What amused me last night : selected romanian ruralia

Monday, 23 September, Year 11 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

Permit me to exercise my playwright muscle as Romania's only living playwright worth the mentioni by retelling... well, nothing in particular. But then again that's what divine talent and human industry are altogether for : making whips out of the pressed shitboard all around. Without further ado, we therefore begin!

The place. To quote the everlog of this our Most Serene Republic :

mircea_popescu asciilifeform, timisoara dorks, they're very self important. can you imagine this glorified rural shithole actually imagines itself "the european culture capital 2019" ?
mircea_popescu it's like if evanston, wyoming thought itself the center of intergalactic trade.

I'm not sure it could readily be put into words how inadequate this African tribe actually is ; what shocking gaps yawn bottomless between what they imagine themselves to be and what they actually, factually and in reality are. I shan't attempt the impossible task, either ; we'll leave it at that.

The persons. Well... these'd be, first, foremost and in all other places me, and my sluts. Oh, oops... wrong pair. No, no, wait... that's not right either... What the fuck shall we do ?!

Good thing there's where to choose from, amirite ? I just walk into the tit closet and pick something for that evening, like Charlie Shrem exactly whishes to misrepresent himself.

So, to sum up, an' not to put too fine a point on it : me, an' my sluts, those are the persons.

Action! We went to town to pick up some chick the Whoremaster General sniffed out (different from the girl she picked up yesterday night, and from the various other ones, aaaite ?). On a lark, as we were headed out the door I picked up the chains for the bitches, and attached them (yes, they wear the collar all the time, to much amusement & merriment in casual social situations, why not). This is how shit works for us, I come up with some random shit giving just about zero heads in and everyone struggles to cope. It's fun -- and besides, I wouldn't have it any other way.

There's this tiny square in timisoara where they usually play loud music -- of all whitey's inventions, the one Africa's most thankful for is the cheap amp. This time they had some people doing zumba sorry, bachata. It's hard to keep the despacitos straight, you know ? Among them, a decent looking chick juggling her generous udders (hey, you -- you know who you are, drop a line maybe we fuck sometime if I feel like it). We sat on a bench to watch her jiggle them juggs (and discover that -- nice ass, too!) at which point this beta orbiter that had been sneaking pictures with his phone went into complete creepazoid mode, implanted himself in the field of vision and demanded "What is this ?"

I told him this is me sitting and he talking to people he doesn't know, so leave it at that. He took three or four more orbits while processing the phrase and then made himself scarce. To be perfectly clear : I have absolutely no problem with the spurious cunt byproducts left idle since nobody can be arsed to organise killing fields for them anymore (they call this "peace", while posturing about as if to convince any and all this is some kinda good thing). They're more than welcome to admire / wank / whatever it is they do from a respectful distance. But the basics still apply, you can't just find yourself talking. Aite ? It's inappropriate, and the fact that everything else about the shithole you dwell is equally inappropriate does not constitute an excuse.

The aftermath is, entitely, this article. Obviously the sad victims of their own inadequacy that earlier lost the war with the president went into overdrive, "discussing", "controversying", herpy-derping all over themselves. As a factual matter, just about every newspaper in the country "covered it", but when I looked at Trilema's statistics earlier their collective impact is indiscernible, a fraction of a percent if anything at all. Meanwhile if I were to deign to link any of them, everyone "working" there'd be getting bonuses. I'm not about to : the only bonus you sad lot will ever get's right here.

This is the whole story ; as you might notice, not really all that interesting. The curse of the lost herds of mediocrity that pseudoscientists call postmodernism is that every bleating moron perceives himself for no reason an adequate and sufficient substitute for the actual phenomena. The only possible mental image doing justice to the sad lives of the tribes of sadness would be this situation where a rock concert consisted of twelve people in a room, of which half the band, and half "reporters" who went on to describe "what they saw", in "their own words" of course, meaning "from their own point of view", to... other roomfuls of a dozen people, who in turn continue this game of psychotic telephone.

Nobody cares, obviously, chief and foremost on that list the very rockbands in question. Yes you could end up at the public restroom sink right next to some guy much better than you ; but this circumstance, purely coincidental and entirely devoid of any possible teleology therefore says nothing about you. The circumstance that you perceived my grandeur as much as you could, which is to say altogether negligibly, does not make "how you felt about it" at all interesting, or even faintly important. All the wank about "oh, what does all this mean, my nine year old daughter" etcetera etcetera is just that : wank. You're no part of it ; if and when I and your daughter decide to do things you don't understand, it'll be between me and her. You won't be any part of it ; and until we so decide, her seeing that the world's way wider than whatever fits in your spurious noggin's the best thing that could possibly happen to her.

