Not In The Know Of All-Things Worst And Other Dream-Dreams

Scream no fear all worst

Disclaimer: NSFW material towards the end of this worst-post.

I dreamt of waking in a cold sweat. But then quickly fell asleep again only to dream of a place from twenty years ago where a large blonde woman stands behind me while I sit at a desk attempting to research the hell out of finding the cost of everything so that our client can cheat his way to profits. Yeah. I worked for a $hitbag management consulting company once or twice. It still grinds my conscience. You know, those organisations that never actually do anything but suck the life out of people convincing them that cutting costs for clients is an achievement. Sometimes I’m still shocked at how naive I was. For don’t you know, dear worst-reader, even well into my thirties I took the krapp-work laid out for me in stride as I wasted my best years on the two ills of life: working for The Man and, of course, his bitch, marriage. But at least, in this end, I did learn that both (work & marriage) are nothing but a transaction. And transactions can and should end or be left behind us as one learns new strides on the way to his or her end. Indeed. They should all end especially when it’s realised that you’ve lived your life for someone else, for something else, for the nothingness that is consume-to-survive. But I suppose I’m off subject.

Last night’s/this morning’s dream-in-a-dream has been haunting me lately having had it several times in the past few weeks. I think I’ve finally gotten it out of my system. I mean, I don’t think I’ll be having it again. Reason? I’ve discovered the thing that’s motivated it. In other worst-words, it’s the lying and the cheating that’s catching up to my conscience. It’s slowly being laid out in front of me–as I watch The West deteriorate further and further into blissful-ignorance galore. Or is it laid out in front of my therapist? Nomatter.

The thing is, I’m starting to be good with it all (my past) now because, well, I was able to see through it and then realise it’s time to move on. Yes. It took a while. But it’s happened. Unlike so many other things.

What the big blonde woman is actually doing in my dream-dreams is not watching over me like a corporate sage watching over a minion, thereby protecting someone’s profits, position or stature. No. She’s instead watching over me as I cheat. Again. Keep in mind. She is a minion above my minion-hood. And so. The research I’m doing in the dream-dreams isn’t about finding our clients competition’s cost structure. No. It’s about finding ways to lie. But lie to whom? Which brings us, dear worst-reader, to the links below.

Today’s newz links are about the two biggest lies that seem to never lead to truth. I mean, isn’t that what lies are about? In other worst-words, lying isn’t about the lie. No. It’s about the truth. The two lies that make up the duality of life and death are simple enough. One is nature (climate) and the other is corporatism (run amok). But let’s get back to the dream-dreams, blondes in corporate pants suits and and and, shall we.

When I read articles like the two linked below, I can’t help but associate them with my dreams within dreams (dream-dreams) that I’m either having or may eventually have. Perhaps that has something to do with all the lying I did in my short-stinted career as a corporate stooge. What lie, you ask. Well, my lies were always quite simple really. Once when I applied for a new albeit internal job at one of the many jobs I jumped, I asked a higher ranking colleague if she would have a look at my resume and then give any advice. The problem for me back then was, I did the work of PHDs. It was easy, don’t you know. For you see, back then, the globalisation greed-$hitshow was just getting under way. Corporate leadership hadn’t weened enough of the under-educated workforce yet to coerce real PHDs to lower their expectations, i.e their value. In other worst-words, PHDs were still too expensive. Corporate leaders therefore salivated all over people like me. Obviously without the proper credentials I couldn’t demand PHD wages but I must admit that I got pretty close once. Obviously things have changed as I write this twenty or so years later. Now PHDs are indeed a dime-a-dozen–and I even giggle at them every once-a-once on account, although they have their credentials, none of them have ever been able to realise what they’ve done. But on that note I should digress.

By the time I was forty years old, I had written more words than any PHD in the history of the world. It’s true. Just check my closet for manuscripts, ghost-writing and old corporate presentations. And don’t even think twice about all the consulting reports I’ve written that are locked in vaults at various clients. Yet, as the globalisation advantage for shareholders was just starting to take hold, I confused my ability to write–or my ability to write a shit load of bullshit–with actually achieving something. In fact, I was doing nothing. But let me ask you, dear worst-reader, should we minions question the fruit of our labour? Again. Nomatter.

My problem was, although I was writing stuff for others to publish, I still wasn’t published. Back to internal job seeking and, hopefully, blondes in corporate pants suits.

The blonde standing over my shoulder in my dream-dreams was actually coaching me on how to lie on my resume so that I could get a better job. That sort of thing is always cloaked in something else in the corporate world, don’t you know. As in finding cost structures of your competitors, which was just one of my many PHD-non-PHD tasks. Nowadays I’m not quite sure what they’re all up to on account, well, obviously, there ain’t much competition out there. Monopolised, monolithic organisations don’t have to worry much about competitors costs. There’s no competition. But they do need to cheat on other things. So there’s that. I guess.

When I questioned Blondie about what she was suggesting I put on my resume she simply said it is what everybody does and then added: it’s called tweaking. And so. I think of all the wasted college credits that run free through the world never realising their owners incapabilities, incompetence, mendacity, etc. Such is college in this new & improved century, eh? But they HAVE played somebody’s game well. Isn’t that obvious? The corporatists. They’ve played it, in fact, much better than I have. Perhaps that is a catalyst to all my dream-dreams. Am I jealous of all the fruit they’ve acquired for their labour? And that’s the ticket, ain’t it, dear worst-reader? All the college grads running the $hitshow, especially in my beloved & missed #Americant, are, at best, tweakers–not achievers. In the olden days, I guess, they were just cheaters. Weird how what goes around comes around, eh? Hence #Trump is such an obvious achiever… (giggle, smirk, fart, puke)

That’s one of the reasons I haven’t worked for the last twenty years–and then have odd but relevant dreams about dreams. Or is it dreams within dreams? Anywho.

It was that last resume that I ever formulated and the last time I would let someone watch over my shoulder, tweaking not just me but all of corporatism. Indeed. I realised: I can’t do this anymore. Of course, eventually, the blonde had her way with worst-moi. Yeah, that sort of thing happened a lot in my youth. Even though she wasn’t a looker, she had the right shade of pale and smooth skin. She was fifteen pounds over weight, too. That said, I kinda like ’em big. As far as romping goes, one nipple was larger than the other and both sat high on her bosom, which were quite large and extruding with heavy, gleaming under-boob. That always gave me more wood. She also didn’t mind ejaculate on her face and even told me to finish in her mouth after each romp. Even though we used protection, I assumed that such a request was so that she would be sure to not endanger her current career path with unwanted procreation via my sketchy supply of prophylactic. Or maybe not. She even blew me in her office early one morning where I failed to tell her that she still had me in her hair–twelve or so hours later. I guess a few colleagues assumed she had chunky dandruff. And so. While my marriage was ending and the realisation that I was a bad choice-maker (in life) was hitting me as hard as I was fcuking her, going back for seconds and fourths, there was one consolation within me. I was yet to be fully corrupted by it all. Again: I can’t do this anymore. Luckily, eventually, inevitably, she told me that I was boring and that I’ll regret not having taken her resume advice–but I was welcome to call if ever in town again–which is corporate code for “good luck with your career”. She giggled as best as anyone who had nothing to lose and then went about her corporatism. And so. We both said goodbye amicably. Just like the way I said goodbye to my marriage and my ill-fated corporate career. So many goodbyes well worth it.

The dream-dreams are alive and well, dear worst-reader. They are with everyone that can’t see through the rigamarole of things like what’s presented in the articles below. Even though the articles do tell a truth about something very specific, the larger lie that we all live in–or should I say you’all live in–on account I found a way out of the lie–and that makes me better than you–something is missing. So I’m wondering if the lies have become so abundant, so large, so catastrophic, there is no room for truth anymore. There are only the dream-dreams and the corporate blondes worth a fcuk or three. Wow. Life’s a hoot, eh.

Or maybe not.

Rant on.

-T

Links:
https://www.truthdig.com/articles/the-last-battle/
https://www.alternet.org/2019/04/how-boeing-might-represent-the-greatest-indictment-of-21st-century-capitalism/

E-Bikes And The Ageing Killer Pug

Like me, dear worst-reader, Beckett – the killer pug, is getting old. Fortunately I’ve still got all my front teeth. Most of his front teeth, on the other hand, except for the fangs, had to be removed last year. I mean, have you ever had a look inside a Pugs mouth? What a mess of teeth, don’t you know. In fact, if you didn’t know, in that little skull is housed the same amount of teeth that a normal nose dog has. The upper jaw is intrinsically rowed with various molars. It’s very alien-like. As far as the lower jaw, that’s a whole ‘nother story. It’s amazing that any teeth stay in after 11 years on the lower jaw. Since most of his scissor teeth were removed, he’s having a few issues here & there holding that tongue in. In case you’re wondering, like the teeth, that tongue is just as long as a tongue of dog with a normal nose. Lots going on in a Pug’s skull, baby.

But wait! E-bikes.

Nice long weekender to Berlin recently. Panorama shot of the Olympic stadium. You know, the stadium where Jessie Owens showed ugly Adolf how sportsmanship is done.

For those not in the know, you can see most of Berlin by boat. We only used one as a ferry, though.

My better-half has been complaining about getting a basket for her Charger Nuvinci. I tested it at the shop and inquired if she wanted one with fancy colours. She said black is fine. Yeah, baby. Steal my heart with darkness. Only downside to rack-time baskets is that you can’t use side-bags anymore. Oh well. Consume-to-survive, baby.

And by-the-buy, you can actually get two days food in a basket that fits perfectly to the bike’s rack-time rack. What do we got here? Fresh white asparagus, Italian cured ham, two bottles of Grauburgunder (Pinot Gris), and a little pumpkin for the next days quiche. That’s right. I make quiche, bitch. And I make it with pumpkin, goat cheese, fresh chilli peppers, sage and, of course, über fresh Italian parmesan. (Sometimes I’ll cheat with a fresh slab of Irish cheddar.)

Rant (and ride safe) on, baby.

-T

PS Not been riding much this time of year. Weather is too crazy here. Too much rain and cold and lots of unpredictability. That’s pseudo-spring in Germania. Bummer!

Futility Of Discourse

“He had encouraged him to talk to him, although he had always wondered at a certain incoherence, or rather restlessness in his mind, and could not understand what it was that so continually and insistently worked upon the brain of “the contemplative.” They discussed philosophical questions and even how there could have been light on the first day when the sun, moon, and stars were only created on the fourth day, and how that was to be understood.”

-Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, Pros and Cons, Chapter 6, For Awhile A Very Obscure One

Rant on.

-T

Dorothy Just Took A $hit On Her Rainbow

Two newz links below, dear worst-reader, that only worst-writer can make relatable. And trust me. I got this.

First. Can you believe a corporation owns a potato? No. Seriously. The vegetable. A corporation owns it. What I worst-mean by owns it is, they literally own the legal rights to everything that makes up that potato. Thank goodness there’s a variety of potatoes out there so at least $hitbag corporation doesn’t own all variety of potatoes. Wait. You didn’t know that there are various types of potatoes? Ok. Come this way grasshopper.

