Backwards When There Is No Forward

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When the end slowly reaches you all that remains is nostalgia. Boy have I got a lot of nostalgia these days. Or is it baggage? I’ve also got a lot of baggage that has finally reached the point of no friggin return. For example. I have around twenty years of worst-writing material laying around taking up space, collecting dust, in the way. No. Seriously. For a long time I’ve been wanting to throw all this sh*t away. Like life, the dream must come to an end, eh. And so. I’ve got typed manuscripts, hand written plays, stupid poems made from words cut out of newspaper articles and doodles of snot and cum that is all just begging to be finally put where it belongs, where both of us belong–in the fcuking trash. Of course, there is some worst-writing that I regret throwing away–which is probably the reason I’ve held on to this krapp for so long. I had a hundred page manually typed manuscript once that, due to the circumstance of birth, NOT being able to pick & choose parents, sibling rivalry angst, etc.,–and finally coming to terms with NOT being a victim (of life) but instead just accepting the fact that I’m a loser–that I threw in the trash bin. After waking a week later from that drunkin stupor I turned to the swollen chick next to me and said: where the fcuk is my manuscript? Oh well. I actually kicked myself for doing that. I think it might have been a story that I could have learned to like–which is what happens to most of my stories. Or at least I could have found a way to get used to dealing with the fact that such krapp came out of me. But I threw it away. I threw it away like I fcuked bimbos here or there when my cock could still be veiny and purple and careless about the walls we must get threw. The walls have won. Again. Oh well. So I decided to keep around some of the stuff I’ve written. Until now. Until the world could finally create a machine that would help me get rid of all the material that collected the dust of my life and allow me to put this krapp where it belongs. Welcome to worst-writer’s digitised world. Or maybe not. Nomatter. Above is a pic of about a third of the material that I’ve scanned so far. And the only reason I’ve been able to get this far is because I bought something. I mean, dear worst-reader, isn’t that how we all get somewhere, something, somehow? Buy something. Consume to survive. In my case, I bought some fancy engineered scanner. Not one of them bullsh*t flatbed scanners. Flatbed scanners suck. Can you imagine having to put each one of the pages (from the pic above) in a flatbed scanner? Fcuk that! Well, since we’re on the subject, thank your God for two things. One, they finally made a scanner with a feeder that works. Two, I can afford to pay the stupid-money for such a device. I mean, come on. This device cost four hundred plus euros. You can get a flatbed scanner these days for under a hundred. I know. I know. Flatbed’s suck. I’ve already made that clear. But still, just because it has a half decent paper-feeder doesn’t mean that it has to cost stupid-money? Do you know what stupid-money is, dear worst-reader? It’s the money we pay for this life that leads to more of our devaluation. Or maybe not. Moving on. Enough of my bitchin’ about stupid-money. The thing is this: it took me less than a few hours to scan more than a thousand pages of worst-writing in order to continue digitising my worst-world. In fact, the thing that took longest was figuring out how to organise the scans. And I’m not sure if I’ve figured that out. But I also don’t care. The sh*t is scanned and the pile in the pic above will be where we both belong soon enough.

Rant on.


