Pseudo-Review: Weber Genesis E330 Five Years And Counting

Subtitle: How I got my first brisket on

At last count, dear worst-reader, I think my Weber Grill is five years old. It might be six or even six and half but it’s definitely not seven or even four. Go figure, I lost the purchase receipt. It is said that these über expensive grills are worth every penny–if you can afford them. Or am I the only one to say that–because I can afford them? Nomatter.

The ultimate question for worst-writer when it comes to buying expensive $hit is this: would I buy it again? The answer is: indeed I would. Then again, I happened across the new generation of Weber grills the other week while at a hardware store and I was a bit surprised at their new product line. The equivalent grill’s price has risen so much that I’d be forced to give another brand a look. Napoleon grills come to mind first. But that’s neither here nor there.

The Über Grill, baby.

As you can see in the pics, I have the copper version of the Genesis series that includes the GBS system. I’m not aware anymore what GBS even means. It has something to do with the grill grates and being able to buy über-expensive inserts that enable fancy-pants grilling-galore. Whether it’s searing, using a griddle or–and get this–Korean barbecuing, you can go to any Weber store and just hand out cash-galore for anything except a kitchen sink to fit in this thing. Sound familiar, dear worst-reader? Indeed. Weber has its Apple-like product marketing machine on full mimic. Although I do use the griddle that I purchased for the GBS system–a great way to avoid losing Seaford on grill grates, btw–I no longer–or rarely–use the GBS cast iron grates. I just place the griddle on top of steel grates now. Go figure, eh.

Grates and other add-ons.

I replaced the GBS grates with third-party steel grates after initial purchase. Reason? Steel grates just cook better than cast iron grates. And that’s not all. Since my better-half convinced me she’ll do special things (for worst-moi) if I smoke her meat, I even splurged and bought a third grate system that includes a smoker box. That’s right, dear worst-reader, I have three grate system for this grill. WTF, eh! And keep this in mind. The third grate system I bought includes a fancy-pants smoker box specifically made for this grill. That’s right, baby. I don’t use them cheap (but über expensive) little smoker boxes offered by Weber that you put on top of the flavour-bars. Fcuk that!

At the time of purchase, the smoker box I wanted was no longer available from Weber but I managed to get it on that silly auction website. Due to the location of the smoker box, though, you also have to get a special cut grate so that the three elements fit. Well, I guess, if you’re experienced enough at grilling, you can just skip the extra grate–if you can even get the smoker box. Since the smoker box I bought came with the grate, I’m good. Now I have three grates for this damn thing, don’t you know. Am I happy with it? Indeed I am. It’s worked like a charm so far, don’t you know. Most recently it worked great when making my first brisket. More on that in a sec.

As far as quality of grill goes, this Weber replaced one of those first purchase, save-a-buck compromise grills that ended up rusting completely within three years. Although there are a few minor blemishes on it, my Weber has had no issues with rust whatsoever. Heck, even those silly-named flavor bars lasted for about four years till they started to rust. They lasted, of course, because I took care of them and cleaned them a few times a year. I did make one mistake replacing them, though. I replaced the rusted flavour-bars with original enamelled flavour-bars from Weber. Next time when they need replacing I’m gonna just order third party stainless steel flavour-bars. What a stupid (marketing) name for flame defusers, eh. Oh well.

Maintenance and then some, baby.

As far as maintaining it goes, I give the grill a thorough cleaning at least twice a year. That is, I remove everything and scrub all the grates, flavour-bars, bottom defusers, and take special care to keep the burners clean. Although the burners, after about five years, are showing a bit more rust than I was expecting, they don’t seem to be corroding to the point of dysfunction. They produce more than enough heat, especially when I keep flavour-bars and the bottom defusers clean. Tip: want more heat from your grill? Keep it clean and free of old cooked, charred, charcoaled stuff. With every major clean, I’m able to get the grill well beyond three-hundred and fifty degrees celsius (ca. 700f) within fifteen minutes of lighting it up. Although I rarely need those high temperatures, it does come in handy when grilling pizza on a rather large pizza stone–also something I bought third-party so as to save a bit of cash instead of wasting so much on Weber’s (Apple?) marketing mayhem galore.

