As I sit on my favourite couch, overviewing the distant bayi and the batido close-by, my thoughts again turn to you. Is there greater joy ?
The batido's made out of five bananas : four deliciously ripe, excellent penis bananas and one quite as ripe and just as excellent thumb banana. I'd love nothing more than to describe these fruits, as well as all other things, in terms besides anatomic analogies ; Costa Rica however does not too deeply perceive the need to name anything, and so apparently nobody living here knows the fucking name of either their local sweet banana cultivar (which very much isn't the horror Dole pushes, or the similar if eversoslightly different and marginally less horrible alternative Chiquita pushes -- but smaller than both and tasting actually like a bananaii). Besides bananas as discussed, it contains ice cubes (obviously meanwhile ground to water, it is a batidoiii after all, as well as almost a quarter ripe vanilla bean (which doesn't mean ripened on the plant, they further ripen by a sort of fermentation on their own) the indescribable superiority of which over whatever items you might've encountered in cadrul comertului socialist we'll leave undescribed. Further, fresh ginger root, some dried out old prunes, and fresh orange juice for the base. Oh, and peanut biscuits, let's not forget those -- I won't go into details, but two delicious peanut biscuits as I've not ever seen anywhere else, but here cost less than a buck a pound. Luxury, after all, I mean extreme, refined, post-Imperial, screamingly scandalous luxury is a matter of money, is it not.
So let's then fill another mug, and be right back.
Ahh, isn't that much better. Now then, what would you like ? Should you perhaps liek to see some pictures ? Um....
Sure, why not. Let's go :
Above, something in the vein of ye fla'ar o' Costa Ricky. Below, the net result of couponing : a set of steak knives. Anyone want to see third prize ?
I confess to re-reading the "MP statutorily raped some poor girl and can't stop bragging about it" article four or five times since publishing it yesterday. It's a piece of fucking art, nothing less. Actually... I suppose four or five re-reads as part and parcel of publishing an article isn't even remarkable, thinking about it the thought occurs that most everyone probably does even more passes. Yet it's rare in my case. Maybe yearly an occurrence, at best. The better you are, the less satisfaction you take in your accomplishments, as they say.
Oh look, we're over five hundred words and nothing of any substance has been said. Unfortunate. Perhaps we should discuss "rape" ? Sure, why not. Here :
Around 1am, very soon after the incident, Lauren's friend Max (not his real name) saw her in the kitchen. Max said she seemed too drunk, too "messed up and out of it," to have a proper conversation. But when Max went to leave, Lauren begged him not to. He stayed with her for a few more minutes before trying to say goodbye a second time. Again, Lauren asked him not to go, this time adding that she was scared. Max didn't think it was anything more than Lauren being too drunk, so he tried putting her to bed on the couch, urging her to get some sleep. Then when he really had to go, Lauren got mad, and told him "fuck you."
Then at 1.30am, Lauren wrote a note to herself on her phone — a kind of aide memoir. Again, some of it is incoherent. But the allegation is there: I was unconscious and I was raped. It reads: "*** nme while unconscious help duse im i coincidence *** just fucking raped me!!!! Oh my fucking god!!!! Its 1:16 and i got duckimg rape u!!! No onebeliveed uu gpt raped by *** u couldnt say no u wete so drunk ur so fucked up u got RAPED."
I've taken out their idiotic e280 99e2 809c e280 9d0a etc garbage, lest their iliteracy disqualify them in your eye, but that aside... ever heard of "Babe.net"iv ? Eleni Mitzaliv ? No ? Neither has anyone else -- anyone else, that is to say, besides me. The rabbi was always there, remember, all along.
I think it's quite illustrative of the point : in the flow of events, things happen to the woman. That's what the definition of the term even is, things happen to the woman. Once they're done happening, the pretense to consciousness slowly returns, like darkness after light went out : by degrees, from the corners first towards the middle later, the darkness of female "consciousness" creeps back in. She's now to come up with an interpretation of events, upon which "her life", as a female, is to continue. As Elaine once famously discovered, "as it is, I'm now the office skank ; but if we were together, then it'd have been just a beautiful moment between two lovers". There's little "societal" support for "beautiful moments between two lovers" in the present female herd, whereas the "incredible imposition" neoprotestant revival is quite very vocal ; and so the woman will interpret her experience... ducking rape u!!!
