The ties that bind, the ties that tie... generally speaking, a tie's a tie.

Friday, 29 May, Year 12 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

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One can get a lot of mileage out of plain, ordinary, law-enforcin'i zipties (ten cents a grosse). For instance a coupla days ago I tied up the unicornii, or should I say I ziptied the unicorn's wrists to the balcony metalwork, had her rest her right ankle up on a table and proceeded to fuck away at the piece of meat ("straight knees!") while in-shape, coughar-y joggers did their utmost very best to not at all whatsoever notice, walking leisurely down the hill right past. The exercise was not without its fruits, because we noticed yesterday one of the girlies living nearby is now yelping and moaning just like Nicole, in a transparent if well-meaning attempt to fucking mature already.

Culture, you know ? The great mechanism of human sexuality is that females expose themselves against their own will, like dogs driven by innate copulative behavioursiii, which prompts male attention and attendant male pursuit (which they try to escape, but they're built to fail at escapingiv) ; then as they're raped in the dirt (and make no mistake about it -- human sexuality is not a mechanism for "actualizing" female delusions of intellectual identity, god help us) they moan, which drives two different, gender-dysmorphic behaviours : it attracts all the males capable of an erection to the fuck spot (because, make no mistake about it, the natural mode of human copulation is rape followed by gangrape, until nightfall) and it drives the females to immitate the moans. This is the birthplace of the female wail, that sad misbehaviourv which has been through the ages the deep, reliable basis and source of evil in the world ; and this is also what culture ever was.

Why, what did you think culture was ?

This is what culture always is, and forever was : the modulated repeating of the noises coming from that one joy. Aesthetics, you know. Aesthetics an' scholarly pursuits.

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What I do, by and large, is that I give mine scissors ; or at the very least make them accessible, or they do it to each other, or something.

And... they are grateful for it.

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In any case, an activity & operation not exactly without its own risks, dangers an' pitfalls.

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Above : Hannah got a new hat. I quite think so. Don't you ?

Below : Mists.

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This is Fred, a new mall they've built. The problem with these people is that they don't know how to name anything anymore ; it's the same misfortunate crowd doing hotels etcetera, they're stuck in this laughable rut of "park terrace avenue" bullshit. How the fuck's that an adequate name for anything ?!

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Above : "Oh, man, you look so great from this angle. Everyone's favourite way to look at you, I bet."

Below : "Give me that."

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Above : Hannah social distancing from a funeral procession. It was a pretty cool affair, (old) New Orleans style, with plaintive band and everything. They couldn't take their eyes off her ; but then again that's not exactly uncommon. RIP whoever it was, I'm sure you had a better time of it than most.

Below : our everyday rapes leave marks. Celebrated everyday rape marks.

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Time for some desert.

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And more defensive bruises, also known as the happy slut sign. These... I mean the deserts and the thumb marks, the aspirational, "upwards mobile" cafes and the lowly social position on account of gender, the rod and the butt... these go together. How's your quarantine treatin' ya these days, anyways ?

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Above : A bunch of people who didn't do it, leaving the place where they didn't do the thing they didn't do. You can tell by some gaitxels they had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

Below : The thing that wasn't thereby done.

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Above : pink poodle gets a car, brown dude gets nothing. Not even a shirt on his back. Because fuck him, what does he need a shirt for -- the poodle damn straight needs it car, what do you want the dawg to walk ?! Homie... it's how it goes. It's how it goes and it might serve you well to well remember : if given a choice, always pick pink. Don't choose anything with black in it, lest you find yourself in a position to discover what black in it does for it.

Below : one of the many whore stores ; this one decent enough to plainly advertise it. Pataca soon to come.

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Above : folding tables. You know, for kids. One's fiery-red and the other's non-miscegenating (see above) pink ; one's with a fast car, the other's with a pretty princess (and the place where the car owner parks : his car in the garage, and his prick in the princess). Notice anything else about them ?vi

Below : lucky you, you even get to see the horn in question. Doesn't it look great on her ? And altogether...

PS. Yes, there's mattresses, transparently for-fucking-on-cam mattresses behind the shoe display. Because...

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What can I tell you, we're out shopping.

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Ain't a quarantine a wonderful thing ?

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Dude getting us the thing I asked for. It was in their street-facing window, evidently pushed into a corner by slow geological processes like the sort that build mountains over time : slowly, unyieldingly, "too scary". Until one day, when I walk into the store and ask for it -- takes four or five passes, too, because by now they're so accustomed to seeing it, they don't even realise it's there anymore.

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Yup, the happy slutboots, nothing but straps and nine inch heels were successfully rescued. Hurray for the things that matter in this world!