The rest of the grill is in perfect working condition after five or so years. The doors are still very solid. The enclosed-frame is also without any rust or corrosion. Even the wheels still work great if/when I have to move it. Speaking of moving it. I even lugged this damn thing to Bangalore, India, in 2016. Although we were supposed to stay there for a few years, it turns out we only got eight months out of the deal before we headed back to #Eurowasteland/Germania. I never once was able to use the grill in India. On the trip back, though, a few parts from the grill got lost in the packing and it turned out to be a pain in the arse to get those parts in Germany. My beloved #Americant to the rescue, baby. On a trip to the US, a month or two after returning from India, I was able to get those parts toot-sweet via a hardware store’s showroom. Cool, eh.

The cooking magic, sugar-tits.

I love this grill. I love it mostly because 1) controlling temperature is a dream and 2) at times it’s more convenient to use than our kitchen oven. Not to mention that preparing meat on this thing is as fun as petting and trimming the breast flesh of a bovine about to be grilled and smoked. Grilling veggies is also magic and, as previously mentioned, grilling homemade pizza is nothing short of dee-lish. Although I’ve cooked all kinds of meat on it in all kinds of ways, until recently, I had never made a brisket.

Keep in mind, dear worst-reader, German butchers, for whatever reason, don’t cut up a bovine like butchers in my beloved & missed #Americant. That said, if I understand it, I was only able to get the breast-part of the brisket cut. That is, the shoulder portion, which the #Americant butchers include, wasn’t available. Although my butcher told me that I could order it next time with advanced notice, the breast cut weighed 4.5kg, that was good enough for this first try. Remember: the whole point of a brisket is cooking a piece of meat that otherwise is un-eatable.

My biggest concern with making a brisket wasn’t the cut of meat. Instead it was maintaining a low temperature for the all-day smoking. Luckily, after recently cleaning her up, I was able to maintain low temperature and still get the smoker-box to work. Hence the reason I only wanted this type of smoker box. After thirteen (or so) hours I was able to get some serious flavour into the meat. I also managed to dry it out a bit. Obviously it didn’t matter because the brisket was gone and gone and gone once it was served at the baroque gathering/picnic. For a first try, I’m stacking this up as a success. The only issue I have to face now is that my wife got some smoked meat for the first time in a while and she’s hungry still. The problem is, grill-smoking–even with a gas grill–all day ain’t a very practical since I live in a townhouse and my grill is in an open atrium in the centre of that house. There are people on both sides of us and behind us. No one complained but I won’t be pushing my luck with smoking a lot while we’re living here.

Weber grills, although very expensive, are the bomb, baby.

Rant on.


Is You Stupid

Scream no fear all worst

Beyond all the compulsive behaviourism–so many call work or career or achievement–that I’ve successfully avoided all these years, there’s a few things in the greed $hit$how that stick with me and have, of course, left me skewed. Perhaps these things are stigmatising and pursuant of all my/the ill-will towards the world and all things that be, yet I’ve learned to live with them like so many of you have learned to live with yours. You know, the slime, the residue, the crumbs left behind that wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the sight of the lumpenproletariat consuming it (all). For it is something that must be seen. And so.

As the world turns, all that’s left is to… let’s make a deal. For that is the new way of doing things, ain’t it? Especially considering a man like #Trump can cum so far in life and yet be blessed with so little. Indeed. That’s where we are, dear worst-reader. Us deal-makers. Right smack-dab in the middle of a hell-hole made up of greed and ignorance–i.e. the bell-pepper of ringing tunes that steer the mind’s eye into the pauper-hand of mendacity galore.

Let us gorge ourselves on it, shall we. Like no other there is so much to be had–and so much for you to give the likes of your #Trump. Or is the jail-cell where Jeffrey Eppstein, trying so unsuccessfully, albeit deservedly, to kill himself (wishful thinking, eh), becomes too much for even you/me to face as we judge his existence next to our own? Because the deal has been made, has it not, dear worst-reader? Now that so few can realise such a deal forevermore doesn’t mean we can’t own it. Yeah. Let’s own it–since we’ll own nothing else.

Let’s finally move on, eh.