When Money Talks Bullsh*t Rules


Look closely at the pic above. It is the pic of your future. Your future is now. And there is nothing to come after it. Except. Maybe. Another candidate full of Hope & Change. But I digress. In the pic above an a$$hole businessman did something that will make a bunch of a$$hole follower’s hearts beat a bit faster. The businessman is something like Japan’s richest man and he had just met with #americants pseudo-richest man, i.e. comb-over & chief. These two men, as are most businessmen, are nothing more than bull$hitters that have reached the top–a “top” that rests on the lives of The Stupid. These men are, indeed, that which has built a society of greed galore–of stupid galore. How all this came to past is another useless post from worst-writer. So allow me to just focus on the pic above. The pic above is another great example that no one will understand because it is so full of truth. Make America Great Again! Great compared to what? Oh, the idea of America was great. The dream was great. The patriotism is great. And now? Elect your comb-over & chief so that your misdirected anger that allows you to never look in the mirror is itching you right now–so keep looking away while you scratch. In a way, the pic above is part of your mirror. In fact, it’s such a small part that you can look at it without seeing the truth of who you are. It’s like going to a wrastling match. WWE. Do you know why wrastling is so popular? It’s popular because the people who watch want to be ridden, abused, mis-used, etc., it is all they know. These people get satisfaction out of their misery because they have been programmed to KNOW that someone else is to blame for it. Which makes them feel a-ok. Like a snort of cocaine, a needle in the arm of heroin, smoking some meth. And so. There is no difference between the content of the “signed” piece of paper–that promises so much nothingness–wrastling, and a political system that is able to exploit the drugged-up-stupid. But you can’t see that. Because you actually think that a businessman has signed a deal with another business man that will bring you jobs and wealth because you believe you are going to be great again. Itch. Itch.

Rant on.


PS Go ‘head and look up the companies listed on the top of the BS signed page in the pic above. Remember the time when all those people jumped to their deaths because they couldn’t deal with building Apple iPhones? Foxconn is Apple’s manufacture since all the company actually does is design shit in Cupertino. Since then Foxconn installed nets around the roofs of their slave buildings in order to catch the slave jumpers. These are the “jobs” promised in the signed document in the pic above. Enjoy your next WWE match.

Humiliation, Glorification And The Magic Of Butter On Your Conscience


You are not a victim of Bertolucci’s film making. Or are you? Wait! Let me put that another way: When will the left learn? When will liberal thinking people grasp reality? The pathway to right above wrong is not traversed through political-correctness but through those who don’t give a fcuk. But there is a way to get to the ice-cream truck where butter flavoured joy awaits us all and the one who will serve you should be Marlon Brando.

Warning: minor spoiler alerts to a film I highly recommend even though it’s not Bertolucci’s best.

Bernardo Bertolluci is a brilliant film maker. Even though it’s not one of my favourite films, Last Tango In Paris is a really cool movie. In fact, I used to own the novel version of it. That little paperback has since become one of those rare books I lent to someone and never got back. Gee, I wonder why. Could it be because I highlighted the butter scene in it? No. That can’t be why Giuseppe never gave it back to me. Remember when they wrote novel versions of movies, dear worst-reader? Oh, they only do that these days with Star Wars because there really is no place for a butter scene in such a story. Or?

The thing about Last Tango In Paris is that I always compared it to Hitchcock’s Psycho. I saw both movies in the early 80s. Hitchcock desperately needed one thing in all his movies: sex; more scary sex. Bertolucci needed one thing in his movies: less scary, a lot less scary. And so, we have one of the scariest characters ever filmed and guess who gets to play him? Mr. Scary himself, hence take note of the letter on his shirt in the pic above. No. Wait. What should the world do with bored, confused, middle-aged white men who get a kick out of objectifying objects and who are scary, really scary? Indeed. Make movies about them. But I digress.

The moment in Last Tango In Paris where Paul’s wife is revealed in a state of decomposition really through me for a loop. Like I said, having seen Psycho only a few weeks prior, the imagery was uncanny. Nothing else in the film really got to me. The sex was kinda titallating and the actress was hot, even if she did have a jungle-forest “down there”. And the moment with the butter? My first thought was: is butter the best choice for what’s about to happen? But all kidding aside. Let’s quote Marlon:

It’s just a movie.

And you know who else pulled off scenes that were just as fcuking great! For all you believers in purple unicorns and tasty rainbows–for all you who can’t face reality and hide behind your false sense of righteousness and shiny über-glorified pussies (i.e. grabbed vaginas)–just check out the brilliant sex in The Dreamers or Stealing Beauty. For those of you don’t know, Bertolucci is obsessed with sex in his movies. It is inevitable that such an obsession deal with rape as much as deflowering. Indeed. A rape scene in a work of fiction, as traumatic as it was for the actress to portray, means that it’s now time to ridicule the story teller? Or will Maria Schneider finally press charges? Cause I’m about fed-up with all this talk without the walk. Anywho.

