There's an old joke... actually, let's quote history.
mircea_popescu: proper & civilised soviet citizen walking on street in romanian capital, suddenly needs to pee.
mircea_popescu: he stops passerby, more or less with hands and props they manage to understand each other. passerby looks around, identifies a tree, points to it.
mircea_popescu: foreigner is taken aback
mircea_popescu: cak ?!
mircea_popescu: answer comes calmly : "tot acolo"
mircea_popescu: (also there)
So what's it like, you wish to know ? Well... as I was explaining to one of the herd, the advantage of aging is achievement. In this particular case, it's (somewhat) amusing to notice that I'm the only actual lifestyle Master there. Before I made the account, there was noneii. After I made it, there is the one. Before my girls went bare cunt, there were "pictures found on the internet". Afterwards, there's their cunt. And on in this manner, what do I get for being 40 ? Just this, that by merely coming over and sitting down I dig a hole into outright reality the size of a small country.
It's something, for a kid, to be always the fastest runner among any group of kids, always the highest jumper, always the greatest and most wonderful. And it happens, too. Occasionally if not too often, very gifted kids occur. As time goes by, though... as time goes by gifts are no longer enough. As time goes by, work starts to count, and then counts more, and then even more. Work, laborious, tiresome work, the hard, demanding slog of turning those gifts from potential to present.
These considerations foregoing make, I suppose, the one perfect introduction for today's picture set :
To quote the ever-Romanianiii Romanians,
14:59 LordMPofTMSR deci is la gym. io sed frumos pe canapei aici, capitonat, comod, vine cafeluta imediat
fetele, dincolo de sticla, trag la bici.
pai asa da viata, ce sa mai.
15:08 Just_curious Sa te duci la gym,doar sa ti bei cafeaua si sa tragi cu ochiul la femeile care fac sport,asta inseamna sa fii....." sportiv "
15:14 charm good one
15:16 LordMPofTMSR mei, is ale mele, nu asa in general femeile.
15:18 LordMPofTMSR si nici nu trag cu ochiu, doara in general daca-mi vine io ma uit, ce mare chestie. si-n particular le-am facut si poze, pun pe blog, ce sa mai.
15:19 LordMPofTMSR ie haios, oricum. tat soiu de duzi disturbati pe-aici, se tat chiorasc spre mine dinsii. ca nu e drept, sau ceva.
16:03 Rebel Salutare tuturor!
16:07 Just_curious Dud disturbat,esti tu..si tipele de acolo,stiu ca le faci poze pe ascuns si le postezi pe net?
What do you think, do the chicks know I'm sneaking pictures ?
Do not laugh, this is the same mentally impossible culture that produces on a daily basis artefacts like that celebrated "Please mind luggage left unattended". How, for all the Heaven and whatever's left on earth, how can you mind what's left unattended ? The very definitions of the terms preclude it! How can a woman be aware of her unawareness ? What the fuck is wrong with these people ?!
I played some PS game, the one with the old beardy dude with the axe and the kid following him around -- I can't be arsed to look it up but somehowiv I suspect everyone knows anyway. The story's you're a god or something, and you have a kid and you run into a divorced career woman that knows magicks and helps you and whatever crapolade. They ruined the MMORPG, incidentally, there's equipment and skills and stats snuck somewhere in a corner, so the lamers can claim it has some whenever the powerplayer derrides their inept cargo cultism. They serve no actual purpose besides this "plausible" deniability, however.
But anyway, as I was sitting there, watching the kids runing about, alone and desperate, in my peripheral vision, while the idealised All-American family of 2019 was displaying its studied awkwardnessv for my educational needs front and center, it all struck me. They're growing up there, you see. Not a harem, in any proper sense, not children brought up by enslaved women, but instead... vat children, children brought up by the lights. The studied family relations re-enacted by 3d models are there for a very deep reason, it's not the element that counts, but the far-reaching structure. The impossibly stiff, typically ustardian "standing around awkwardly" is, incomprehensible as all get-out, counterproductive as Escher drawings, nevertheless part of a larger mechanism. It is systematically functional, even if objectively dysfunctional -- because that, therefore this. Children raised by people would never put up with the storage units adapted from Skinner's drawing of battery chicken storage units -- but children raised by the lights... children who spent their life in a mall, between the food court and the (expensive! elite! delectable!) playstation zone... they would, wouldn't they.
As a matter of fact, they do.
And yet, the girl clerks at the gym came out of their box to hang out with me. Not sanely, mind you, not "walk up to the man in the suit and say hi, my name's Alana" or whatever the fuck. No, they pretended to be entertained by the male coworker, this great guy with a great sense of humor. He sported one of these beards they do now, the overgroomed beard of 2019, and a very pubescent, cracking voice, carrying through a very pubescent mentality. He attempted to assault them, like 12yo boys are supposed to assault 12 yo girls -- notwithstanding these were all adolescents, but the retarded adolescents of 2019 are just about 12 or so in any sane timeline. He couldn't possibly touch them, of course, so he sublimated, and... told them how Game of Throne ends. All the derision, and all the aggression of normal male pubescence still there, but also the horror, the gnawing suspicion that maybe they're not realy interested. Maybe they don't really care how that shit ends, or even what happens at all. Maybe they're not even paying attention. Maybe that's why he keeps having to repeat himself, maybe that's why they have no reaction whatsoever at the junctures he expects it.