One of the skewed deals in my life, other than marriage and/or too much penetration, took place about twenty years ago. Yes. It was just a few years before embracing all the/my forced early retirement. I was with wife number two or three or whatever at a summer company grill party (her company, not mine). Part of the entertainment for the day, beyond the consumption of brats and packaged potato salad, was an auction to raise money for the company. I know. I know. Why would a company have a grill party to raise money for itself? Indeed. So much for the failure that capitalism has become, eh. But let’s not get too far off subject.

The idear for the auction was a bit unconventional. Employees were supposed to bring a toy which in turn would be bid on but whoever won the bid wouldn’t get the toy. The toy was subsequently donated to a local, struggling Kindergarten. Keep in mind, dear worst-reader, this was at a time when Germania, mostly Western Germania, was in full confusion mode due to the cost of integrating East Germania into the capitalist fold (of the West). One of the really, really great things about East Germania was their Kindergarten system. Since wife number so-n-so was also the only one to produce something worthwhile out of all the/my penetration, that in turn showed me the struggle of acquiring a Kindergarten spot, it was more than relevant I participate in this/the charade–or is it, in current parley, deal? Of course, the other part of the charade/deal was that the money raised would go back to the company. And there you have it. An example, if there’s ever been one, that proves you are living in a con and/or one should never marry for love. But let’s move on.

Obviously the auction was a joke. Of course, for the careerist, there is no choice but to participate in the/that joke as we all do at some point or other in this/that life. But then something happened just as I began to chomp down on my second grilled brat. An object appeared in the auction and guess what. I wanted it. Since everybody knew that it didn’t matter how much you bid on an object, it was also obvious that there was no point in counter-bidding. Yet, immediately after I submitted my bid, one of my wife-number-so-n-so’s colleagues offered up a counter bid. I was like: “WTF, dude!” He smirked and smiled and hid away his motivation. As usual, as an #Americant living and participating in the budding #Eurowasteland nightmare, I let it pass–and not only because of an impending divorce and the man that most likely caused it. So I immediately called him out for breaking the un-bespoke rule of the $hit$how game. “Foul,” I yelled. The small crowd of compulsives (careerists) all turned to me while swallowing half-chewed brats. I could see it in their over-educated and under-employed eyes, don’t you know. They were all saying: what’s the point? The point is, I wanted that object I bid on and felt that it was my right, due to historical enlightenment or not, to have it. So I countered the counter bid. And the game ensues.

Long worst-story short, I eventually won the auction and grabbed the object and left the party–breaking all the rules. Wife so-n-so and I fought over her embarrassment until I butt fucked her one last time before divorcing and that was that. Yet I remember the auction to this day as I read about the goings and cummings of this new world order that so many compulsive behaviourists can’t seem to break free from. Oh, how they all love the auction of their lives.

Which begs the question:

Can anyone see the great deal-scam they’ve bought into?

The great deal-scam may or may not be an auction, don’t you know, like the one I participated in so long ago, but if they are not totally inept to reality, it is a deal-scam all the same. Considering the current state of affairs of my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant, is it a complete boggling of mental capacity to assume that they (the compulsives) will never stop? As in: yeah, dumbass, you’re fcuked nomatter what happens. And beyond that, you’re kids and grandkids are probably fcuked as well. Yeah, baby.

All this fcuking is going on because a few dumbasses that managed to elect the likes of Barry-O are incapable of un-electing #Trump. Or are they all just waiting for the fcuking to start happening to #Trump? Now that’s the ticket, ain’t it, dear worst-reader? Yeah. Let’s see if the tentacle-slime that made #Trump and his/our deal-scam will actually turn on and rip him to shreds on account, well, being stupid should be a crime, too.

Or maybe not.

Rant on.


Link that motivated the post:

Reminds Me, Wicked Witches And Things

melted trash can.jpeg

Another heatwave is coming dear worst-reader. Or should I say: worst-rider? Indeed. For I was on a short e-bike ride this morning when I happened across this. Obviously it takes a bit more than über-hot #Eurowasteland weather to melt a public trash can. Children will be boys, eh, when they play around with matches and the like. Yet as I rode past this piece of art, I immediately thought of the Wicked Witch melting in The Wizard of Oz. I suppose, if I had it with me, I would/should have put that witch hat atop it. Then it would be just like the dream I’m always having where the likes of witches, #Trump and all the abused must rattle around in cages of galore, confused n’all, while waiting for someone to finally help them/us–on account there is no helping those who got themselves into this mess. Just like that friggin trash can, I reckon. Nomatter.

