discount for paying cash, the Latino conventional signal of "you're this close to making a sale, no joke".
The woman, alone in a lonely shop I might well have been the first customer to disturb that day takes me in for a second, excuses herself, calls someone on the phone and returns to announce that yes, diez por ciento, which is the Latino conventional signal of "you can have the tax and we won't report the sale". Because what, no elaborate glassware ever broke before or something ?! So there you go, suck it pantsuit government, I and some guy fucked you out of "your" tax tee hee. It's goneiii. Forever, just like that song.
At a (slightly) different time, in a (slightly) different place, a slut I own was "discounted" about twenty five bucks, which is to say approximately the same sum, because they wanted to charge her to check a bag and couldn't take cash. She wasn't about to not pull a stink over it, "says legal tender right fucking here, you MUST take it in settlement of all debts, public or private" and where's your manager and so on.
I guarantee you what happened afterwards was the manager in question decided his lunch was worth the dough, and taxed himself -- added some money out of his own pocket into the company till to satisfy corporate expectations. Because at level zero, the agent decided the matter's too much fucking trouble to engageiv and simply let it slide. And at the level one, (which is one above zero, Mrs The Mother Of That Aging Unhappy Chick Slash Career Woman, I hope you're aware your daughter's going places, and one's more than zero, yes ?) the very same agent again decided... the matter's too much fucking trouble to engage (different matter, why is there a shortage in the till", "managerial" questions dontchaknow).
Because this is what pantsuit life is all about, and this is what femsoc living always reduces to : the same choice, enacted again and again and again, "rather than engage you idiots I'd much prefer to just check out". Hence "smart"phones. Did I or did I not say to you, "the drony vomit of cult leaders you happen to follow is just as fucking stupid as the drony vomit of the cult leaders you don't like" ? What did you think I meant by it, some dude in robes somewhere, and the robes of that robed schmuck don't count ? Of course they fucking count, lol. That is the point.
The pantsuit dream, always and everywhere, is... "a thing that runs itself". Be it capt. Dana Holmes' company that runs itself back in the '40s or aspie orc's "make money while you sleep" last year, with every InterActiveCorpv in between. The idea is to... what is it ? What's the idea ?
To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die -- To sleep no more, but by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.
The idea is not to fucking be. To not fucking be. Ain't it!
That's the fucking ideal, a walmart so stuffed of three-ring binders, "store policies", "standards and practices" manuals, "codes of conduct" that... that... that what ? That nobody notices the vapid emptiness behind the supposedly open eyes, painted on dull metal ? Is that why you need all the rules and rulemaking, to cover up for you while you're taking a (very fucking permanent) nap ? You don't want to be disturbed, you long ago checked out ?
This is my criteria for interacting with commercial outfits, you realise this by now, don't you. If there's someone there, we can deal. If there's nobody there...
The Nazis were the fucking chthonic civilisation, really ? They, not you, the maniacs that wanted everything ended, dead, finished ?
Tell it to the hand.———
- Because feminine-socialism has serious problems producing any meaningful text at all while at the same time valuing the production of text above all other things, femsoc groups are unexceptionally organized around the universalization of text production (not in the sense of mandating everyone produce text, but in the sense of mandating everyone's productions, be they what they may, be recognized as text -- hence "twitter", and "believing women [speak even as they cluck]" and so endlessly on). As predictable consequences "everyone is a press agent" in female-socialist groups, while at the same time and unremarkably all text is copywritten (because the only sort of textual production in which anyone and everyone can be indistincly engaged at all times is bland commercial communication, the sort of indistinct dreck "intended to sell"). [↩]
- Have you noticed nothing's ever called "lofty" that's not in fact trite nonsense ? When the cult leader's drony vomit offends the spirit it's called things, but when pious fraud overtakes the same spirit -- then the same inane shit's suddenly called "lofty". What fucking lofty ? The drony vomit of cult leaders you happen to follow is just as fucking stupid as the drony vomit of the cult leaders you don't like, you realise this. Do you ? [↩]
- Understand the fundamentally important point here : for Bitcoin to disrupt pantsuit trade, Bitcoin doesn't even specifically have to be involved! It's not fucking fiat, to only matter where it touches, it's a Republican concept, it matters everywhere and all the time even if you don't have a fucking clue. Just like gravitation worked even before Newton, just so Bitcoin disrupts pantsuit conceits even among the very pantsuit, alone. It's enough for me to somewhere exist, it's enough for the forum to be going... very little indeed is enough and "your having signed up for it" is entirely not on the short list. The Incan empire got disrupted by Europe's age of sail, did it ? And this whether it signed up for it or not, and whether it studiously ignored the comings and goings in a "small" and "distant" and "irrelevant" corner of the Earth, wasn't it ? [↩]
- Hey, man -- what are you hassling me for ? This is just a gig, it's not my life. I don't know who Bozo is, what -- is he a clown ? So what's the big deal! There's millions of clowns! You should forget it! You're livin' in the past, man! You're hung up on some clown from the sixties, man! [↩]
- So named specifically because of what it isn't. You understand pantsuit naming conventions now ? "Department of Health" ? Yes ? [↩]