Now that the world must face the consequence(s) of political correctness in the form of sexually degenerate American presidents and a renewal of anti-feminism, what’s left? Are we gonna now dismantle one of the greatest film makers of all time? Bertolucci’s depiction of sex, especially in Tango, is innocent by today’s Internet standards. Not to mention the fact that we now live in a world where one president makes blow-jobs with White House interns dinner table fanfare and another president makes… Well, you get the grabbing picture.

A rape scene in a piece of fiction from forty years ago is NOT the same as the abuse you experienced while living among the broken-ness of #americant or getting caught up in a no-means-yes frat-party or worrying about your pussy being grabbed–by your fcuking presidential imagination.

Oh well. The good thing is, at least all this uproar will mean that a few politically-correct-obsessed young people might see a great movie that they otherwise wouldn’t have seen. Either that or Bertolucci needs some money from DVD or iTunes sales of Last Tango. Go get’em politically correct nut-bags. Go grab something.

Link that motivated this post:

Rant on.


Favourite Bullets About The Demise Of All


Little to say, much to read. Been putting off reading Michael Hudson’s Book:

Killing the Host: How Financial Parasites and Debt Bondage Destroy the Global Economy.

But I’ll get to it soon enough. Till then here’s a link to a great article written by another of my fav world-ending writers, Chris Hedges, who quotes a lot from Hudson. Here a few bullet points worth remembering (along with my weak-minded snide, ranting sarcasm).

  • In just a few short words Hedges manages to summarize presidents since Reagan and what they all are about–and it ain’t pretty. (What a surprise, eh.)
  • “The rich never have enough.” (No shit Sherlock.)
  • Neo-liberalism = state sponsored extortion. (But how should the dumb-downed, i.e. #Americants, know what neo-liberalism is?)
  • Rentier class, economic rent, interest rates, monopolies… (buy some starbucks on a credit card you can’t pay off?)
  • Traditional economics is being turned up-side-down. The confusion of this transition has put #Americants in a state of shock. It has literally disabled the entire country from being able to make rational decisions, especially when it comes to politcs. Even though The Donald deserves praise for what he has done to the sh*tbag republican party, what he and his ilk will do to the country now that he has been elected president, especially based on what those who have paved his way have done, is pretty scary. But hey, at least Ivanka looks good. (This last bullet is mostly from moi, aka worst-writer.)

Rant on, baby.


Link that motivated this post.

Politburo PLUTOcracy Behaviourism

In all of this worst-talk about elections, The Donald, the feminine losing, how it all came to pass, one very important thing has been forgotten. What is it that makes this freak show happen? If there was ever an essence to something, there is certainly an essence here. Or are we dealing with quintessence?

Indeed. When was the last time you watched a Pluto cartoon?

But before we continue, dear worst-reader, have a look/listen at the vid above.

Oh how I wish I could have voted for Bernie. What a bit of real hope & change he would have been. Or? Who knows. After the last eight years maybe the wishes of rational thinkers everywhere is just too farfetched. Fetch, indeed. What is clear is that if Bernie were president-elect right now, and if the world could rid itself of ugly white-men and their comb-overs, we’d still be stuck where we’re stuck.

We are in a Pluto cartoon.

If Bernie had a comb-over would he look just like The Donald?


You are where you are because of how you behave. And by “behave” I really mean silly.

Have you seen that vid of Breitbart yelling atoccupiers? No? Here it is:

What a great juxtaposition, eh? Two completely different videos. Yet both videos deal with the same thing.

How you behave in your PLUTOcracy cartoon of life.

