A full deck of beach cards

Friday, 09 October, Year 12 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

As I was saying, noi doar cintam si dansam. At the beach!


Above : improbable cloud formation showing peculiar optical phenomena. I think it's because of the way the Sun hits it.

Below : common occurence of tell-tall-tale nukular mushroom cloud pattern formation, indicative etcetera.


Above : incomprehensibly immense moth of a very large size. Under pumped photon illumination its eyes appear bright yellow -- which (it incidentally occurs to me) presents an excelent basis for a kindergartner's classification of animals : there's the ones whose eyes show yellow (like here), then there's the ones whose eyes show blue (like, say, Fna) and then, of course, the ones whose eyes show red -- like your girlfriend (when you have one).

Below : threateningly huge hunter spider, too fast for my hand (to kill, not to shoot). He therefore can be deemed to live not by permission, but by merit. It's something.


I can't shake that "I go out... walkin..." earworm out of my head, as I go through these. There it is, omnipresent, humming its little tune along.


Years ago I missed out on a fabulous shot (through taking the prudent course of not taking the relatively expensive camera on to the relatively dangerous beach) whereby hundreds of these turkey vulture guys were gathered around a single solitary one perched up high on a pole, as if he was preaching ; or as if they were venerating a stalpnik.

I don't expect I'll ever get to see it again, and so a description is all that remains.


Above : strange life form of some kind.

Below : strange life form of some other kind. Because... well, there's kinds, all kind and manner of types and sortiments!


Above : freedom, here typified by a bird, maybe looking for a crab, maybe just looking.

Below : civilisation, here typified by an open-air office. One thing you absolutely gotta admit is that this horror nevertheless has way the fuck better views than your more habitual horror, even if nothing to compare with my and mine it nevertheless beats yours. Another thing you absolutely have to admit, though I'm sure you don't want to, at all, is that it's nobody else's fault. From fear to fear successfully betrayed, the reason you live in a shithole has naught to do with anything external. Nobody "forces" the crab into a hole in the sand, it's the hole he seeks, his co-substantial hole that he chooses and constructs for itself ; and so it goes with you. It's what you are.


To bring the point full circle, I'd really like to see the scene whereby some angry, jailbirdy-looking dude goes in there, locks the door behind himself, and proceeds to rape, violently and most outrageously, the three or so spurious cuntlets no doubt wo"man"ing / inhabiting the hole ; who then proceed to yell out to the passer-bys, "help! whelp! whay!!!" ; to which the by-standers (that used to be passer-bys) shake their shoulders and retort "well... nobody can get in, it's so well designed, this cage you built for yourself". From fear to...

You know ?


Above as below : dude trying & wanna-MP-ing so fucking hardcore, he's even got himself a cane like mine, to go with his short sleeves. Just like mine.

Let's not ask the obvious fucking question, please.


The text reads, "if you're coming for your pizza, [list of idiotic demands]". Apparently someone in some capacity involved with the begging side of the charity transactioni implicit mistook themselves for the other party, the party in power.


Needless to say, it didn't work out for them ; nor is your case any different to any substantial standard.


This article was proudly written on generator power, by the way : as part and parcel (not to mention in support) of the runaway president's plan to "carbon neutral" Costa Rica I'm running gasoline generators while the power's out, easily the most ineffectual, unsustainable &c method of producing electricity. Hopefully it gets bad enough I also have to have the generator banks guarded, rifle in hand, producing an ever-increasing pile of corpses nearby that thought "give it out in smaller dollops so everyone gets some" can work out, as a strategy.

It fucking can't, y que se comen igualidad.

  1. Let's make it perfectly fucking clear : there's no difference absolutely between "hospitality" in the sense of the whore, walking the streets, offering her "hospitality" ie her ready to go, well lubricated hole to random people walking about their business, "ci sarebbe anche una ragazza" ; or the busker, offering his "hospitality" in the sense of his clever, competent, remarkable or otherwise use of his hands, would you like your portrait drawn, would you like to hear some mediocre cover of some songs you like ; and the pretend-"restaurant" in the mass market sense. They're begging, all of them, in exactly the same way conducted the same exact activity being conducted.

    I've captive cunt at home, I don't need the streetwalker for anything. She needs me -- for survival, outright and unmitigated, my disinterested leisure is a matter of life and death for her, and absolutely so. If I don't feel like having "my picture drawn" by unsure, alcohol-trembling hands there's an end to that life right there ; if there's no such life to "make me offers" I couldn't possibly care less about there's exactly no impact on me, to any degree.

    A true and proper grand restaurant as De Funes kept running -- what do you know, apparently I never actually reviewed Le Grand Restaurant ?! -- could perhaps escape this ; but for "pizzeria" joints there's no allowance made. Everyone involved is begging, a broadly disinterested public, to pay such margins on otherwise readily accessible fare that it can't possibly be interpreted as anything else -- certainly not fucking work in any case. There's a reason the useless cuntlets get sent to work there, and that reason is broadening the support base, such that in begging wider circles thereby becoming less intolerable to individuals.

    And that's exactly how I want it, too, and so do you, if you've any sense. There must be a hole for all the Oanas ever-crawling out of cunt (in Vaslui as everywhere else) to fall into ; and this hole has exactly the right proper shape to receive them. The alternative I think you've seen : idiotic yet cock-sure middle-aged Karens running all over the place, ruining the world with their half-baked, misshod notions of "a better world" that's only better for cancer and microbes.


Category: La pas prin lume
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4 Responses

  1. tank you for this is

  2. Mircea Popescu`s avatar
    Mircea Popescu 
    Sunday, 11 October 2020

    You're welcome.

  3. So Good

  1. [...] forget both heroiciii and patheticiv nudity, forget the obligations incumbent upon female existence, never mind any of that. It's "nothing", you know. Take the $42 [...]

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