The Outbridge, the Bitches' Bow, the various things you didn't know...

First, the Outbridge.

Suppose you're going to Poas (which is a volcano) but you're not going the direct route (because holy shit I'm not going through Alajuela-Herediaⁱ, I'd rather go tailparty in Hatillosⁱⁱ) nor are you going the alternate further route (through Atenas) because it can't be found, because who the fuck here ever heard of signage, "people already know where they want to go because otherwise why would they be going there"ⁱⁱⁱ. Isn't knowledge a wonderful thing ?

But it's okay, we'll go through the even further route, why the hell not, the engine's powerful and the country tiny.

Except...

How about that!

And from what I hear, there were people on it when it washed away. (In fairness, the situation was signalled, in the shape of a 20pt handscribbling in orange on a different-orange roadblock set suspiciously kinda passively-aggressive on the roadside.)

In entirely unrelated not-news, here's a nice lake :

We oft stop there for a roadside coffee ; which we carry in a special compartment. We do because we must, it is generally, universally, inescapably and infuriatingly the case that whatever and howsoever arbitrarily chosen "tourist location", "resort hotel", "so and so peninsula" etcetera fail to provide, and fail to even come close to providing the level of human amenties Bartholomew can be prepared to carry by a forenight forewarned forewhore (a certain Miss Hanhanaha Wackerns, you don't know her). I can pack more in a trunk than these idiots can provide through real-estate, libera nos Domine.

But let's move on. To chattels (real estate having been above exhausted) :

I do spin quite the yarn, do I ? Anyway -- above, smiling sweetly her submissive cute, a certain cheap bimbo whose name I forget. Not to worry though, it'll come back to me (the bimbo, I mean). Maybe even today. Or maybe not, depending on how I feel.

How about that, bimbo ?

Mwahahahaha.

Moving on : below, the technology of sealing cuts in nylon rope. You understand, the difference between natural and synthetic fibers is that naturals burn while synthetics melt, yes ? So therefore, nylon rope can't fray, yes ? There you go, aspiring young "master o' women, just like that mp from the internetweb"! Now you know!

Above -- you pass the seared end through the hook's loop (yes, this is going to be one of those instructional items).

Below -- you make a loop. Do you know how to make a noose, by the way ?

Above : as I was saying (above), first you make a loop, then you bring one end back (from the opposite side of the loop you made), and loop it over the rope.

Below : you turn it around a few more times, then you bring the end through and last loop you made and knot it, thereby producing half of what you need to hang yourself.

And now we're ready : one noosed ends goes on her wrists, and the rope is twisted around them as many times as needed ; the other noosed end goes on her neck.

And the hook goes in...

You realise there's absolutely nothing she can do but squeal and run around, now. Do you ?

So then good, let her squeal and run around, what.

1. Too much traffic ; you can't even begin to imagine what happens when you sell cheap toyotas to a bunch of recently alighted tree monkeys that can't, for the life of them, merge.

   Por algo es Toyota! [↩]

2. Horrid New World hruschebization ; basically a collection of cul-de-sacs for the poor. It looks every bit as terrible as Puerto Rico, an agglomeration of dodo birdsnests and makeshift shelters posing as "houses" inconvincingly even to the natives.

   Human houses are built on broken ground according to a pre-existing plan since the time of the Latins ; but these are mere collections of whatever materials-like objects happened in the hand of the prospective homeowner, somewhat organized after the fact ; and it's not even that none have celars, it's rather that the owners can't even comprehend why any lair would include such a thing. Not like you dig under your future house, wut!

   It makes a big difference, this, whether you collect materials according to a plan or whether you produce a narrative to fit the extant materials. Did you know ? [↩]

3. I'm not even fucking kidding, this is the fundamental mode of idiocy informing the local mind. They absolutely never go anywhere they don't already know. Never.

   They do not.

   Consequently, what use is there for signage ? And what difference it makes, being born well, so your parents take you places when you're still a kid. And so on. [↩]