The Egeszsegfejlesztesi pont

Sunday, 21 April, Year 11 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu


In Romanian, "pont" would be a tip, as in, "hai sa-ti vind un pont", "let me sell you a clue". This however... this'd be the ultimate pont of them all, wouldn't you say ? The Egeszsegfejlesztesi pont, definitively and incomprehensibly unpronounceable for one and all.

I have no idea what it means in its original language, besides a vague something to do with female genitals, which oddly enough seems quite appropriate. Doesn't it ? As the dork once said... "I think they're happy if you just make an effort". Sooo... ege...egesgege... fegemege... whatever. Should be close enough.

I know even the little I know from a local girl. You see, we were walking down the street somewhere downtown Bucharest, looking for an adequate place to have breakfasti and engaging in our usual games of fun and entertainment -- in this case we were racing words for length (as well as quality). The titular Egeszsegfejlesztesi made such an impression we stopped for a moment, winded by all the glossal effort -- and just as we stopped, some fellow dressed to blend in surrepetitiously retrieved a sort of table arrangement from atop a kind-of hip-high metal pole minding its own business somewhat to the side of the sidewalk. Why would he do such a thing ?ii

Dazed by the proceedings but quite eager to learn more of this strange new culture and thirsty for observation we therewith sat down in the corresponding corner bistro. I ordered the traditional one of everythingiii and while she was trying to recuperate, I proposed the waitress read the damned thing to me. She did, I repeated it, she did it again, I repeated it again, I can't fucking say it now but please believe me against all evidence -- by the time she was done with me fifteen or so minutes later I could vocalize it almost acceptably. She told me so herself, as part of her attempted explanation of what exactly the damned thing is supposed to denote. You will excuse her and hold me solely responsible for the vague notions I'm left with -- I admittedly do not make the best of students, being on one hand rather stubborn and on the other definitely preoccupied with the superficial outside skin to the detriment of deeper substance. Such being the sad state of affairs down here, until the enactment of the future Republic of Ideals, Egeszsegfejlesztesi pont is stuck classified under "cunt-something" and there's exactly nothing anyone can do about this. So sorry.


This is the local bistro dog. I do not recall his name, as it happens to be maleiv. Nevertheless, he was very cute, as well as missing a leg.



That, by the way, is the girl I mentioned, bringing us the one of everything I mentioned (in this case, the everything is rum).

"Is it okay if I bring three at a time ?"
"Oh, no, bring everything together, I intend to take pictures."

She gave me a look of utter despair, and executed. It makes little difference to me, my table's ever overflowing anyway, whatever the staff may attempt. At Doris Int'l they twin tables the moment they see Bartholomew turn the curve, but the tell-tale sign of my presence, that plate projecting over the edge of the table manifests just as well. By now all the girls can summon in response to a "seating three ?" type inquiry from a green master d' is this pitying look, quietly saying something quite like "bitch... you have no idea."

Yet you see, and this is a notable characteristic setting aside the denizens of Budarest from the rest of the best : when confronted with the exceptionally demanding, anonymous girl does her utmost! Because this is not the time to slack, this is the time to go all out ; when ordered a thousand pies the pie stand's not to deliver nine hundred nine-tenths of pies, but a thousand eleven pies with ribbons and complementary cherries on top! Thus she brought in little slips of paper, scribbled by her own hands, in approximate renditions of what liquour's found in the associated glass! I didn't ask for that, nor did I necessarily expect itv, yet there it is. Speaking of which, it occurs to me : imagine you went out drinking, and ordered this after well loaded, and everyone took sips of the damned things for a while, and then you mixed it all together into one large glass, took a sip, and discovered it's sheer ambrosia, the best thing you ever tasted by very far.

Then you could spend the rest of your life trying (and, of course, failing) to replicate the exact selection of little glasses missing the exact ammounts of little sips. I call this the FuckPasztor random cocktail generator.

Here we go :



Inquiring bimbos wish to know.

And now for a selection of views from Buchapest :








There was a little girl,

Who had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead.

And when she was good,

She was very very good,

But when she was bad,

She was horrid.



Speaking of by the way : I very much recommend Dimbovitavi cruising. It's not like highway cruising or any kind or tom of cruising you might've seen before or be familiar with. Dimbovita cruising works like this : you walk down the pier, hop onto the gangway, the attendant tells you the thing leaves at 3, you ask him what time it is, he tells you it's three while showing you his watch displaying 5:01, you ask him why he says three when his clock shows five, he points out there's a 1 in front, you pay and get on, the boat takes off, you order goulas and a bottle of red wine while checking out the teenage daughter of a tourist nuclear fambly, busting out of her blouse and so fucking desperate to be separated from the boring dorks that spawned her, she spends her entire time "taking pictures" by standing her ass as close to in your face as she can possibly manage while trying to lift her skirt by moving from one foot to the other and back again. Then by the time the wine's done the cruise's over, and there you go -- you've Dimbovita cruised.