Let that sit in for a minute. Then ask this question: how can an inhuman organisation (a corporation) own the rights to a fcuking vegetable? Greed-chips anyone? This particular corporation is so f’n greedy–as only these neo-feudalists can be–that it’s literally tried to coerce the country of India to either stop growing its potato (which it uses to make krappy chips) or else. And we all know what or else means, right? Great world we live in, eh.

Second. I’m not always on the same page with the political comedian Bill Maher. Sometimes he loses his $hit so much that I don’t even bother to listen to his podcast. Instead I’ll sometimes switch over to  a ripped audio-only version of the Wizard of Oz and then experiment with vape-dope. But let’s not get too far off worst-subject.

My biggest gripe with Maher is that he’s too nice to $hitbags. Or am I the only one to notice that? I mean, he’s too nice to republicans on his show. I don’t see the point of even having them on his show. But we all got to sell something to The Man, right? Well, at least you do if you’re not worst-writer. Also. I’m not an HBO subscriber which means listening Maher’s free podcast is not necessarily a privilege. Ripping the Wizard of Oz to audio-only, now that’s a privilege. But I must digress.

I will give Maher this. At least he’s better than Jon Stewart–and thank goodness Stewart left the airwaves. I can definitely tolerate Maher more than Stewart, especially when it comes to #Americant politics. But why all the $hitbag republicans on his show? But let’s not get too far off subject.

Last night (see video link below) Maher tried to $hit on Robert Mueller by claiming Mueller is the one to prosecute President Stupid. And guess what? With such a claim, Maher just struck out and at the same time tripped over home plate and his bat. What a sight that was, eh?

By calling Mueller out for not only being hired to do what he does (FBI), but forgetting that Mueller was born to be who is (a republican), Maher just threw the $hit in the fan that’s pointing to his on face. (Or should I have stuck with the clumsy bat metaphor?) I mean, come on. The right-wing and their stooges (the FBI) don’t actually eat themselves. At leat they don’t publicly! On top of that, even I know it’s not the special prosecutor’s job (mandate) to “prosecute” the president. It’s only his job to do the investigation. Everything else is up to Congress. Or am I the only one who remembers how Ken Starr, including Newt Gingrich’s #americants amorality parade, pulled off the charade impeachment of the century? Congress prosecuted Bill Clinton for lying about a personal transgression with a hot-lipped intern and what a glorious show that was, eh. Whoop-dee-fcuking-do-do!

Here’s what Maher needs to keep doing–as opposed to going astray with picking on republicans supporting repubilicans (FBI + conservatives). Stick with calling out the entirety of the united mistakes apparatus, especially the whole middle-class and its rich part(s) that is the burgeoning retiring baby-boomer generation (of which he is one). This group of behaviourists who’ve never had an original thought (well, some of them did) and will forever live in the shadow of their racist, bigoted elders, has literally turned my beloved & missed #Americant into the new & improved politburo of The West. And so. Bill Maher. Just say fcuk the Mueller report and move on. The conman savvy genius of President Stupid, to which you are playing, is that he’s been pretty good so far at navigating the hate-bigot-road that is between the winner’s and the inheritors that make up the ruling class(es) of fail-upward-ville, I.e. #Americant.

Just like a corporation shouldn’t be able to own the legal rights to a fcuking vegetable, a country/society shouldn’t be able to own all the deplorables because, well, they are all fcuking morons and thereby let compulsive behaviourists, like Mueller, or the entirety of conservatism, run the whole $hitshow forevermore. In other worst-words, it’s time to make room for hippies to rule for once and also to clean the $hit off the rainbow that is #Americant according to a drugged-out, incontinent Dorothy and her ugly, stupid dog that now wears #Trump’s hair.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

And What About The Moral Equivalence Of Stupid v Stupid?

kkk-nazi-white-supremacists-charlottesville-va-august-2017

On Joe Biden finally entering the race.

Indeed. What about the moral equivalence of stupid v poor? Or stupid v rich? Or poor v poor v rich? And let’s not forget, what about the moral equivalence of deplorables? Etc. I mean, seriously, dear worst-reader, does it (politics) matter at this point when it comes to whether or not Joe Biden runs for leader of the LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID? Well, perhaps there is something to salvage out of the Neo-liberalism latched onto by Bill Clinton so that Democrats could finally win an election post The (First) Actor elected president who found out how easy it is to fool a nation of redneck dumbasses–or as Hillary correctly called them: deplorables. Why not throw into the race an old dinosaur Democrat like Biden to see if he can be ordained? I mean, come on. What’s there to lose? Considering the current band of misfits that have already announced they are running against #Trump, all except one or two (Bernie Sanders and–aghast!–Elizabeth Warren) fit the pattern/format of fail-upwardness that is never, ever, ever having had an original thought. Never ever having had an original thought is one of the new & improved cornerstones of my beloved & missed #Americant, baby.

Of course, another thing to keep in mind, as far as Democrats go, is that Barry-O didn’t do much to counter the political genius of Bill Clinton that has so stealthily positioned the Democrats as an alternative to Republicans since Ronald Dip$hit Reagan. The thing that will remain of the two-party mis-fit-system and will be carried-on by Joe Biden (and most likely any other Democrat if elected) is that the $hitshow of corporatism, greed-mongering and the ability for one redneck dumbass to claim he’s better than another redneck dumbass based on car, cowboy hat/boots or trophy wife, it that such a mis-fit-system must go on. Too many generations have had a chance at changing it all but somehow, someway, forevermore, failed to act. Now that’s true stupid-democracy, eh!

There is one thing in Biden’s recent announcement that did tickle worst-writer’s fancy. His calling out #Trump and Charlottesville was/is a beautiful thing to hear (see vid linked to below). From the get-go, don’t you know, what happened in Charlottesville was the moment of no-return for worst-moi. It is, in fact, the same as when Dubya was re-elected. It was also a moment where, although I’ve been using the term #Americant longer, the term LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID joined my vernacular. In fact, Charlottesville was so significant for me, I lost one of the only friends I have because of his acceptance and inability to criticise #Trump’s moral equivocation of the issue. It still jolts my soul thinking of #Trump saying there are good and bad people on both sides–where only one side murdered an innocent young woman? Which also lead to all the right-wing bull$hit, continuing to this day, equating anti-fascism with fascism. I mean, come on. In a country of dumbasses, $hitkickers, deplorables, and middle-class baby boomers threatened by a life-time of enabling so much incompetence in the name of (their) greed, it cannot be expected that anyone can understand the simplicity of fascism. Most (deplorables) couldn’t even define fascism if it was written on one of their dream balloons. Thank the #Americant school system for that, baby. Remember: fixing stupid is done by making stupider. And so. There is so much (political) stupid in my beloved & missed #Americant that I no longer believe there’s a way out. Hence there is some hope that someday, somehow the phoenix may rise 1.

The one thing Joe Biden v #Trump will ensure is that the Democratic Party will never have to do what is necessary to fix the fail-upwardness Bill Clinton latched onto with Neo-liberalism as a political counterforce to the pseudo-success of Ronald Reagan’s family values, militarism-galore, etc., and the onslaught of right-wing bat$hittery. The reality is, what the country needs is FDR. My only fear is the country hasn’t failed deep enough yet for that. Then again, that would oppose what Bill Clinton so pragmatically enabled and facilitated (and dry humped) to become one of the twentieth centuries greatest politicians. Another reason, by-the-buy, why GOPers are so hateful and spiteful and can’t let go of the past, especially since they’ve been unable to produce a have decent president since, let’s say, Eisenhower. Also. Neo-liberalism is the same as right-wing-stupidism albeit without the religious bat$hittery and a bit less war-mongering. Then again, with the likes of #Trump’s authoritarianism, nothing really matters anymore anywho.

Or maybe not.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

-T

Links:


  1. In order for a phoenix to rise there must first be ashes to rise from. ↩︎

She’s A Man, Baby

 

Raquel Welch Myra Breckenridge

Pseudo-review: Mrya Breckenridge, the novel–not the movie!

I saw the movie thirty-five (or so) years ago1. Somehow the movie stayed with me–and not only because of Raquel Welch who is, other than Rita Hayworth, the only Hollywood bombshell worth gawking at like a fifteen year old man-boy run amok with girly magazines. At the least, reading Gore Vidal’s Empire series helped in finally getting me to his novels even though Myra Breckenridge made my have to read before I die list only around fifteen years ago2. And so. I finally got around to it the other day. And that’s what matters, right? Finally getting around to something? The worst-word now is: thank goodness I finally got around to it.

My first thought was: why did it take so long? Second thought was: hallelujah! Then again, there was that one chapter (Chapter 29!) where Myra straps on a dildo and has her way with an aspiring young Adonis-like acting student thereby changing him and his personality… Hollywood-forever-more. As uncomfortable as that chapter was, reading it kind of solidified where the novel, and Vidal, was actually going. For. Indeed. Dear worst-reader. It was a tough chapter to read. But get through it I did. And so. Is my manliness still intact–unlike Rusty’s?

The capacity for wit and humour and more wit knows no bounds in this book. Does that mean it’s opened my mind to read more of Vidal’s novels–since I’ve only read his historical novels and various essays up to now? By-the-buy, the reason for reading only his historical novels is simple. Like most #Americants , important things get lost in the ether of the greed $hitshow. Or they get lost in the hope and want of Disney. Or both. At the least, being an #Aemricant can be very convoluting. And so. Every #Americant should read Gore Vidal’s Empire novels. In fact, all public schools in my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant should stop all the pseudo-history they’ve been learned (taught) so far. In fact, fire all the pseudo-teachers (of history) now. Simply replace it/them all with reading Vidal’s Empire series. You know, Burr, Lincoln, etc. It’s probably the best way to learn our history, don’t you know. But on that note, I should digress.

The version of Myra I have also contains Myron, which is supposed to be a follow-up novel. But I also ordered The City And The Pillar which I’ve prioritised to read next–unless I get to another Empire novel. I guess I’ll eventually get to Myron but somehow I’m not as motivated. Perhaps Myra was enough. Indeed. I’m really, finally, thinking more in terms of getting around to finally reading Washington DC, which is the one important Empire novel I’ve still not read. I’m actually missing something in my soul since I haven’t read one of Vidal’s Empire novels in awhile–and perhaps also because of finally reading Myra. Again. Nomatter.