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Above : pizza, at that famous place.

Below : Desemputol, lo que des-em-puta. Puta being not just whore, but also FUBARvii, em being en, like enamoured, and des being des, like in destructuring. So the (FDA-most-emphatically-unapproved) dietary supplement depicted above deheadfucks the taker.

Try some.

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I did say we went shopping, didn't I ?

It was one of those trips, when half the (very pleasant, efficient, and beyond polite) staff present at the store ends up working our carts, stacking, destacking, packing, arranging and putting away, elbow to elbow with my two slaves I have with me precisely for the purpose : so I can buy groceries by the metric fuckton without having to as much as lift a finger. I just sit on one of the cashiers' stools while they fuck with it all.

Life.

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And finally, the next day's breafast, necessary result of all that hard work entertaining ourselves. Salmon and eggs, what can you do.

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Salut!

———
  1. Yeah, that's right : the lulzcows of that once-upon-a-time richest-country-in-the-world meanwhile became so poor, handcuffs are going out of style. Their forefathers could somehow manage, back when the metal perforce included in one cost more than the average woman's life ; but these days... owing perhaps to simple and direct, idiocracy-powered universal disablement, whereby metal strong enough to restrain human wrists can no longer be fabricated at any "price"...

    But hey, at least they don't ask you to supply your own. I hear Hollywood is meanwhile asking the "stars" to bring their own wardrobes (they had been asking the "stars" to bring their own finance since at least the oil shock days). []

  2. We were out shopping ; there's this Lebanese-owned lingerie store on a street corner. The owner was loitering on the threshold, like Eastern merchants used to do when they had despaired of custom ; as I went by I pointed at something prominently displayed -- do you realise, by the way, one of the many ways my sluts are distinct from your princesses is that my sluts mostly wear the centerpieces off display windows ? Is this how your mousy mouse behaves shopping, top shelf, front and center, stark naked in the store, "bring me that thing in the window" "which one" "the one in the middle" ? No ?

    Well... didn't think so. But anyways : Nicole was wearing a purple unicorn horn attachment I had just bought for her on a whim (also known in the biz as "went with her dress") ; but I pointed at one of the items intended to advertise the store to passerbys, a lacework all-nude apron ("can I wear it cooking ?" "of course" "yay!") "do you have this for her" pointing at Hannah. He assured me, and, trying to be quick, and clever, like he remembers from his distant homelands, retorted, "and for the unicorn ?". Because, you see, he's so ready on his feet, and hip to that whole scene, poor fifty year old who's never... but let's not digress no mo', after all the girls prefer it unlubed, or at least not very lubed. So it tears and rubs and hurts, you see. "And for the unicorn ?" he asked, and "Oh, for her that one", I retorted, a full body thing, with toes and neckline and an adequate cunt-and-asshole opening, opposite, on the manequin on the other side of the outside of the entrance to the store. That's as far as his batyscaph had in it, so he ran off for air, leaving me in possession of the field, all the field's sluts, and whatever women he had collected in that store over the years, no doubt on the dubious strength of the vague if implicit promise of jus' this sort of magic occuring where there's lingerie on display like that.

    And well... []

  3. Have you seen a virgin dog interact with a bitch in heat ? That hysterical panic-y expression it gets once they knot and it doesn't understand what the fuck is all this, what is going on and why can't he leave ? His body took over at some point, like cats' limbs sometimes move without them, to their manifestly expressed surprise, his body took over and it was ok for a bit, but by now this is getting old, what the fuck's going on here! []
  4. I thought I had recounted the genre-aware hen joke ; but I searched and not found it anywhere. I guess we shall retell : a hen, aware of the genre, spots the rooster heading decidedly her way, and breaks into a sprint. The rooster picks up speed as well, and the hen thinks it through... "If I outrun him, he'll say I'm dumb. If I stop, he'll say I'm a whore. Best if I trip..."

    Which is exactly what it is, the "event", the alleged, the supposed event. The excuse, readily found and readily accepted, to do what... what exactly ? What they were going to be doing anyway, right ? []

  5. Do you now understand the difference between culture and civilisation ? Yes, that's right : civilisation is that which happens at the business end of a pike ; like when the Spanish civilised the native cultures of Central and South America. Civilisation is getting the females to shut their wailtrap for long enough for anything good or useful to be made in this world. []
  6. Yes, I'm aware the girl one also comes with a price tag -- and it's a very reasonable price, at that.

    But leaving that aside, also : one's shorter. Which one ? []

  7. More generally, the common state of constructed brokedness. Russian works the same exact way, too, there's not much less you can be than cunt-ed, cunt-ified, whatever. []
Category: Lifespiel
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