I know. I know. The first vid (of Bernie) isn’t directly about how one behaves but I put it in this post because, well, it bleeds the collective sickness that is behaviourism. The second video is ALL about behave and coincidently features the man who founded the propaganda internet site that will slap you in the face just like a 1950s dad while he tries to get you, his young progeny, to stop listening to rock-n-roll. I mean, this is where we’re at, dear worst-reader. Bernie (1st vid) will talk your head off about this or that and Breitbart (2nd vid) will just scream at you because of how stupid both of you are. This is the world you must live in. Do you live in a cartoon?

Oh. And BTW. You have been living in a poliburo for most of your life. Your behaviour mandates it. Do as you’re told. Pay your owners. Debt.

Bernie, because of how he behaves, doesn’t want you to know something. He also doesn’t want you to know that the PLUTOcracy is now complete. In fact, your PLUTOcracy might be nicknamed Pluto and looks just like the dangling dog from Disney. You need to focus on that dog and its doghouse. It’s right around the corner from the house you will never pay-off. You will be living with Pluto soon enough. Cartoon.

Or maybe not.

That said. I’m having another early morn laughing session thinking about the consequences of life, liberty and the freedom to be stupid. Way to go #Americant.

Rant on.


Apple Confusion Galore

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No. Seriously. Are you kidding me, Apple? I know. I know. You and Johnny Ives (or however you spell his/her first name) are all about what Steve (the fcuk-head) Jobs created. But the problem is, you arseholes are losing your sh*t. Why? Your new MacBook Pros suck bat-balls. No. Seriously. You guys suck so bad when it comes to making computer hardware these days that I’m actually considering buying an old Thinkpad X220. And if I do get one I’m gonna install f’n linux on it. And you know what is helping me go that route? I’ve recently read that Apple is stopping its production of routers. Whaaaaaaa! I love Airport devices. I have f’n three of them. They work great. Come on Apple.

But I digress.

First things first. I have an iPhone 6s. I bought this piece of krapp phone technology while visiting my beloved #americant last year. I thought: if you’re gonna fly into PHL you might as well take advantage of DE’s tax-free consume-to-survive zone. Am I impressed with the iPhone. F-no! Do I need a “internet communication device”? F-yes. So I figure, if I’m gonna have one of these corpo things, might as well be…

You get my drift, right dear worst-reader?

So I get this weird email from Apple about my iPhone’s battery the other day. Being the smart-a*s I am, I don’t follow the link supplied by the email. Instead. I check out Apple’s website and do a search here or there. And what do I find? There is, indeed, a battery situation with the/my iPhone 6s battery.

And what happens when I submit my iPhone 6s serial number? See pic above.

But what is the problem? Well, according to the second dash, THEIR records show that my battery has already been replaced. Or has it? Do I have to check with Apple? Indeed. Apple.  The new god(less) of money corpos. The grand, über profitable (for now) sh*tbag company.

And I keep buying their stuff. (Spank me.)

Why? Oh Why.

Rant on.


PS BTW Apple has never replaced my battery. F’you Apple. F’you Johnny Ives and take your LSD sucking Jobs with you to hell. Or. Enjoy life among the über-percent.

Pumpernickel Love Life Or The Best Ever Name For Bread


Not sure if I never noticed it. Or. How could I have missed it? Check out the marketing on the packaging of this bread I bought the other day. Hello! College edumacated grads the world over take notice of your useless work. And while you do so, what’s up with the love making couple on the cover of my pumpernickel? Or are the marketers of the bread simply trying to point out a way that couples can deal with the result of having too much it? Too much of the bread.


Pumpernickel literally means flatulence-bread. According to sources, the name of this dark bread was coined by Napoleon while he had his way with Westphalia ladies during his many stops in Germania. It’s said that, although Napoleon liked the taste of the bread, once he started passing gas after consuming it, he thought that it would be better food for his horses. One of his horses was named Nickel.

But I digress.

Rant on.