Myra Breckenridge is a hoot to read. Set in Hollywood of, I guess, the 60s, Myra is a teacher of sorts at an acting academy. And guess what she teaches? That’s right. At an acting school in Hollywood she doesn’t teach acting. No. She teaches posture and empathy. Who would have guessed that such a thing exists/is required for Hollywood? In fact, the great scene (Chapter 29) where she tries to set the story’s Adonis-like acting student’s spine straight by breaking his heterosexuality, she does so in the name of… wait for it. Posture. Although Myra’s motivation is to dominate and manipulate others (a well established #Americant Hollywood creed) via her fluid if not didactic sexuality, she is also obsessed with another burgeoning #Americant-ism: that of acquiring wealth without means, i.e. through the death of her late husband Myron. I’m now convinced Vidal had something quite different in mind with Myra other than creating something for $hits & giggles–which is the #Americant way of dealing with sex. By-the-buy, such an iconic (literary) character could never be properly portrayed in a prude #Americant movie of the 1970s–even if it did star one of the greatest bombshells of the twentieth century. I’m worst-wondering if the film could/should be remade? Nah. #Americant still ain`t ready for it.

Considering the discourse today regarding sexuality, compared to what I grew up with, e.g. hardcore 1960 > 1970 feminism plus a krapp load of closeted gays, Vidal just might be a prophet above and beyond his fictionalisation of history as he’s done so well with his Empire novels. At the least, what Vidal writes about in Myra is only slightly askew from my personal experience(s), although I never met a transexual… a transgender… Sorry, I’m still confused about all that stuff. Nor have I ever lived in Hollywood. But I have crossed paths wit a bunch of fags in my day. Nomatter.

Much has been said about Myra Breckenridge since its publishing (1968). But I’m curious if much of what need be said has been said about it. You know, #Americants and prudes do find a way to suppress this sort of stuff in the best and usually not subtle ways. On the other hand, Vidal has seen into the future with this book. A future I’m now living in. The only thing missing from it, IMHO, is a proper conclusion. Perhaps I’ll get that conclusion after reading Myron. Then again, my guess is I won’t. That’s the one criticism I have of this book. It’s too much about Vidal’s personal POV regarding his sexuality which I’m guessing is old school faggism. You know, no anal, lots of hand-jobs, a few more blowjobs, no PDA and never, ever, go overboard with acting über-feminine. Or maybe not.

Myra Breckenridge (the novel) is something between a kind of Hollywood soap-opera and a very dark comedy run amok. But I think Vidal’s text says a lot more than portraying a man as a woman as a man. This book is a depiction of #Americant and its true face, including its true heart and how morally corrupt it all really is–simply because of the confusion caused by what is really amorality. Yeah, so much for family values, eh! Read in 2019, it’s still as sad and sorrowful and infantile, yet also inspiring, as it should be. If only #Americants (like Vidal) could be as unapologetically hi-larry-us as the Brits with, say, their Monty Python stuff. Or maybe not.

Rant on.

-T

PS Compared to the book, the movie really does suck–although it might squeeze out a laugh or two while gawking at Raquel Welch.


  1. I can’t remember exactly; I either saw it at my university cinema or on VHS during a college drunken stupor. Nomatter. ↩︎
  2. After constantly being reminded of the significance of GV’s teachings. ↩︎

They Will Burn It Down

Screenshot 2019-04-25 at 14.22.30
A screenshot of the state of things.

That church in Paris, dear worst-reader. What happened to it? How many years did it take to build it? And now it’s been almost destroyed in the wink of drunk rich man’s eye. I mean, was it really fire that destroyed Notre Dame? Or could Notre Dame’s fate be part of something else? Obviously we all saw it burn. We saw the spire crash. Then there was all the smoke, the tears of sentimentalist outside, etc. Perhaps better put: how is it that such an important structure could ever be susceptible to the ills of money-driven incompetence? That’s what they’re saying now, aren’t they? Was it some kind of computer glitch? A short circuit? Someone, something had to set all that up, don’t you know. Did they do it wrong? Did they misuse electrical tape? Or did someone put the green wire to the positive and the red wire to the negative–when it should have been the other way round? At the least, something sparked and set the wood of the structure ablaze. A previous century accident at best, a new century greed $hitshow at worst. Which begs the question: Why does an old school screwup work so well in this new world of greed, greed, greed?

Here’s worst-writer’s worst-theory (which is guess work not conspiracy). The rigamarole that is the greed $hitshow, i.e. sucking up the money made available to renovate something like an old friggin church, is exactly how it looks: there simply wasn’t enough money to buy the competence to prevent such an old and historic structure from melting away as the children of the rich lick their cones of ice cream and lollipops all in the name of their first super-car. This is what happens when the rich are called out, dear worst-reader. You know, when they are called out for having done so many bad things–all in the name of their greed–or is it their God? And so. My guess is the original cost of renovating Notre Dame was much higher than what was made available–because at the time there were so few billionaires willing to pledge enough to prevent all the incompetence in the first place. A short circuit in 2019 set Notre Dame in flames. Yeah, right.

Get it cheap if you can and if not let it burn and then let’s see what happens.

And so. When the powers-that-be finally figured out they had taken on more than they can handle with renovating the church on the cheap, they did what all greed-pigs do. They cooked the bacon for the pions and the morons and that which makes the #Trumps, the Brexits, the $hitshow. It’s the only way to protect a rich man’s world where unearned wealth rules the rest of us. You know, like it was back in the feudal days when there wasn’t convenience of electrical incompetence–or the hack-show that is Capitalism’s current iteration. Indeed. Back then they just cut hands and heads off, crucified or drank the blood spilled. And so. Even with their pledges of billions to rebuild (after the fire that should have never been), the rich never pay for their ills and thereby get someone else to pay instead. Just as it ever was! (According to The Talking Heads!) And if that fails, you burn the fcuking thing down and see what comes out of the wood-work of sympathy. Sympathy for incompetence dressed in money, money, money.

And so. It worked perfectly for Notre Dame, I’d worst-guess. Of course, of the billions that have been pledged after the fire–a small portion of which should have been pledged before the fire but somehow it wasn’t–they’re already saying that it too is not enough. Really? Seriously? Come on yellow-vests. It’s time to burn down other parts of the pig’s home.

I mean, while religious $hitbags wine and dine themselves in tears and fears at the state of the world and the glory of fail-upwardness that the rest of us must live in/with, the unearned simply let it (all) burn. And it’s what they will continue to do. Notre Dame is just one example of that. It is the fate of the greed $hitshow, don’t you know.

The fire that took place last week in the middle of Paris has nothing to do with Notre Dame. It has everything to do with the state of affairs of this world and life run amok–because of politics and money. The point being, of course, cost must always be burdened by someone else (externalised)–not those who can afford the cost. Like the church that built it (Catholic), the church that (should) own it, this traumatic event is typical of the way things are just done these days. And I wonder whose Jesus taught those ways all to us.

And on that note I do digress.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Being Told What To Do, Doing What You’re Told

The #Americant way, dear worst-reader. How to know it’s true? Just go there. I mean, go there after being not there. And while there don’t just hang out in NYC or DC or SF or LA enjoying the view(s). Check out the burbs of those places. If you can stomach it, and you should, make sure to hang out at burb local motel. They all have TVs, don’t you know. Also. Get yourself some GMO popcorn in a bag and to soothe your ill-fed soul follow it up with pre-cut cantaloupe from whatever local grocery store. Don’t forget to wash it down with a few cans of rice beer, aka Bud. Then sit back with your polyester pillows fluffed and surf the third-eye of #Americant humanism: television. Spend a few hours watching faux-newz and after that wash it down with some WWE. After you had all the popcorn and your fingers are covered with a fine glaze of chemical flavouring, if you can’t stomach the industrial cantaloupe, you can always use it as a means to wipe your fingers with another annoying smell. Then just let the Bud knock you out as your skull inevitably sinks deep into the fake pillow. In the morning take a ride in your rental car around burb-hell and then give the radio master of ceremonies, Rush, a listen.

Did you know, dear worst-reader, that Republics never recover once they fail? And the thing to keep in mind about failing Republics is that it doesn’t happen suddenly. I mean, Republics fail long before the failure is even noticed–especially by those who should notice. Hence the lie of democracy. Once the failure has occurred, though, then begins the long path toward untruth. Indeed. Of the little I’ve been able to read (comprehend), Republic failure had been considered a long time before Rome? You now, Plato & Co.? First there was the Greek empire, then came Rome. Of course, what the hell do I know? Was it even Plato that discovered the the untruth? Then again, I’ve been able to read (comprehend) only slightly more about Rome. And Rome, don’t you know, is the Republic all nation-states and their ill-governments have been based on ever since? Isn’t that what the third-reich ultimately was about? You know, restoring things to good-ole olden times? The better times–as stupid, ugly white people would call it? Rome was the first reich, Napoleon or the like the second (???), and we all know what happened at the attempt of creating a third, don’t we? Then again, there are some that say (know) that Rome never actually was a republic. It was simply a tool forever being forged to become the inhumanity-model that was/is Caesar–and those that follow him with either every stab-wound or each Ides of March. And so. The game is set for everyone to become their own little Caesar or gladiator movie-watcher with a whole lot of spite in our hearts. Am I wrong?

The problems (politics) we are having these days, dear worst-reader, ain’t so much because of Elites (who are the/a republic) but instead their hoarding of EVERYTHING–and how they all want to be Caesar. Also. One must also consider their contempt for those who don’t know the game. The poor. The proletariate. The rednecks with red hats that say… You know, those simply not born lucky enough to inherit or live off of unearned wealth and means–and who choose to stay STUPID. With that in mind, it is truly astonishing how so much support is given to the elites in my beloved & missed #Americant and at the same time elites are complained about day after day after day. Is it only because faux-newz spews criticism of elites? Am I the only expat viewing the $hitshow from thirty-thousand feet who sees this? Does one have to even be a thirty-thousand foot expat? It’s like watching a game-board, don’t you know. From so far up. But I can still see the dice. I see the crowds and the game hoarders aka players instil themselves with the game, their noses practically glued to the flat-screen that is their game-table. How is it that so many people can simultaneously be played, thinking they are playing? Oh the gift of faith.

While on the subject of hoarding, isn’t it so that war-booty is the same (as hoarding)? The soldiers of Rome, before and during Caesar, had their way with war-booty, ain’t that right? Has there been a study yet about the difference between Genghis Khan’s war-booty and that of the Roman Empire? At the least, the Roman Empire’s war-booty gave the world The Christ, his real name having the same initials as Julius Caesar. Coincidence? Which brings me around a whole ‘nother bend.

As empires die they leave a rotting slime corpse of dung for new empires to spring from (cultivate). If a few can isolate and protect that slime, it can cultivate for centuries, new & improved empires can be born. It can even birth ever new miscreants of nation-state-hood–who become empires. As long as war-booty is available there is no need to fear the reaper. And so, I’m worst-thinking now about the latest nation-state, pseudo-empire miscreant and how it came to be. Let’s go there, shall we?

Who was the biggest loser of the Great War (WW1 2)? Was it Germany, Japan? Perhaps at the time it was. Or am I totally worst-writing when I say that the biggest loser, in reality, was/is Great Britain? I mean, those fcuking wars really did put that $hithole, inbred island of ugly monarchs in their place. Yet they’re still there. But before I get too far off subject.

