Walks among the quaint quarantruins

Tuesday, 26 May, Year 12 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

Isn't that a great coinage ? The quarantruins, what was left after the third world war.i

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Do you believe in precious cuntlets' "talent" ? Because really... maybe you shouldn't.

Let's take a moment to think together, why not. What precisely in there makes you suspect the dumbass of any talent ? The hollow behind the eyes, that's what suggests talent to you ? The chin, what exactly is it, that she has hair ?

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To quote a naked woman on her knees,

I told him once that I'd always wanted to walk through a city like I owned it; no one on the street, no cars or noise or closed doors.

Well...

All dreams are realized by the immutable machine. All slavegirls' dreams are realized ; that's what a harem even is : the immutable machine.

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Isn't picturesque nature picture-perfect in this picture ?

I swear to god I didn't shoot a panel, like "the pros" do it. I do admit it looks very much as if I had ; but purposefully and just to make sure I actually took a piss on one of those poles. True story.ii

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This then is the Volcan Irazu, a bunch of sand up high. Closed for the public and all that, all the things that make a difference to us.

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Bimbo getting ready for a more intimate, more direct, more immediate connection with nature, reality, and the sandy bottom. Her idea.

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How many Indiana girls have you known that were barefoot ?

Of them, how many had been barefoot on volcanic sand, ash and pumice ?

At the tropics ?

Years ago Hannah stepped on a discarded beard hair somehow such that it embedded into her foot, and was there for years. This is the fate of barefoot women -- they absorb the environment, it becomes, for long stretches, part of them, and in the process it alters their existence.

So now there's arena del volcan up this other one's toe skins and whatnot. What can you do ?

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The big secret nobody talks about is that women are made for soiling.

What had you thought women were made for ?

———
  1. War. War never changes. The Romans waged war to gather slaves and wealth. Spain built an empire atop its lust for gold and territory. Hitler shaped a battered Germany into an economic superpower.

    But... war never changes ? Up until the 21st century war was still waged over the resources that could be acquired. Back in those days the spoils of war were also its weapons: Petroleum and Uranium. For these resources "people fought each other with cannons over a stretch of land enough for a hen to make a cramped nest", as some disbelieving mestizo writer pointed out.

    Then the believers came. They believed in change they could believe in, and they changed their beliefs in change. Then they believed that change could believe, and they changed what belief could change. Eventually change became the word for stasis and belief was called science ; by 2020 the storm of yet another world war had come yet again. In a few brief hours most of the planet was reduced to its natural state. Pretension to humanity abandoned, the hordes of idle, worthless, pantsuit-wearing post-human apes stayed home.

    But War... War never changes. The end of the world occurred pretty much as we had predicted. Way too many pointless walkers and not nearly enough space or resources to go around. Necessarily therefore too much pretense, too many special and especially precious cuntlets so, so far above getting their hands dirty that the clouds looked had to look up to them. The details are trivial and pointless ; the reasons, as always, purely human ones. The Earth was nearly wiped clean of life. A great cleansing, conventional absurdity made meaningful by militant, organized idiocy rising like a poisoned mist from vast plantations of barely literate niggers rained from the skies. Continents whole were swallowed in hollow nothingness, and fell beneath the quiet oceans. Humanity was extinguished under the crushing weight of the spurious, soul-less horde ; their spirits became part of the background radiation that blankets the Earth.

    A quiet darkness fell across the planet, lasting many years. Few survived the devastation. Some had been fortunate enough to reach safety, taking shelter in great underground vaults. When the great darkness passed, these vaults opened, and their inhabitants emerged to begin their lives again.

    One of the northern tribes claims they are descended from one such Vault. They hold that their founder and ancestor, one known as the "Vault Dweller," once saved the world from a great evil. According to their legend, this evil arose in the South. It corrupted all it touched, twisting men inside, turning them into beasts. Only through the bravery of this Vault Dweller was the evil destroyed. But in so doing, he lost many of his friends and suffered greatly, sacrificing much of himself to save the world.

    When at last he returned to the home he had fought so hard to protect, he was cast out. Exiled. In confronting that which they feared, he had become something else in their eyes, and no longer their champion.

    Forsaken by his people, he strode into the wasteland. He traveled far to the North, until he came to the great canyons. There, he founded a small village, Arroyo, where he lived out the rest of his years. And so, for a generation since its founding, Arroyo has lived in peace, its canyons sheltering it from knowledge outside world. It is home. Your home.

    But the scars left by the war have not yet healed. And the Earth has not forgotten. Life in the vault is about to change, and from the ashes of assonaut desintegration, a new civilization is struggling to arise.

    Yes ? Yes. []

  2. Actually, on our way back the next day, some very awkward "professional" dude was taking a piss there himself, which produced great hilarity in the haremcar because... well... what, did he smell it ? The day before we had seen the young Staffordshire terrier guard dog lazily, with a most perverse glint in his eye, lap up slowly and pensively the urine his father, the old Staffordshire terrier had dribbled on the ground, in a failed attempt to piss on the wheel (he's old!) and it made it kinda... well, you know, "funny" if that's how you call coincidental meaning where you live. []
Category: La pas prin lume
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