Oh, and by the way -- as Collette Cuntsomethingvii aptly points out, the limb is mightier than the thumb. In practical exercises and assorted exertions on that theme,


Pai pina cind, va intreb, domnilor, pai pina cind sa n-avem si noi perversii nostri ?!

Now let's get back to viewing views.






The girls went ahead, and I, left behind, forgotten and alone, found myself ambushed by an evidently international, transparently lesbian couple. The femme was quite obviously local, going by her sweet curvature (and quite possibly pulling double time, going by her propensity to dove eye the observer). The tomboy (or however you call the ridiculous man-wanna-bes these days) was probably French or some kind of southern Dutch or somesuch, going by the unpleasant angular shape of her face and body. She was indeed very threatened by the circumstances, and so pretending there's no egress by the statue dragged her temporarily compliant prey down the other way.

I don't specifically care, there's an incredible abundance of quite passible cunt nobody has any use for all around ; but wouldn't you say this is sex abuse ? Is it only creepy if some naturally-born dudebro does it ? Does it magically become high-five material once a wanna-be dudeho indulges ? Cuz she's only doing it ironically, right, it's not really creepy, it's just playing ? I can see it, totally.

You got problems, my dear contemporary socialists, revolutionary wanna-bes, retards united. You got problems, and merely their formulation by very far exceeds your quite laughably limited capacities. Of all the times in history, this is possibly the one during which the socialist "idea" is most hysterically inarticulate, and most painfully inarticulable. When, tell me, when did the idiot party have it quite so terribly, in quite such general terms ?

Rid de voi sclavele si cu curu', bai astea din tabel.



As I explained to the bimbo, this is where disused girls are kept, in the dank darkness, for someone to perceive the need.

The principal advantage to harem slavery, you see, is that one can come up with a new Christmas every other day! What do you mean there's no chained, nude girlies behind that hole in the medieval wall ? LIES!

Speaking of which : I bought a slingshot at a fair-like thing. The bimbo pointed it out, she does this thing where her fantasy impels her to express things which she regrets the very same moment -- but the very same moment is also too late. I tried it out before purchasing, by having them bend over and snapping their butts. The woman minding the stand told me I'm a very lucky man as I paid for the thing. Lucky indeed, I have to come all the way to the Turkish town of Bukresh to buy a slingshot whittled in the shape of a macaw.

The problem with man-made tools is that everyone assumes they know how to use them. The woman, for instance, thought she's putting on sale a tool for projecting rocks ; and that I'm a lucky man to use it in a purely sexual manner, as a sort of captive-bolt switch for eager girly butts. How is it luck, though, it's self-evidently what the damn thing is for, you rest it against the intended spot, pull the rubber back, wait a while so the victim can't really predict the exact moment and smack!

Or so they think -- because that is very much not how I intend to use it. I fuck the bimbo in the ass, you see. She's quite the anal queen, I don't recall many girls quite so anally talented, and so she might've been a boy just as well, for all the inconvenience that'd have caused me. She's also very anxious, and quite eager, so I do things like putting a plastic bag over her head (she has a special pink feather boa for the securing of the plastic bag in place, it goes around her neck somewhat tightly a dozen or so times) and then teasing her about whether she's going to manage to make me cum before the air runs out completely and she dies. And I take my time with it, too, because what's the rush ? Just because she's desperate for air doesn't necessarily mean I'ma stick my cock up her ass quite as soon as she begs me to, does it ? As you might perhaps imagine, especially if you've ever dealt with the emotional wrecks ourdemocracy so predictably produces, the arrangement drives her quite wild.

She doesn't need to be tied for this or anything, either, if you can believe that. Obedient slavegirl, you know ? But anyway, this is great and all, yet how many times can you asphyxiate a girl ? She's quite smart, though nobody seems to suspect this (in part through my careful manipulation of fixed & received ideas, true, I confess), and I don't really want her neuronal mass to suffer, so further amusements have to be devised ; and as she's been strategically whining about "not having had any real sex" at well chosen moments (because she's female, she wants that cunt stuffed, duh) I'ma introduce the slingfuck : uncomfortably (with a view to painfully, hence the parrot head) shove the slingshot handle up her snatch while I fuck her ass, and make her slingshot herself right in the clit. It's almost like playing with it, no ?