What I really want to worst-write about is war-booty and how it can extend and/or build an empire. For example. The Marshal Plan. The Marshal Plan was a new & and improved imperial plan that was nothing more than supplanting the British Empire and thereby freeing up space for my beloved & missed #Americant to fill the bill. We know what happened to the war-booty of Germany and Japan. But what of Britain? For didn’t Roosevelt tell Churchill after they met Stalin and while enjoying their last tee together (in Yalta?):

You fcuking twisty-speaking cocksucker. You not only ruined for years to come the money making ability of those fcuking Krauts but you almost lost it all to those retard-looking Russians. Did you know that fcuking Russians are only a half-chromosome away from being slant-eyed retards? Shut the fcuk-up Winston! Now. Listen up. You give up what remains of your greed $hitshow empire because a new player is in town and we ain’t gonna fcuk it up like you did. Here, have a fcuking banana. My boys brought it over from South America. You wanna know how to run an empire? That’s right. You gotta peel the fcuking skin off first. Twat!

Churchill, like The Dude, abided. Which brings me full-circle. A few things happen at the end of warring greed-monger $hitshows (WW2) as their Republics die:

  1. Winner takes all (as in stuff)
  2. Mass Impregnation (cause it’s fun)
  3. The transfer of stuff (quite different from 1); see The Marshal Plan

In worst-short, dear worst-reader, the Great War (WW1 2) was nothing but war-booty-galore with the one caveat of dethroning the British Empire and finally supplanting it with my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant. That’s right. Technically worst-writing, the fcuking Russians won the Great War (WW1 2). But the playboys and the banker/gamblers from the US would win the glory and, hence, the marketing. And so. Considering the ramifications of dying empires, past and present, where are things headed? Or. More importantly: when will the next Empire begin to die again? Considering the aftermath of ALL fallen empires, there’s got to be a road-map out there about where things are headed. Or?

Question(s):

  • Is there a way through the ignorance that lead to the likes of #Trump ?
  • Is #Trump the beginning or the during of impending Empire collapse?
  • Is the blatant bigotry and spite and hate and racism of #Trump a symptom or the sickness? (And does it matter?)
  • How did so many otherwise smart people turn so stupid?
  • What is a (British) twat? (Brexit!)

Those are good questions, grass-hopper. The answer is: fcuk yes. But first, you got to get the whole Nation–as in Nationalism–to admit it’s dummer than a bag of rocks held buoyant in a river by happy coloured balloons that have penises drawn on them. How does that happen? Well, let’s get back to greed-mongering, war-booty, the complete and total control/ownership of stuff, i.e. Republics. Take for example the antecedent (if not the incestuous cousin-sister) of the Marshall Plan: martial law.

Wiki: Martial law is the imposition of direct military control of normal civilian functions of government.

For those not in the know or those hooked on OxyContin (who may or mayn’t be worst-reading this), here a few examples of martial law in my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant as of the year of (y)our Lord twenty-nineteen:

  • Sanctuary Cities. Recent declaration by #Trump (the executive branch of the US Government) that states and/or cities must take immigrants into their “sanctuary cities” as retaliation for the Congress (the legislative branch of US Government) not giving him his STUPID-wall is one of the scariest things yet to come out of the current iteration of #Americant’s fail-upward reality-tv $hitshow that is the LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID1.
  • Guantanamo Bay! Need more be worst-written about that in the context of martial law? Oh wait. Don’t forget that Guantanamo Bay, if it represents anything, is that #Americant has finally gone down the path of making martial law possible on a grand scale. Guantanamo Bay isn’t so much about fighting a war against nineteen dead thugs who hijacked planes that wrecked a few ugly buildings. No. It is the rejection of Habeas Corpus. May your God help you and all your stupid for making this happen.
  • Pardons. #Trump claiming that he will pardon2 the head of the agency in charge of US immigration if/when he commits crimes is also pretty scary and very reminiscent of authoritarianism if not, well, abuse of power… Oh wait. I mean, that’s kinda like martial law, too, right? Yeah, this is supposed to be about martial law.

Anywho. I’ve worst-written, rambled on long enough and just realised, in these 2,000 words, I’ve said practically nothing that has anything to do with the title of this worst-post. Does that mean I’ve lost my (original) way? Maybe. Then again. Im worst-writer. And. In order for a once great idear that is/was #Americant to get where it’s got, you can only have a Republic (failing) where there two types of people. So there.

Rant (and worst-write) on.

-T


  1. The idear of a “sanctuary city”, in this context, reminds me of dystopian movies like Escape From New York, V For Vendetta, Children Of Men, etc., or books like 1984, The Handmaid’s Tale, etc. In these movies/stories government is all controlling, all-knowing, it is the stuff things are made of, with and for and in all of these movies there is no communist party, no socialist agenda, etc. And so. How far is my beloved & missed #Americant from anything resembling marshal law? Obviously not far at all. And there’s more. ↩︎
  2. https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-news/trump-pardon-kevin-mcaleenan-822053/ –according to this link, it seems the whole pardon thing has kinda gone to the way side. It’s almost as though #Trump has learned to play so well with just throwing things out there and to see if they stick. If they don’t stick–or if they are swatted away–then he just backs down. Hi-Larry-Us. ↩︎

How To Get THE Message To Fly

Screenshot 2019-04-13 at 19.34.48
Screenshot from Wiki page

In a whirlwind, dear worst-reader, It all started with the music video This is America. Have to admit, it did take a few viewings of the vid for me to get it. Well, get it as far as worst-writer can get it. You know, this is about politics as much as it’s about money making musical genius. As you may or mayn’t know, I’m kind of an old school liberal. You know, I be the kind that thinks he can think all things whatnot but ultimately, especially when it comes to politics, my whatnot is about living and let live. When I’m critical of politics, it’s because there are so many out there that can’t live and let live. In fact, things have gotten so bad, those that can’t live and let live, have to be called out for going even further by living on the backs of others. Such a creed, don’t you know, goes against pretty much everything that my beloved & missed #Americant is all about today. Yeah, living on the backs of others. But that’s neither here nor there.

The thing that rocked me about This is America is the message(s) embedded within it. I won’t go into the details of THE message here. That sort of thing is available all over the #Interwebnets. But I will say this: Childish Gambino is a friggin’ genius. Boy am I curious what’s gonna come out of him in the future–or will he fade as THE message fades. For as we all know, what’s right, righteous and good fades quickly to what is ugly, ugly, ugly and full of money, money, money and #Trump. And so…

A few hours ago I viewed a continuation of THE message. I watched Guava Island. Once again I was a bit perturbed with where this artist was going. Filmed in Cuba and co-staring Rihanna, it seems that Childish Gambino (I love that name) found a way to repackage and resubmit THE message in the form of a (kind of) extended music video but encased in a wondrous narrative mini-movie of love, culture and THE message. In short, #Americants have an alternative. But will they get the message?

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

T

What Is Fascism?

So. Like. I’m sitting in the corner at the mall, a parking lot, a small table in a rainbow coloured sprinkles restaurant and Grasshopper walks up to me and asks: Dude, what is a fascism? (Yes, the question is posed just like that.)

Well, Grasshopper, I respond, it’s like this. Do you remember olden times when people were actually rational about their days and deeds and were extremely concerned about where they stuck their genitals? That’s right, those days are long gone–if they ever existed. But those days–or day–are somehow real, don’t you know. Anywho. In those days something interesting happened to the petty and the perturbed and the ones that would lead to #Trump, post Hitler, Mussolini, etc. The threat that was human existence had gone too far for a few people who run the worlds. But perhaps I’m getting ahead of ourselves.

In the beginning there was talk of communism. Let’s say we’re dealing with the mid 19th century. Karl Marx was the first to actually philosophise about the re-invention of a new & improved feudalism post the French Revolution. The French Revolution, btw, was the first attempt at ridding the world of not just feudalism but really, really useless kings and queens. Back to Marx. Marx’s philosophising, don’t you know, lead a whole bunch of people to question why they had so little after doing so much and few and fewer people had so much after doing so little. And so. A whole bunch of people organised and both pissed-off and scared those few people… a whole lot. In order to counter the many people that were organising, a few of the few and fewer thought about getting organised themselves. The many were the communists and the few and fewer would eventually become the fascists. The fascists would then fight and fight and slaughter the many so that, well, the few and fewer could just keep having more and more. Oh. And let’s not forget. Other than in Russia and France, those f’n fascists saved the rest of those arsehole kings and fcuking queens. Get it? (And enough of the italics.)

So the thing to remember, Grasshopper, is this: There would be no fascism if there were no communism. There would still be feudalism, though. Get it? And if I may just throw this little tangent in there which is perhaps for another worst-post: we would now have Neo-feudalism.

But I die-gress, baby.

In other worst-words, fascism is communisms counter revolution. The thing that holds both communism and fascism together–that makes them cousins, if you will–is authoritarianism. That is, the will of the few over the will of the many–in the most brutal way. And if you don’t like it, I’ll slap you arse, you useless-eating biatch. Get it?

To make things even more complicated, one can also put it like this: Capitalists also found a way to organise so that they could counter Communism, i.e. the revolution that so many were joining back in the day. The Capitalists turned to the privileged classes–from which the middle classes would eventually spring (rentier, neo-feudalism?)–among their ranks who would in-turn turn against the less privileged, i.e. the poor. The privileged classes gladly accepted the Capitalists as determiners of (their) fate as they also laughed and spit on the poor who would be controlled by government bureaucracy, the police state, right-wing media (set free by Ronald Reagan’s fight against the FCC Fairness doctrine), etc. And so. The poor simply became the breeders of more mindless and indoctrinated canon fodder–by the likes of Rush Limbaugh, faux newz, etc. And now you have #Trump. Get it?

Let me be clear about one more thing before I end this worst-post. Nazis are not necessarily fascists. Although Nazis employ fascists tactics (brown shirts, SS, propaganda, etc.), the true fascists that allied forced would defeat in WW2 were Italians and before that Franco’s Spain. I’m not trying to diminish the evils of Nazism here, though. Nazis were (and still are!) just as bad as fascists. But perhaps, when trying to understand the evils that men are capable of, sometimes it might be OK to split hairs. And don’t forget:

The Germans and Italians lost WW2 but the fascists won.

-George Carlin

A fascist is a pig in a man’s suit and who slaps you (or kills you) for disagreeing with him and there is nothing you can do about it because, well, …you love bacon?

-end-

More worst-writing on T’s attempt at understanding fascism? Try this or this or this.

Rant on.