I suppose this'd have been the one alternative title : The Best Thing That Ever Happened In Timisoara. Sadly however, timisoara's not actually important enough to warrant nominal inclusion. Deal with it.

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  1. 1, 2, 3, etcetera. Mult, mult etcetera. []
Category: Breaking News
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14 Responses

  1. Instantly evoked, ofc,

    "What's this? What's this?
    There's color everywhere
    What's this?
    There's white things in the air
    What's this?
    I can't believe my eyes
    I must be dreaming
    Wake up, Jack, this isn't fair
    What's this?"

  2. I somehow thought that the riding crop was specifically for educating nosy photographers and similar.

  3. Why, you're also a meme now: https://www.facebook.com/UtopiaGrup/photos/a.737865189624493/2369122543165408/

  4. The real scandal is that they didn't ask for a much higher quality photo from Trilema.

  5. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    5
    Mircea Popescu 
    Monday, 23 September 2019

    @pletzalcoatl Eh, the halloween dudes at least had some flair. These idiots have nothing, and that's no exageration.

    Rather, there's that great scene in Occident where that black dude explains : "Hey, schmucks, that Ceausescu dude you shot ? He was the only thing keeping you from joining my native Zaire, stubbornly clinging to an impossible dream an' forcing y'all to follow very much against your own nature. But anyway -- he's dead now, and your ass is mine."

    Of course, in-universe the story sounds somewhat different, something about the great writer Popirniceanu etcetera.

    @Stanislav Datskovskiy Apparently, so did he. As it turns out, that's precisely not how anything works.

    @Alex Or rather, this "facebook" meme has long not been anything.

    @nicoleci Ask who ?

  6. Ask you! Trilema is filled with much better photos of Timisoara being 'defiled' than what the derps reported as a major event.

  7. > Apparently, so did he

    Lol! did he say "saheeb sir pleez do not hit me with stick" ?! Or else how was this apparent?

  8. Nicolae Drobu`s avatar
    8
    Nicolae Drobu 
    Monday, 23 September 2019

    Perfect header for this article

  9. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    9
    Mircea Popescu 
    Monday, 23 September 2019

    @nicoleci Except for the part where I don't take questions from nobodies.

    They could've just closed down their pretense with a plain sign reading "Sorry, we suck, go read Trilema, it doesn't", of course. But...

    @Stanislav Datskovskiy Well, he thought imagined that since it's there -- it must mean it's for him. Which is the same "thought process" that animates all other decerebrates, including the referenced dorks who imagine "earth belongs to he who works it", as well as... well, honestly, all other "victims" aka objects.

    In the immortal words of Vinnie Jones,

    So, you're obviously the big dick... and that, on either side of you, are your balls. There are two types of balls: There are big brave balls, and there are little faggot balls. Dicks have drive and clarity of vision... but they're not clever. They smell pussy and they want a piece of the action. And you thought you smelled some good old pussy... and have brought your two little faggot balls along... for a good old time. But you've got your parties muddled up. There's no pussy here. Just a dose that'll make you wish you were born a woman.

    Like a prick... you're having second thoughts. You're shrinking. And your two little balls are shrinking with you. And the fact that you've got "Replica" written on the side of your gun... and the fact that I've got "Desert Eagle point five o" written on the side of mine... should precipitate your balls into shrinking, along with your presence. Now... fuck off.

    Yes I whip the deserving -- but some aged orc incel from nowhere could never possibly be that deserving.

    @Nicolae Drobu Sometimes fate takes a hand. Sometimes when fate takes a hand, you notice. Sometimes when you notice fate took a hand, you get to feel better than all the everyone else.

  10. As a factual matter, just about every newspaper in the country "covered it", but

    I was like riiiiight, but then... http://archive.is/K4PyS

  11. I know who I am`s avatar
    11
    I know who I am 
    Thursday, 26 September 2019
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  12. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    12
    Mircea Popescu 
    Thursday, 26 September 2019

    Noa da' mai da-ma si-n pula! Si titoasa si mintoasa, da' ce-i aici, paradisu' ?!

    Bine, bine.

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