If it had happend for another theory to be fashionable among her grazing kind, she'd have just as well been abducted by aliens, controlled by little parasitic squirrels, the rising tide compelled her, whatever it is you can think of.
The obvious solution, "hey women... stop mating with betas, it'll reduce your herd to silence so you can individually live already" is not something you can decide by yourself ; but it is also something that's already been decided, fifteen year olds don't really mate with their age-appropriate, school-compatible, she-herd & mother-herd deemed acceptable surroundant dorks these days. They mate with me ; the end is nigh. What can you do ?
But in the end, this whole thing's quite boring. Don't you find ?
I confess not having managed to muster enough patience to read the whole damn thing ; I lost interest somewhere abouts where the quote lies (nor did I actually start reading from the beginning, nor can I even be arsed to re-establish where the fuck). Who cares, what possible importance can these inept wranglings carry, for anyone, chief among which for the two bumbling kids involved ?! I'm sure they'll figure it out, and besides... what sort of substance is this ?! It riles you up, perhaps, for what reason you're fortunate I'm not about to ask, you knowing within yourself as well and plainly as I know (for having been always there) that no, you could not actually explain the why. Fine, it riles you up ; and then that's gone. What, Xanax ? Percocet ? Laissez.
Where is this substance to be found, you ask ? Yes, indeed, I agree. What do I agree with, you ask ? The lot of it, really -- asking pointless questions and saying the wrong thing, trying rape on retrospectively just to see how well it fits and stuffing your cock into the asleep pile of anonymous flesh beached upon the dirty matress. Just to see what happens. Maybe she wakes up ? "America was built on science", and this IS science. What if, bear with me a second, what if a kid was to one day run into one of these spuriously scummy girlies as the babe.net tries to hallucinate into the world (for they do not in fact exist, no more than any figments of the socialism ever existed), oppressed under all the utter nonsensevi and gave her a good dose ; upon which she suddenly turned around, shook all the mange and all the filthy off her skin, like the horse of the fable when fed some embers, and became a real woman ?
It's not possible, right ? Of course it isn't, not everyone's going about with my cock between their legs. But if, in spite of it not being possible, it happened nevertheless... it'd be a miracle then, wouldn't it ? Young men chasing miracles, what more indeed can there be asked of them ? I'm for it, just as I'm for young women trying on such skins as there are upon their very skin that very much isn't, not yet -- the woman that's "never been anything but herself" is still a little girl that's never been anything nor ever will be anything at this rate. I'm for it all and more besides, and why shouldn't I be ?
Why aren't you ?
Don't worry, I'm not about to ask why are you always on the search for some substance I seem to have no trouble finding. I was there, remember ? I was there all along ; I knew all through just as well as you do.
PS. Because I bring you up to my current ditties it therefore is the case that this shouldn't be called an update. But an upditty.
PPS. I forgot molasses, apparently. What can I do...———
- Not even kidding, the bay in question is like a hundred kilometers away. Yes, my views are that good. [↩]
- Speaking of which, Hannah disdained my attitude in Europe, "Do you want a banana ?" "What for, these shits aren't worth peeling," "They're really not that bad" ; but once here, upon the very first byte, "God damn... I see what you mean." [↩]
- What you call a shake, I suppose. [↩]
- If you're curious, it was the US campus fuckfarm of some derpy "great dudes with a great sense of humour" (Jack Rivlin, Joshi Herrmann and their equally dweeby college dorm room-mates). It folded last year over nobody wanting to pay a few million to actualize the self-delusion of a buncha two-bit whores-in-denial.
That summer, the company threw an official launch party for Babe — this one was markedly more calm, but characteristically “college-style,” featuring plastic tarp backdrops, pink streamers and Solo cups, and girls in their early 20s wearing Babe logo stickers and T-shirts, swilling directly from bottles of Cupcake-brand prosecco.
- Cached, just in case they have the responsibility of interlocution. [↩]
- I've seen a pair of the dorks, while we had our food and coffees and profiteroles and the peacocks you have seen danced about, there also ensued some mating, and this coupla twelve year old minds captive in 30yo+ "African American" bodies were very taken aback. "He bites her!! OMG HES HOLDING HER DOWN". I adjoined an "Of course, that's how it's done." and they had no available retort. [↩]