-T

Link that better describes Fascism:

Oh Yeah, Daniel Boone…

What Daniel Boone, like George Washington, was up to was intruding upon sovereign Native land so as to covertly survey it and sell it to white settlers, who would then form themselves into militias to murder the families who had been living there for generations. Some were successful and grew rich and powerful, such as George Washington, while others, like Boone, never attained wealth, his land speculations resulting in bankruptcy. Regarding Boone’s hunting career, it was purely commercial; he killed animals not for food, but to sell their pelts for profit. Boone made a modest living as a market hunter. Annually, trekking alone or in small groups of other market hunters, he would go on “long hunts”–months-long expedition into unceded Indian hunting grounds. Collecting hundreds of buck deer skins in the autumn, he would then trap beaver and otter for the valuable pelts over the winter. In the Spring, market hunters returned to sell their bounty to commercial traders. In this business, buckskins came to be known as “bucks,” originating the slang term for “dollar.” But the legend and lore that mushroomed around Daniel Boone advanced notions of the hero explorer and adventurous hunter, and were written over the fact that he was a merchant, a trader, a land speculator, and a failed businessman. -from “Loaded,” Chapter Five – Myth of the Hunter, by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz

If you’re interested, more on this book here.

Rant (and quote) on.

-T

Pseudo-Review: DietPi And RockPro64

 

Subtitle: Avoiding monolithic-monopoly personal computing on the cheap?

Follow-up is here.

Note on text: if you want to skip all my worst-writing, just scroll down to the The Pseudo Review.

As noted here, I’m not a NAS fan. The problem with not being a NAS fan is that one may still require some form of home data storage. But where to turn? Remember those days of ripping CDs, DVDs/Blurays, etc.? What to do with all that data? Even if you’re no longer into ripping stuff, there is a need to not lose all that has been ripped. Or?

A few years back I realised that my ripping days were over. I haven’t ripped a CD in years. Other than online (and free) internet-radio, I don’t consume music anymore either. If I watch a movie or a TV show, I do so by either Amazon Prime or I rent something with AppleTV. (That’s right, I don’t use Netflix and I also do not watch cable or satellite TV!) That means, the only requirement I have for home data storage is being able to back up my Macs and figuring out what to do with all my old data. For my Macs the solution is easy. I rely on multiple TimeMachine iterations. Btw, after getting rid of my Mac collection in late 2018, which consisted of a MacPro, 2x MacMini, a MacBook Air and a 12″ MacBook, I’m now down to 2x 12″ MacBooks, 2016 and 2017 respectively.

Btw, as a writer, I highly recommend the 12″ MacBook–butterfly keyboard n’all. It is, in fact, my daily driver. Obviously if you’re into video production the 12″ MacBooks is a no-go. For everything else, as I took the chance to figure out for myself, Apple’s smallest, lightest, minuscule-ness and perhaps slowest PC… is a blast! And so, my wife uses the 2016 MacBook connected to a 24″ screen as her personal desktop device which replaced her 2010 MacMini. FYI, her main personal comuting driver is an iPad Pro. But I digress.

It was after fiddling around with my wife’s 2016 MacBook–which she bought on a whim after we returned from India in 2016–that something clicked with me. And be warned: when we entered the Apple store that day to get her a new Mac, it had never crossed my mind to buy the 12″ MacBook. I was trying to steer her to a low-end iMac. But you know how the women-folk are these days, eh worst-reader? You know, they be all emancipated and stuff. The only contribution I got to make about her new Mac purchase, in the end, was that she didn’t buy the pink MacBook1. Here my thoughts on going full Apple über-expensive (pink) netbook for 2019. Anywho.

Each MacBook has it’s own external HDD which is connected as required plus there is a TimeMachine HDD connected to an AirPort Extreme in the basement accessible by our home network. I can’t tell you what a relief it is having gotten rid of all those ageing Macs, but more importantly having gotten rid of the burden of having to maintain them. Obviously–or as usual–Steve Jobs was right when he initiated the post-PC era–with his comment–even though I don’t agree with it 100%–that tablets are cars and PCs are trucks. The thing is, I’ve never been sold on tablets replacing PCs. I’m also all-in on laptop makers trying to compete with desktop. More importantly, I’m not sold at all on touch screens. No. I need a keyboard. There is obviously a burden to be shouldered in the future of PCs but that’s mostly due to a monopolised and monolithic tech industry–that Apple will hopefully threaten if it ever gets around to having ARM as processors on its Macs. But, once again, I’m off subject.

The minimalist design, ports, weight, etc., of the MacBook has in part lead to my acquiescence and further delayed my having to consider going tablet. Although I can see the future is about touch-screen devices, the MacBook I’m using to worst-type this post, might just be my last Mac. Indeed. The likes of System76 laptops is looking pretty sweet to me right now–even though I just paid twice the cost for a laptop (a 2017 12″ MacBook in pink) compared to the likes of what System76 is offering. So the only question that remains is this: can I give up the luxury of Mac? That’s a whole other worst-post, eh. Anywho–I’m still off subject.

Not only have I gotten rid of all those trucks but I’ve also consolidated my personal computing data requirements. I’ve even given in to Apple’s ill-engineering to remove things like an ethernet port, let alone modern I/O ports. In other worst-words, for my personal computing requirements, I’ve since learned that the amount of hardware I require is actually quite negligible. For don’t you know, dear worst-reader, I am a worst-typist (worst-writer), and the amount of hardware space to store year and years and years of worst-writing, just ain’t that much. In fact, in a pinch, I can get my life’s digital work onto a decent sized USB thumb-drive. As for other digital stuff, aka music, photos, movies, TV, etc., that’s another story. And here’s part of that story.

I don’t consider media stuff to be a priority in my digital life. As much as I don’t like subscription-based digital streaming (I prefer the pay as you go/view stuff), streaming is definitely the future. Hence the rigamarole of whether or not to invest stupid money into an over-priced multiple HDD system (NAS) which just adds more complications (i.e. truck krapp) to one’s life.

The Pseudo Review.

So it’s been a few months now since I’ve batted an eye or puckered an ear about avoiding NAS truck-dom and/or monopoly-monolithic über-expensive personal computing krapp. It turns out that my skepticism/cynicism was/is warranted. As of fall 2018, I’ve resorted to other means of storing twenty years of music and movies and TV–and thereby separating personal data from media2. Obviously what I’m doing is not as convenient as a NAS but at least I’m NOT having to give more stupid-money away to monopoly-monolithic tech companies. Also. The whole fiddling and figuring-out process has been (kinda) fun. And so, here’s the solution I’m currently using in order to avoid monopoly-monoliths…

  • RockPro64 (4GB/MicroSD/Sata-card)
  • Pine64 NAS Case
  • 2x 3TB HDD
  • DietPi

Initially, and based on positive experience with Raspberry Pi, I fiddled around with OMV on the RockPro64, more on that here. Unfortunately OMV doesn’t work. I’m regularly checking here to see if/when it gets out of beta. That’s kind of a shame, really, on account I liked the way OMV worked on the Raspberry Pi. The only problem was/is, the RPi couldn’t stream to my home network using Plex. As a pure file server, though, OMV on the RPi worked flawlessly.

After a few initial difficulties with the RockPro64 and its fancy-pants NAS case3, I finally got it all together and working. As far as my choice of software, I’ve been happily surprised with DietPi. After a few weeks I not only got used to such a throw-back, if not archaic interface, I really started to dig DietPi. In fact, once you get used to it, DietPi isn’t as CLI/archaic as it may initially appear. It’s actually got a pretty neat and well thought-out interface, see pics above. Of course, if you like, you can just use the terminal and linux commands to do everything. I’m not a Linux command expert by and long stretch, so what DietPi has come up with has worked really well for me. The only issues I’ve had so far have been minor and require nothing more than a restart. So allow me to repeat: The thing to keep in mind is that I was looking for a way to avoid the bigshots and their overpriced krapp–and I found it.

As far as it being a server, you have to kind of piece together DietPi to get things to happen. Where OMV is a standalone server application that acts just like a NAS, DietPi is more like an operating system with various apps, some of which can be servers. I’m using Plex Media Server and Samba shares. I’ve also got a few other apps running, e.g. WordPress and Pi-hole. More on that in another worst-post. I have one RPi Plex client connected to my sound system and a flat screen TV. It’s where I watch all those old, ripped media files. I can also access it all via Plex apps on my Mac, an old iPad Air and and even my ageing iPhone 6s. So far the RockPro64 has been able to stream to multiple devices without issue. For audio I have two separate RPi’s running Volumio. I have a separate Samba share for audio files only. All in all, I’m able to stream movies, TV shows, and audio without issue to multiple devices. As far as backing up media from the RockPro64 and its internal HDDs, there’s a DietPi app to cover that, as well.

And let’s not forget the fun-factor in all this. The biggest thrill so far with being able to avoid sucking up to monolithic-monopolistic tech arsehole corporations is that OpenSource and SBCs (single board computer) have lead the way. The fact that I sold an old albeit still powerful 2010 MacPro (cheese grader Mac) with the idear that (but no proof it would work) I could replace it with an SBC, no longer seems absurd–as a lot of tech guys tried to tell me. At the least, personal computing doesn’t have to be as complicated and expensive as it has become simply because jerk-offs in the tech world have got nothing better to do than screw customers more and more. But what the hell do I know?

Rant on.

-T


  1. Indeed. I would be the one to buy it in pink. Laughs on me, uh? ↩︎
  2. For those interested: I utilise iCloud for photo backup, which is my only external backup source of photos. I have no other means to externally back up other media. I’m probably playing with fire but what the hell! ↩︎
  3. I had the following issues with the case: cheap SATA cables included with case are hard and stiff. In fact, I damaged PCIe adapter while trying to wire SATA cables internally. I used superglue to fix that damage. Once RockPro64 board and HDDs are installed, cables connected, etc., the only way to access board is to dismantle entire case. You also pretty much have to dismantle entire case to remove/change a HDD. Case designer(s) didn’t take into consideration access to MicroSD card. The only way to access the MicroSD card is with a pair of tweezers or very little fingers. Routing both SATA cables and power cables in case is extremely cumbersome. To make life easier and to prevent further damage, I purchased a set of thin, light, flexible SATA cables to replace the ones included with the case. ↩︎

Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo (heart

Screenshot 2019-04-09 at 15.28.04

Woke up with a speck of Stones clinging in my heart this morning. Did I think it was a heart attack? No. But my heart hums every now and then–in the wrong musical direction. Also. The stirring had something to do with the wrong angle (of attack) from that last glass of wine last night. I have to stop drinking from the corner of the left side of my face. But that’s all neither here nor there–cause the pills don’t help either. And so. I took a bike ride after coffee this morning and when I returned my heart told me once again to nap. The problem is, I’m not listening to my heart enough these days. Either that or its speaking the wrong language. It wasn’t telling me to nap but instead to listen to this Stones song. So I did. And then I listened to the whole album and drank two glasses of oat-milk latte. Now there.

Rant on.

-T

Soccer Coach Dreams, Industry And Manufacturing Not Dead, A WW2 Story

Quick ride to clear my head the other day, dear worst-reader. Didn’t work, though. In fact, I was so perturbed by the trek I’m sure it caused me a strange dream the night after. In short, the dream was thus: along with another male adult, I’m on a grassy knoll coaching four boys who are playing soccer. Oddly, I’ve never played soccer. In fact, when I was kid and when I played, it would have never come to mind to play a sport that was/is easily labelled a communist sport. I mean, come on. You can’t use your friggin’ hands? Whaaaa? Ok. Back to the grassy knoll.