Which... of course they weren't. Their attention wasn't on him anymore than on the chairs. They were watching me, carefully, safely above all, from a distance, from behind the prop. As George Constanza once said, "she can't accuse me of not being comfortable". Not a matter of confort, but a matter entirely of case law and court hearings, "can it be said that". Said by others, adversative proceedings imagined by each and all of this sad herd of navel-grazing assonauts. So... yeah, I couldn't accuse them of drooling all over me, I hope we're clear on that. They were there coincidentally, hanging out with their coworker, it's all covered, okay ? And I further couldn't accuse them of being really visibly distraught when I slapped my slavegirl's ass, the same slavegirl that came out to check if I need anything during her breather break -- chiefly because "a real man" would never do that ; nor would he mention that they watched her go away with the exact same sighful gaze their earlier exact equivalents shot at the older girls, the ones with actual tits to free during the long summer workhours.vi
These just aren't things you talk about, okay ? And may the night have mercy on the children of the lights -- god knows I don't intend to.
PS. The title discusses the sexual division of labour -- but don't they all ? Oh, and by the way -- would you say it's in Romanian ? Which part being Romanian, the gym or the vidya ?
PPS. Socialism is the system everyone knows doesn't work and everyone knows nobody can fix. That's the entire thing, there's no other substance there besides these simple criteria. It's common for thinkers to fall into the constructive fallacy of presuming something exists just because it has a name (and certanly pantsuitism is all about naming things in the hope this'll make things) -- nevertheless, socialism is merely the ideology of the stupid, it has no positive form, there's absolutely nothing there. Entirely "consists" of the smoke of enumerated beliefs -- that nothing works, and that nothing can be fixed. That's all the "consisting", that's all it is.
Oh, not quite all it is. It's trivially easy to kill, also.———
- Eerily sounds like roll-on roll-off, dunnit. Well... oxymorons happen, what can you do. Especially across linguistic and cultural barriers.
Which incidentally also describes the principal roadblock I see to the putative party thing : I have absolutely no intention to move Trilema back to Romanian. This means I'll be writing in English. The obvious solution would be of course to put such in the very party status : all communications to happen in English (and then file clerk-translated copies with the authorities, as the law demands, for maximal disdain points). It'd be cool, yes, and exactly in my style of cool -- create unthinkable items out of a little straw. Nevertheless... I still perceive it as an unpleasantly slippery slope. [↩]
- It's a sad little site (representative, no doubt, of the proud nation slash European Union participant), mostly female driven (out of the usual female desperation at male desertion). To quote what I'd guess would be the previous top dog,
I m , not here so play games. If you want session , you tell me clear what you want , and no problem.
I m not here so know your situation , life , family , i hate blackmail , jokers ,or talk fancy chat vainly .
But hey, at least he's trying, right ? Single 40something from rural Romania, possessed of a respectable selection of tools (that cost him a lot more than they cost you) and no particular ideas, certainly no particular facility in expressing them, he's the one master mai acatarii they had prior.
Other than that, the girlies hang around on fetlife, try and figure out what their "betters" are doing abroad and how to apply it at home. Why do they think precious cuntlet from Washington are their betters ?! Oh, but do you still need to ask... [↩]
- Anyone have ready some reference to that hysterical moment back in 2010 or thereabouts, when a poster campaign carried out in Romania resulted in the "Romanian bloggers" declaring importantly that "I'm illegal" and assorted assonautisms ? [↩]
- On the first pass I suspect everyone knows it anyway because I've seen it everywhere, an object found synchronically on both sides of the pond can't possibly be obscure.
On the second, and more interesting pass, however, I suspect everyone knows it because guess what ? Femstate. There's an incredible abundance of exactly one of everything.
Capitane, nu fii trist, garda merge inainte -- prin partidul comunist.
Lenine si Staline, or venit americanii -- sa va suga pulile.
- The woman wants the kid to get whatever the fuck, and the kid looks to the dad, who nods. Because a well trained slave girl etcetera. Right ?
There's a lot of such in there. [↩]
- I don't remember which Romanian author recounts this incidental, as to how in ye olde days of rural life, before the war, the actual adult young females, getting hot, would open up their bosom to the outside air -- but the younger ones, not yet sexually mature in their secondary characteristics, would very much not, and very much be bothered by this, also. Something with "cit un mar domnesc" and "urla sinul de caldura" in it. An old story in any case.. [↩]