The best part being that she doesn't know about this, nor will she, at least for a little while yet. Isn't Trilema a bundle of fun ?




Above : chicken paprikash, duck leg en demiglace, duck liver en terrine and gnocchi ai' funghi in the middle. These people know what they're doing, by the way, nobody'd be ashamed with that terrine.

Below : guess the brand ? Older woman inside seemed very exceptionalized to hear ~nobody ever heard of her brand shop, so let's find this out -- who ever heard of B-list, cvasi-famous, still high quality not yet infested by the working class tourists of this world ? Hm ?



Above : shopping market, where the key business affairs managers lie.

Below : eh, who gives a shit.

They're very strange people, what can I say.







This is Merci. She agreed to be in my shot on impulse, but then got really really suspicious. "Why ?". Well... because her name's thank you in French. So, merci Merci!

Nice coffee, too.















Dood's not about to move, because totally, London's got nothing on us and all that jazz. Isn't this abuse, by the way ? That kid looks like he has better shit to do than stand about stick straight in the middle of the day. He could don some jeans and a t-shirt and fuck around with his phone like everyone else, why should he have to stand like that ? This couldn't possibly ever be the result of some kind of democratic process, be it vote, social negotiation, what could possibly impel this young man to behave in this deeply variant manner ? He's spending a portion of his day doing things extremely at odds with the mollases of an activity of his peers. Why ? Corruption, right ? Some abusive elder white male got a hard-on for the Buckingham palace guard and copied it over, so he feels better about himself ; and this kid's stuck paying for his mental issues. That's what it is, neh ?

Down with the patriarchy! Everyone has the right (and thus the obligation) to dissolve into the mass! Why should there be difference, disjunction, "absurdity" ? Evidently this kid's not well informed, he's being manipulated with toxic facts, gotta raise awareness etcetera. So... get to it, why don't you ?

Budapest is a city which evidently beats the shit out of all would-be bums. If you're trying to sleep outdoors at night, you're taking your life in your hands, there's people going about earning a city salary to beat your dumb ass. For what it's worth, I believe this is the correct approach ; and the results are fucking sparkling superb, too. Do you know what's the grand total count of bums I saw during my stay here ? 6. They were all six seated in a dazed confusion on benches around the back of the train station, fresh beating marks on their faces, necks, arms and no doubt torsos etc glistening atop older marks of same. Nobody was as much as fucking reclining, I have no doubt the police's beating the everliving shit out of them. As they should.


Strudel palace. So one of each, of course. They managed to fit it all on the double table somehow, and then we managed to fit it all in the gullet, somehow.


And goodnight!

  1. In passing and as an integral part of the breakfast search we bought natural hair brushes for both clothes and shoes. Because that's fucking exactly how "walking down the street looking for a place to have breakfast" actually goes irl, you end up buying things you had been seeking for years and rather lost hope of ever encountering. []
  2. Later we saw more such poles, all over town including the periphery, but none had the little table top. Is this some kind of inequality ? []
  3. They had quite passible tacos al pastor uh I mean, pasztor something-or-the other. Goat cheese sandwiches, you get the idea. Plus quite excellent smoked salmon and curd bagels, of which therefore we ordered three more, resulting in the girl getting on the phone pronto, to order a new delivery. As it turns out the average corner bistro ain't quite ready for a harem dessant in its average presentation. []
  4. In fairness, I also immediately forget female names, for instance all I can recall about the aforementioned waitress is the same "cunt-something".

    Yes, my tree is getting to be a tad debalanced, but so far I'm managing middlingly well by relying on functional appelations -- "girlies" and "bimbo" and such carry me through an average day while producing only a bearable quantum of beffudlement. []

  5. Nor did the very Bavarese girly bringing me one of everything sweet liqueurs at the lounge of whatever posh hotel do this -- she did think about it, though, and noticing she can distinguish them by scent she set them down in order and explained her reasoning. []
  6. The largest river in Europe, that not only defended the budding Western civilisation from Eastern migration throughout the building of the currently missing spire, but also taught Euclides, Tucidides and Elucidides magic, writing, dancing and the comedie francaise.

    True fax, we was kangz. []

  7. It happened one night, 1934, by Frank Capra, with Clark Gable and the Claudette Colbert in question. Tedious pantsuit peltea as you could ever ask for ; what, you thought the "last night didn't mean anything" libertardramatic device was invented at some point ? Deary, prostia-i veche ca drumu' Clujului, wut. []
Category: La pas prin lume
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3 Responses

  1. Bucharest -> Budarest -> Buchapest -> Budapest, acest oraș al românului -> ghiaurului -> maghiarului -> ungurului brav și al fetelor UDMRu.

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