The grassy knoll is next to the German A3 Autobahn on route to either Köln or Frankfurt and there’s no barrier between the grass where the boys are playing and the Germanic über-roadway. Myself and the other adult male are trying our best to keep the boys from playing their sport into the on-coming traffic. So much for coaching, eh. And so…

The boys are constantly kicking the ball onto the Autobahn and thereby stopping traffic. Let me repeat that for the worst-hearing or the unimpaired (intellects) who’ve never left the confines of not having a passport: no one stops on-coming Autobahn traffic in the land of Huns. Or? On the other side of the grassy knoll, by-the-buy, is a dense forest and with every pause from having to watch the boys, I’m looking to that forest. And while doing so, eventually, somehow, an opening in the forest appears and I suggest that we seek another place to practice. The other male adult agrees with me but the four boys do not. The boys want to keep playing/practicing where they are–and it’s obvious they will have their way.

In a rebellious fit mixed with a bit of pseudo-rage, one of the boys kicks the ball onto the Autobahn and then all four boys command that I fetch it. And guess what? I did NOT fetch it. That’s right. Fcuk that! I ran off to the opening in the forest and then woke up in a cold, blurred sweat. Awake from my rebellious dream, I immediately ran downstairs to my Jura espresso machine, which was already on and warmed-up on account I over-slept and my better-half was awake and I clicked the button for a double espresso. I drank it and then my wife commanded that I take the dog out. But get this: my dog, Beckett the killer pug, runs over to me all excited and perturbed and in his mouth is a deflated and dilapidated old soccer ball.

Confused, I look out the front window of our house while contemplating and sipping espresso and soccer and see four boys on the street staring at me, waiting for me, gesturing: where’s the fcuking ball you a$$hole! And so.

A dream within a dream very unlike Hamlet. Or? Perhaps a better question is: what does it all mean?

Nomatter.

The good newz is, there’s an east-west spectrum of riding terrain along the Rhein. If I go east, within about half an hour, I’m in a mountainous-forest area that is pure joy to ride. When going west, but adhering to the Rhein River, there are numerous spectacles of industrialisation worth riding through–and not because they are to some an eye soar, which also means that while riding there will be less pedestrian and/or bike traffic. Yesterday I rode through the town of Neuss, for example. It’s a quick twenty kilometre north-westerly ride where one must cross the Rhein via Düsseldorf’s most southerly bridge. Once across there is a short jaunt on a bike pathway that is between the river and a bunch of fancy-pants houses that all have a spectacular view. Indeed. Some of the housing that overlooks the Rhein is a sight to see. The old-money wealth that purchased its way into such a view of the river must be very proud of itself. Yes. We’re all proud of old-money, eh? I mean, not that I’m bitchin’ & moanin’ too much on account I can’t have such a view. Old money is an issue these days, eh? But I die-gress.

The moment I trekked my way through Neuss town centre and began to navigate through the industrial harbour, I felt better. Suddenly there were no more cars, no more pedestrians, no more bicyclist. And then I saw a young maiden sitting on a bench next to what looked like a contra-bass. Obviously she was waiting to be picked up and my little knowledge of Neuss told me there must be a music school nearby. Yeah, the Huns still have lots of music schools all over the place. Anywho.

After passing the harbour area and getting a good close up of some of those barges that dock at loading stations, I had to resort to some fancy-pants GPS to help me find the quickest way to lunch. I was getting hungry.

Nonevermind.

I rode through the industrial, port area of Neuss and then re-crossed the Rhein via the Rheinkniebrücke which is only a few twisty kilometres north of the previous bridge I crossed. I then rode to the Düsseldorf Altstadt and reminded myself that I would have NO Bier with lunch. I then splurged on a bowl of lentil soup at a cool little out-door soup & stew stand. While eating lunch I conversed with an old German couple, she from D’dorf but her husband was from Nurenberg. The husband was almost blind and kept asking his better-half to help him find a piece of sausage in his soup. The better-half sparked up a conversation with me after her husband mistook my bowl of stew for his own. Here’s a translation of the conservation that ensued:

“We’re biking, too,” the old lady said.

“Good for you,” I added.

“But my husband’s almost blind. Here darling, have another piece of sausage with your stew.”

“With traffic as bad as it is, biking is really the only way to get around these days, wouldn’t you agree,” I asked.

The wife shovelled another piece of sausage onto her husband’s spoon. He was eating cabbage and carrot stew with pieces of bratwurst in it. I couldn’t help but stare at the man’s thick, bottle glasses. For a moment it looked like he was so blind that he might not find his mouth with the spoon. But then he blurted out something about Hitler. That’s right. That’s how easy it happens here. I looked to his wife and she nodded and I then assumed that the old man was probably dement. But then he turned to me while chewing a thick spoonful of stew and meat.

“You have an accent,” he said.

“Yes, sir, I do,” I agreed.

“You are American,” he said. “I will never forget the Americans. It was two weeks after I turned seven years old. It was late 1945. The Americans began to occupy Nuremberg. We were still wondering if my father would return from the war. It was just my grandfather and my mother. My mother kept herself barricaded in the basement of our house most of the time. My grandfather was still in charge of the city’s electrical grid. My grandfather took me to work with him back then. The G-I’s were fixing the electric grid of the city. When the first G-I’s came to greet my grandfather at the electric station I stood at attention and yelled at the top of my lungs… Heil Hitler! But then I saw for the first time a Neger1. And this big black G-I came over to me and gave me a Hershey bar. After that I yelled Heil Hitler to every G-I. I got a Hershey bar every time. It was wonderful. My father never came home.”


Rant and ride on.

-T


  1. Yes, old Germans still refer to Africans as “Neger” and while I’ve questioned the use of the word, most Germans then just inform me how stupid Americans are if they don’t know the difference to the slave-trade, bigoted pejorative use of nomenclature ↩︎

Ranting, Re-Retaliate, Rednecks, Rude Remorse And The Difference Between News and Newz

Screenshot 2019-04-06 at 10.05.55
Some of worst-writer’s news links

What are your fav four-Rs, dear worst-reader? What? Don’t have any? Well go there, then. It’s not hard, you know. All you have to do is spend some time in the arena of news. Of course, I spend most of my time in the left-wing news arena. But that’s obvious, ain’t it? Reason? Right-wing newz is just insulting. You know, as in insulting to my über-intelligence. Or am I the only one that can barely stomach a few seconds of anything faux-newz? In fact, I haven’t watched more than ten minutes of CNN in a decade. And CNN used to be kinda fair and unbiased (20 yrs ago). I don’t really know what’s happened to that network. Nomatter. And so… I rely heavily on the #interwebnets for my news (not newz). In fact, I’ve got a nice little bookmark folder of news URLs I visit daily. Hopefully the corresponding screenshot above doesn’t reveal too much about my mis-personality and/or lackadaisical bias towards trying to get informed. It’s just, here’s my thing about newz v news: I can judge for myself if it’s newz or news. Beyond that I’ve got quite a few URLs memorised, as well. I also rely heavily on news aggregators–which I’m guessing are going to be more and more regulated in the future if #eurowasteland, more on that here. Yet there is something out there that is starting to bother me about the (liberal) news. It starts with the likes of Joe Biden, don’t you know. Here’s a recent short worst-post about him. The thing is, why is this old white guy still in the newz/news? Didn’t he have his heyday as Vice President to Barry-O? I mean, when is enough-enough for guys like this? Why is it that these types of men can’t just fade away? Why do they have to drag us all down along with them–as though an entire ignoramus population were sitting on a doomed Boeing 737 Max-8–by fcuking choice. Indeed. That’s what worst-writer is pseudo-comparing today. The old guard that never dies and criminal corporate activity of a pseudo-capitalist entity that should join it–in death. I mean, come on, dear worst-reader. Am I once again the only one that thinks/knows the compulsive behaviourism of pseudo-corporate leaders at the top of a company like Boeing should be held criminally liable for recent wasted life on two of their planes that could have been prevented if there weren’t so much FREEDOM TO BE STUPID running the grand $hitshow that is my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant? At the least they should be charged with manslaughter! These a$$holes literally avoided making the product safe so that they could sell a plane cheaper and cheaper and cheaper. And so. #Americants could get rid of Biden & Co. and at the same time get rid of the incompetent behaviourist (for work is no longer work it is behaviourism) cock$uckers running $hitbag monopolies making un-earning shareholders more and more and more riches and thereby creating, enhancing, facilitating a system of mis-government that is/can be only #Americant.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Pseudo-Review #8 – 7000km Charger GX And New Drive Train Hell

Here’s a tag-link to my other e-bike posts.

Note on the pics: I was able to directly compare original Bosch sprocket (black) with a different brand (dark grey). I don’t know why it surprises me that the minimal differences in the two has such a drastic outcome on performance (or lack thereof). It basically boils down to a Shimano chain being… I don’t know… a bitch.

Ok. I’m probably over doing it here with new drive train hell. Or am I? Let’s go through it together, shall we, dear fellow worst-rider?

Last fall I was informed after a scheduled tune-up that it was time for a new chain and rear cassette on my mega über-German e-bike. When I naively inquired as to why the drive train wouldn’t last at least 10,000km, I was told/sold this: chains wear out, it all depends on riding parameters and you’re lucky, with the weight it had to carry, it lasted this long. Giggle. Smirk. Pause. Oddly, the shop also told me a new sprocket in the front wasn’t necessary. I didn’t think much about it at the time as I planned to make the change after winter anywho. And so… It’s kinda after winter now, don’t you know. So I made an appointment a few weeks back and, surprisingly–as the shop is usually swamped this time of year with riders getting their wares ready for spring–I didn’t have to wait long. I brought my e-bike in yesterday morning with an appointment to have it finished within a few hours so I could be home by early afternoon to continue worstwritng.

So I dropped off my e-beast and then walked into the city for a nice sushi lunch. After that I went to an Apple Store for some WIFI and uploaded a silly worst-writer-post. I then bought a cappuccino with three espresso shots made with new-fangled oat-milk (P.S. great stuff that new fangled oat-milk). After that I tried to find a new ascot cap at a local department store. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much luck with the cap. Also. The sushi was kinda spoiled with a well intentioned gesture by the owner. The sushi bar owner–a former Japanese Mountaineer that made his way to Düsseldorf in the 1960s–brought me a serving of Mackerel sushi, aka Saba Zushi. It was a gesture on his part, I guess, because I showed grave disappointment in the fact that he had no sea urchin. Although I prefer Mackerel smoked (especially the German way, not as sushi), sometimes I’ve had luck with how it’s cured when topping sweet rice (sushi). Not the case today. Until dinner, I had that funky Mackerel taste humidifying through my system. Oh well. Nothing a glass of Syrah can’t deal with, eh. Prosit!

