The deathstar touched me on the dolly.

It occurs to me that there's a deep reason English (as in, the pigdin used in our colonies) latches so desperately on "black culture".

In every sane language there are devices specifically useful to communicate across gaps. In Romanian, for instance, if you refer another's mother by the construction ma-ta, such as in the construction "noi suntem baietii de care ti-a spus ma-ta sa te feresti" the derogatory intent is directly evident (due to the construction being a cursing mainstay and its natural linguistic habitat being "ma-ta-i curva"). This then permits actual humor, the building block of which is saying "doamna ma-ta", approximately "her ladyship your mother".

The English version above says nothing to you, right ? Though your brain is brimming with the excitement of discovering an actual language that actually works at that only function of language ever : the understanding of they who don't like you. Doesn't it ? You could almost see it, right, the implication being that the speaker doesn't think so highly of your mother ?

That's the fucking point of language, not clucking to yourself while you pull on your inch-long clitty, not chirping "all is well, all is well" like chickens in the coop. No. None of that. The only point of languageⁱ is forming a mental image of what's going on in the head of those who are more than willing to drive a ten foot long spike up your ass ; and in the case at hand maybe you're getting somewhere ? Could it be part and parcel of the problem is they don't think very much of your mother ?

"Black culture" (in quotes because there is no such thing -- on either score) has an almost functional device for this purpose : yo momma! If I say "her ladyship yomomma" it's almost evident what I mean, and the earlier untranslated bit turned into "we're those guys yomomma told you to steer clear of" also suddenly almost conveys, in an infantile, snot-nosed sort of way, doesn't it ?

But "english" (as spoken by you boisey morons) does not have such things. All it has are forced memes, nonsense like "battlestar galactica" and "luke vader", pushed into your consciousness by no intrinsic merit or utility whatsoever, but simply the communication needs of detergent brands. Detergent brands also have to speak across gapsⁱⁱ ; unlike you, they understand that's what language is for, and they "set to it" in the imbecile way Americans set about doing things. It "cost a pretty penny" but as a result "spreading works", they're proud to report.

Was there ever a more misfortunate, hapless, desperate people lost in a harsher desert than you lot ?

In any case, the subject of today's article, now that we're done explaining the title :

What happens is that if you pop (ie, get much better results than per usual) while crafting in Eulora, it'll dump on the ground around you whatever didn't fit in the drawers, nooks and crannies of your crafting table. Hence "pop", see, you were there at the CNC mill, drudgery of daily day, when suddenly... pop! One barge's worth of whatever threaded pipe you were making came flooding out. Wouldn't that be fun ?

So as I was burning Flotsam to shape Slag into Base Metal Studs, suddenly wham! Nine million ECus' worth, ie lots and lots of Tinkerer's Petrified Feelings and Sentiments with a top of... Base Metal Studs. Except these didn't find room in the table, so the game put them in the environment. I had forgotten what the mesh looks like, and so, shock and awe, what occured to my poor toon!

There you go, the deathstar touched my dolly, what can I tell you.

PS. It sucks though.

1. Well for you, anyway, as the female in this relationship. [↩]
2. That's what gaps fucking are, the gap between your trenches and their trenches, the space between the battlements and ramparts built on your castle's walls and the imaginary line uniting the points of spears with points of campfires down below. That, and that only, and nothing else. The space between a handshake. [↩]