After killing a few hours, I returned to the shop and noticed that the mechanic hadn’t removed my bike from its maintenance rack. Usually they’ve got it ready and waiting for me to pick up. I was then directed to join the mechanic at his work station to receive a briefing. That’s right, dear worst-rider. A briefing.

First. As I’ve indicated in other pseudo-reviews, the one big thing that’s always bothered me about my Charger GX is how the rear wheel never spun freely. Whenever I spun the wheel it always came to a sudden stop because it was rubbing on something. No mechanic had yet been able to find what the problem was, i.e. brake caliper mount, brake pad springs, corroded brake caliper pistons, wheel mount, bent brake disc, etc.). Today, fellow worst-rider, there’s been a major brake-thru in this… my e-bike spinning wheel dilemma.

It seems, for the past two years, while taking care of my bike, cleaning the chain, checking the rear, etc., I’ve been doing it all wrong. What I’ve been doing is leaning the bike onto the bike’s rear mounted kickstand and then spinning the rear wheel as needed. During the briefing the mechanic told me to do the same thing but this time to lift the rear end of the bike up off the ground.

Booom, baby!

It seems that the weight and pressure put on the kickstand mount with my method of bike maintenance also puts undue pressure on the entire mount of the rear wheel. Although the pressure is ever-so slight, it’s enough to shift the wheel and make the brake disc rub the brake pads. Go f’n figure, eh. This worst-riding greenhorn still gots lots to learn, baby!

The briefing over, the mechanic told me to test the new chain. I hopped on and peddled. And then…

Kack. Cluck. Creek. Ruddle-riddle, riddle-ruddle, clack, clack, clack.

I hopped off the bike and looked to the mechanic. His head flinched back with surprise as he was able to only get one good, long drag from his Marlboro red while I did the testing.

Das ist nicht gut,”he said. “Versuch anderen Gang.”

I mounted my aluminium two wheeled German engineered über-steed a second time and tried to peddle and thereby shift through a few gears. This time the clack turned to a debilitating crushing and grinding sound.

Heilige scheisse,” my mechanic said.

Only having smoked half his Marlboro, he rolled my bike back into the shop and put it up on the rack. Long story almost short… the new chain no longer fit to the old front sprocket. The mechanic immediately hustled to put on a new front sprocket, questioning the whole time if he even had the right part available. He and other guys in the shop were also a little embarrassed at the situation as I questioned why they didn’t just order it when I made the appointment and then replace it from the get-go.

Come on fellows, I got $hit to do today.

The elderly statesmen from the shop came over to console me by saying that sometimes they just try to reduce costs for their customers. I thought to myself: seriously? These friggin bikes costs way too much to be squealing around on things like a 20,- Euro sprocket. Or?

Nö problem-o,” the elderly statesmen said. “Nur nochmal zwanzig Euro für die Teile,” he added.

He told me I only had to pay for the sprocket and not for the extra labour that was in progress. Yeah, right.

JUST FIX IT!

Of course, I wasn’t at all interested in the cost. I’ve saved so much money by getting a car out of my life, that a few Euros here or there for something like a sprocket… Anywho. I wanted my bike back for another 7000km and I was a bit perturbed with what was turning out to be a wasted afternoon where worstwriter billing money was going down the drain.

But. There was one other problem. They couldn’t find the right Bosch front sprocket. For the heck of it–and too look busy, I guess–they threw on a different brand sprocket. And don’t you know, it didn’t work. (See pics.) The thing that really surprised me here is that Bosch (the whole bike industry) seems to think it’s OK to treat bike parts like Apple treats iPhone parts. Indeed. The whole friggin business world is about monopoly, proprietary krapp and, let’s not forget, obsoletism. But before I get too far off worst-subject ranting about what I think of this fcuked up world…

They eventually found a Bosch sprocket. But get this. When making the appointment for this stuff, I had initially requested a larger front sprocket. Not much. I wanted to go from 17 to 18 teeth. When I made the appointment, the shop statesmen told me that it wasn’t possible to change the front sprocket because of the onboard computer and then even added a short lecture on German regulations regarding 25kmh plus how thankful I should be because of the states effort in creating all the great bike lanes we get to enjoy. Blah. Blah. Blah. I’ve since also learned that Bosch is pretty hard-a$$ on dealers and shops that don’t adhere to their stringent drive-train setups. So I don’t hold anything against shop owners for following rules. On the other hand, I think it’s pretty silly how the e-bike powers-that-be don’t want people fiddling with these things on account, well, I’m sure there’s a $hit load of fun to be had by boosting them up to 60kmh. Or? But I have never been interested in that. I just thought a slightly larger front sprocket would allow me to utilise more gears while riding a MTB on flat, paved surfaces most of the time. But before I die-gress (digress)…

The only other disappointment with today’s 230,- Euro e-bike maintenance debacle is that the shop didn’t even bother to degrease and clean the parts prior to reassembly. Nor did they say/do anything about the derailleur. Am I being too much of a stickler here?

Just take my money, bitch!

I hope I’m not being too hard on my local bike shop. But perhaps it’s worth noting, even though there have been some advancement in the biking world, especially with e-bikes, something is awry when it comes to service–especially for something at this price. On the other hand, the special deal I made with the purchase of this bike, which allowed me to acquire it at a substantial discount, also requires that I have it regularly maintained by a Bosch approved shop. That worst-said, I’m committed to another year with it. After that–if I decided to keep it–it’s time to fiddle with it a bit more on my own. Or do I just finally go nuts and get a Stromer? Stay tuned for that, baby.

In the meantime think/imagine this: ageing expat with a slight weight/drinking problem, über-cruising around some old German town on two wheels at 60kmh with a cloud of electric smoke coming out of his…

But I do die-gress (digress).

The ride home with new drive train definitely felt different. Although I could clearly feel its newness, the entirety of the afternoon convinced me to blow it off till I could get a glass of wine in me. Still. The new chain and sprockets needs to be broke-in and it’ll probably take a couple hundred kilometres for that to happen. Onward ho, eh.

The only other thing worth pointing out is, after two years and 7000km, this bike has held up pretty well. I’ve yet to have any issues with things like steering stem, spokes, brake levers and/or the brake hydraulic system. I was also expecting by now to have to replace the brake discs, but they’re fine, too. Or are they? Obviously the quality of parts that help push the price of this bike upward forevermore seems to be worthwhile. Except, of course, for the drive train. After this debacle I’m remembering vividly that original conversation upon purchase about whether or not to afford the extra cost of a Rohloff, which would alleviate having to deal with chains and sprockets and mis-managed shop priorities. Oh well.

Rant and ride-safe on, baby.

-T

Deciphering Graffiti Of Life

graffiti of life
“Belive in youre stile and sax!” (???)

Not sure where it begins, dear worst-reader. Is it their schooling? Peer pressure? Reading too much Winnetou and Old Shatterhand? For don’t you know, dear worst-reader, Karl May, the writer/creator of old west stories of my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant, never once set foot on what he wrote so much about. And even though I’ve never read a word from May, something about the way so many Das Volk in Germania speak English. Or is it how they write it? Nomatter. It’s all pseudo-soup and graffiti to me. And it’s better that way.

Rant on.

-T

Delaware = On-Shore Caribbean Banking Wet-Dream Thanks To…

Two things this morn, dear worst-reader. Ready for a bit worst-writer politics? Good. Buckle up. First. I’ve pretty much always found Joe Biden despicable. He’s even worse than The Clintons, don’t you know. He’s also a lot more slimy looking. If anything (or anyone) at this point in the history of my beloved & missed #Americant best represents the other side of the grand $hitshow that is politics run amok, it’s Joe Biden. For indeed, don’t you know, I grew-up next door to the great mistake (state) of Delaware–and if/when I’m home, I live only a mile or two from its border. Although I never killed and ate an animal (as a young hunter) in Delaware, which is criteria for favouriting a US State, I did bang a few (willing) bimbos there. And not only did I bang a few (willing) bimbos but I also confronted the upper echelons of my home state, Maryland, who fancied partying all the time in Rehoboth Beach, DE–on account partying in MD is $hit. Long worst-story short. I went to school in the suburban-hell of redneck Southern Maryland. My nemesis was the rich-$hits that lived their lives of privilege in the northern part of Maryland. And so… When the redneck grunts of the south met the $hitdontstink rednecks from the north (this is exactly where the likes of Brett Kavanaugh is from, by-the-buy), there was often hell to pay. But enough about even more Harvey Weinstein apologies, growing up in suburban hell #Americant, and trying to piece it all together. Or? Anywho.

As stated, I’ve never liked Biden. His having to fade into nothing as Barry-O’s Vice President couldn’t change that. Did the various tragedies of Biden’s life cause me to have some sympathy for him? No. I think not. Or? Maybe. If I did sympathise for him it was only for a brief moment that has long since passed. So here’s the thing: The question I’ve been asking since Ronald Reagan and his having turned a once great country into a cesspool of STUPID$HIT (due to conservative politics which the likes of Biden, Bill Clinton, Barry-O, all of them, have latched onto–it’s called Neo-liberalism!), when/where is a new breed of #Americant gonna come around and realise that the two most important generations (WW2 + Boomers) gonna finally realise that they’ve screwed the pooch? Obviously Biden, after an entire life in politics, will never realise that. And think about that for second. This guy’s entire life has been in and about politics. #Americant politics–as a career. Founding fathers turning over in their graves? Probably not. They were all a bunch of a$$holes, too. This, dear worst-reader, is a huuuuuge part of my beloved & missed #Americants problem(s). I mean, come on. Am I the only one to see how fcuked #Americants are because of the bull$hit forced upon them from careerists like Biden–a Democrat that is supposed to be less evil than conservatives? That doesn’t mean that I’m blaming the entirety of the #Americant system, though. No. I really dig the Constitution. I even like the whole idear of a relatively simple two party system. And the founding fathers had obviously more in mind than they were able to embellish on things like… stupid fcuking rednecks, the greedy middle-classes, etc., etc. And trust me when I say that I’ve been living in a multiple-party parliamentary system for most of my adult expat life–it sucks! I’ll take the US system over any other out there.

The likes of Biden & Co. have conveniently ruined the system to favour rich useless people on the backs of the ignorant poor–who think voting is democratic. That’s why Biden & Co. would never take their politics to states that need it–like the flyover states–and thereby bump heads with fellow democrats who have been drowned in faux-newz. In fact, let me notch that up a bit. I’ve always wondered why coastal democrats, who are obviously well trenched within their constituencies, haven’t campaigned more where it’s actually needed and where the sickness that is faux-newz bat$hittery has run amok. Why don’t these coastal a$$holes provide a short civics lesson to the faux-newz hoarded? Oh wait. The reason they don’t do it is because they actually like what GOP/Republicans/Conservatives/Neo-Liberals have done to the country. At the least it’s all served Biden’s Delaware on-shore banking buddies a whole lot. And on that note, I die-gress.

The second thing worth worst-blogging about this morn is a bit cooler than complaining about entrenched undemocratic-democrats, is the link that lead to this post. I really dig what NPR has done to its website–especially when considering there should be an alternative to every website where people want a choice about the content they view. NPR actually has an old-fashioned text-only webpage for most of their news posts. It’s pure fabulous-ism!

Rant on.

-T

via Text-Only NPR.org : Joe Biden Is Democrats’ Past, But New Allegations Mean He Might Not Be Their Future

Why We Need TV Brits To Brexit #Americant

american-flag-wwe

On a role with Brexit krapp this morning, dear worst-reader. Bare with me.

You know, dear worst-reader, if you ain’t worst-writer, it’s probably best you don’t talk about things you don’t understand. Take for example John Olivers recent attempt at taking down #Americant’s WWE compulsion by… get this… wait for it … wrastlers are exploited employees (sarcasm off). Of all the $hit that comes out of Oliver, this one really threw me for a loop. Is he this clueless as a Brit living in #Americant? Here’s a direct link to Oliver’s video–and don’t forget the link below, too. By-the-buy, was I bored of the bitch & moanin from WRASTLERS in Oliver’s video? Darn tootin’ I was. But did any of it warrant the anger I was feeling at how the producers of this show, who I’m sure are #Americants, never connected what was/is the real issue about the WWE? In other worst-words: fcuk the wrastlers. If a bunch of testosterone-laden idiots want to hump around with each other in the name of stupid-entertainment-galore, who gives a $hit? Same goes for the NFL, btw, which Oliver attempts to associate with wrastlers. Oh. Wait. Now that a generation of brainless, mindless, free-to-be-stupid entertainment jerk-offs that are the crux of #Americant are paying the piper for not just getting old but self abuse, the rest of us are supposed to take a stand to help comfort their ugly demise? Fcuk that! Look what these pseudo wannabe Roman gladiator a$$holes have left behind. Of course, as calloused as I can be, it’s nothing compared to what Oliver really should have addressed and obviously missed. For you know, dear worst-reader, WWE has played an integral role in not only the bat$hittery of #Trumpism but also the coming-out of the true face of my beloved & missed #Americant post Reagan conservatism, namely: money-God supremacy, the tea-party and, let’s never forget, the land of THE FREED TO BE STUPID. Indeed. WWE, NFL, most of #Americant TV, all of them should be called out first and foremost for turning what was a once a great experiment of democracy and cultural and science and achievement into a game-$hitshow of meritless greed galore. All who are part of that should pay the piper dearly!

Rant on.

-T

via John Oliver Urges Wrestling Fans To Hold Vince McMahon Accountable | Crooks and Liars

Wine Tasting Plus Brexit Conclusions

wine tasting plus brexit

It was supposed to be about the wine last Sunday. But we sat across a couple from Engaland. That is, she was German and he was Cockey. Other than that, nice folks, don’t you know. But then, after an agreement on Grauburgunder there was a sudden disagreement on Monarchies. A disagreement on Monarchies, of course, lead (worst-moi) to other pseudo criticisms derived from being a failed expat. For you see, dear worst-reader, the holy trinity for the grand $hitshow that is the world we live in today is thus:

  1. capitalism run-amok
  2. religion
  3. monarchs

(Note on list above: not necessarily in that order.)

The thing is, at times I just can’t help myself. I mean, of all the #Eurowasteland places I’ve been, of all the languages that confuse (for none of them do the opposite of confuse), the one place that has always fcuked with my head the most… is Engaland. Sure, I share a cousin-relative language with the Brits. I also grew up in an area of my beloved & missed #Americant that even serves (lusts for) the same kind of greasy breakfast. And then there’s the confusion of our flags. You know, the Union Jack and the Stars & Stripes. Or is it red, white and blue that makes them all the same? Wait. The French and the Dutch also have red, white and blue. Ok. Forget flags.

Here’s the gist of this worst-post. After being invited to a wine tasting that I didn’t want to attend in the first place, and then letting myself go–as I can easily do when it comes to drinking–we were savouring a joyous 2018 Grauburgunder (Pinot Noir) that tasted of slate, rose pedals and a hint of berry-galore when I turned to my new Engaland comrade and said:

Yeah, but you guys, instead of worrying about playing second fiddle to the fcuking Germans–as you always do unless the Americans come to help you beat their a$$–maybe it’s finally time to heed what the continent was able to do where and when it counts: get rid of that fcuking useless queen and her inbreds. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m not just singling out your piece-of-shit, useless monarchy. You should even help the rest of the world get rid of all monarchies. Come on. Wouldn’t that be a good thing instead of bitching & moaning about how Germans are better at everything–especially democracy, government services and, of course, making $hit? What purpose does a monarch serve these days? None. So come on, dude. Pull a French Revolution on hereditary privilege. (Long pause.) Prosit!

Anywho. The wine was great. We ordered something like 300,-€ worth of it, which’ll be delivered in mid May. And it also looks like I’ve failed my wife again at the task of making friends.

Rant on.

-T

Pseudo-Review- Birkenstock And The Happy Foot

Note on the pics. The Birkenstock shoe (left foot) is still in what I consider to be its break-in period. They’re only about ten days old. Note the suede sole footbed insert. The sandal (right foot) is broke-in and is probably four months old. The only issue I’m facing with the sandals is that I’ve run out of holes for tightening the straps as the leather has stretched a bit. The ladies at the Birkenstock store said it’s easy to add another hole or two. Good news, eh. Tip to break-in the sandals: after shower wear them with undried feet.

Been having foot trouble, don’t you know, dear worst-reader. Yeah, it’s been going on for years. The origin of this trouble has been mostly due to weight and a screwed-up left achilles. It might be also attributable to the side-ways goings and comings I experience after a bottle or three of wine. But that’s neither here nor there. My foot trouble has caused me to favour one foot over the other and, who knows, might even lead to that hip replacement a few years down the road. Oh yeah. I’m having hip trouble now, too. Nomatter.

According to those in the know, the (real) problem with my feet might be the so-called cheap-o factor. How could anyone have guessed that for the last ten or so years I’ve been flying to the US, not only to visit my ageing mother, but to purchase cheap sneakers at a Rehoboth, DE, outlet mall. If you’re not in the know, dear worst-reader, get this: those outlet malls in DE are not only cheap but they are also friggin’ tax free. Which can only mean, for worst-writer, I guess, cheapness has contributed to my feet trouble. On the other hand, the Nike Free shoes I’ve favoured for the past few years, you know, the ones with the extremely flexible souls (that collect so many little rocks in the cracks) have been the only shoes I can wear for any extended period of time. You know, when walking around Paris for three days and worst-stuff like that. In fact. I haven’t been able to wear real shoes (leather and/or dress shoes) for years. They’re just too painful. If I have to wear fancy-pants real shoes, say for a special event, I plan it so that I can get out of them ASAP. In fact, until recently, I only had one pair of fancy pants real shoes. Indeed. And so. A nice new pair of Nike Free 5.0s in black go well with a suit, don’t you know. On the other hand, even when not in Paris, I take lots of walks, especially with Beckett the killer pug, and I wear out those Nikes quickly. I can easily wear out a pair of Nikes in six months. That also means the soft and un-supporting worn out footbeds end up hurting my feet even more–if not actually doing more damage. But I’m off subject.

After complaining to my better-half again and again about my feet, she suggested two things. First, change shoe brand and/or change shoe sole. Second, maybe it was time I stopped cheaping-out on shoes. She then recommended we go with what she’s been alluding to for some time: let’s try Birkenstock. She added that she’s been reading-up on the issue and that we’ve probably reached the age where it is time for a bit more foot-love.

“Birkenstock? Really?” I questioned.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Not sure I’m ready for the ultimate in Germanin preppy foot wear,” I added.
“You’re more German than all of us,” she said. “Plus, they’re perfectly engineered shoes.”
“Perfectly over-engineered,” I added.

Within three days I was wearing new Birkenstock sandals around the house. As of the writing of this worst-post, I’ve been wearing those sandals everyday, all day, for the last three months only removing them when I nap, sleep or bathe. And although the break-in period with the soles was a bit trying, after about a week of both foot pain and lower leg pain–seriously, the footbed of the sandals effect the muscles in the leg below the knee– something was clicking with these shoes. Soon I was telling my wife that my feet haven’t felt this good in years–especially considering that the last three places we’ve lived all had hardwood floors–where I’ve been unable to walk barefoot but also had never found a pair of comfortable house shoes as the wife would never agree to thick shag-carpet.

By-the-buy, I did have a pair of Crocs for a few years but I hated them from the get-go. More on that here. In fact, I’m now convinced that the reason I wore Crocs was (1) I was too lazy to get informed about my aching feet and (2) they seemed like an alternative to wearing stuff that made me look… old (but on that I could be wrong).

Long pseudo-review short, although I do remember trying Birkenstock shoes back in the late 1980s, where they just didn’t work for my feet, it seems that now there is nothing else I’d rather wear. And so. On the success of the house shoes, i.e. sandals, I’ve since really splurged and bought a pair of Birkenstock (real) shoes. The break-in period for these seems to be a bit longer than the sandals but I can say that so-far they’ve not disappointed. The shoes, by-the-buy, have the traditional footbed as an insert. I was skeptical at first if going with an insert was the right thing to do but after the first week of break-in I’m now good with it.

Just like the sandals, the footbed, it’s shape and it’s composition, is the secret to Birkenstock. If you recall, I have a protruding left achilles. That means that for most of my adult life, I’ve never been able to wear a shoe size that matches my actual foot size. The work-around for worst-moi has always been to wear shoes, depending on the brand, that are at least one size too big. I simply need the extra space for my achilles at the heel of my left foot. Either that or I suffer severe blistering. Although I have to buy the same over-size with Birkenstocks, the fact that the footbed eventually fits to my foot, is a godsend. No longer do I have to deal with my feet moving around in shoes because they are a size or size-and-a-half too big. The cork and synthetic composite structure of the footbed eventually fits (moulds?) to my foot. It’s brilliant. Why the hell didn’t I think of this fifteen or so years ago. Oh yeah. Cause I’m a cheap-o!

While I’m worst-writing about expensive $hit, the negative here is that due to all the walking I do, I don’t think the shoes are gonna last very long. As you can see in the pics above, there’s not much rubber where shoe meets ground. On the other hand, if/when I do wear out the soles, in a half year or so, the shoes are probably structurally worn out anywho. Now I’m wondering if I’ll be able to replace the sole. Also. As you’ll note from their webpage or any retailer that sells them, this level of needed comfort for those of us with foot troubles galore, means that these shoes ain’t cheap. Since my better-half approved of the purchase, all is good. The only question is, I’m now so sold on Birkenstock as my consume-to-survive go-to foot wear, there are at least two other pairs I’d also like to own. I’m thinking I’ll go with another pair of shoes without the inserts. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Time to save up the doe, baby. In a few months fancy-pants-shoes version 3.0.

Rant (and walk comfortably) on.

-T