Rant on.


Something Ain’t So Worst: My First Coq Au Vin

Been saying it for years, dear worst-reader. Gotta make this. Although I’ve enjoyed this dish many times, either made by others or at fine dinning places around #Eurowasteland, I hadn’t yet embarked on doing it myself. And don’t get me wrong here. It’s not that I’m claiming in any worst-way that I’m, you know, a cook, don’t you know. At best, I only enjoy the drinking that accompanies cooking and, of course, the continued drinking that coincides–which is even better when I screw up as I can drawn my sorrows. There’s just something about a kitchen, a grill, organising ingredients, which includes shopping for those ingredients where rich women shop, chopping stuff with a fine knife, and keeping things clean compared to how others cook, that gets under my gander–and gets me in my kitchen. Did I mention the self-medicated drinking part that goes so well with cooking? Yeah, that’s a whole ‘nother worst-post, don’t you know.

So I finally gave it a try the other day. I gave it a try not only because of my lust for France. No. Or the memory of that girl in Paris that blew my mind–so many years ago–who actually made fresh croissants right in front of me while butt naked and it was the only thing we ate for three days between some of the most beautiful love making I’ve ever known. No. Cooking is just a great thing to know how to do–or even to what to do–including loving Paris. And for a first try, if I may worst-add, it came out pretty good. My only criticism of the recipe (see below), is the amount of butter required. I’m not crazy about cooking with butter–even though I watched Julia Child on black/white TV in the 70s abuse the stuff. I’m gonna have to study-up on this dish to see if I can make it with less butter. Nomatter.

Btw, the pic on the left above I took while flambéing the chicken, just before adding the sauces (self-made chicken broth and reduced wine marinate). As you can see, I had a bit trouble with the flames as they scorched the back panel of my stove top–almost ruining or enhancing a picture of sage.

Rant and cook on, baby.


Here’s the recipe I followed:

Pseudo Review: R&M Charger GX 8k KM, The Killer Pug Saved By Rack-Time, E-Bike Heaven Baby

Yeah, dear worst-reader/rider, I’m looking for filler here. Reason? I just don’t have much more to report on my fabulous e-bike that just surpassed 8000km. Indeed. It’s also well over two years old and… Get this! It’s purring like a kitten on the lap of a beautiful Scandinavian blonde that has long since rejected the MANnerism of patriarchal behaviour that can only culminate in #Trump (-isms) galore and thereby becoming HER emotional rescue on account there are no real men left in this world to fight for what is right and… Oh wait…

Forget that. Forgive my worst-writing gesticulations. It’s all just part of my having to take care of a neighbours cat recently–who’s from Scandinavia–and I’m still nursing the unhealed wounds it scratched into my hand after trying to pet it. But at least I fed it and also didn’t mind my wife watching after me as I did.

Here all my e-bike posts (tag link).

So. Back to filler. Shall we start with the e-bike or how about a quick worst-post of my recent first-try at making Coq Au Vin?


The truth is, dear fellow worst-rider, I haven’t been riding much for the past half year. In fact, I think I’ve made one 60 KM ride since November, 2018. Reason? Well, it ain’t the bike, that’s for sure. No. It was one of those winters. Since late October (2018) it was either wet, cold or both. There wasn’t much ice and freezing, but the other two are just as unappealing when they’re around every damn day for months on end. I know. I know. I should buckle-down and quit whining like a little biatch about the climate I live in. But to be honest, there was something else going on. I was having upper-back troubles. I injured my foot in an odd fall (that had nothing to do with e-biking). I caught a nasty case of eye stye because as I’m getting older and my skin is dropping more and more, my eyes are dry and I’m drinking too much and and and… And this past winter I felt like $hit most of the time. But enough about worst-moi and his failure to self-medicate–or do it poorly (with drink).

I finally got around to riding in early April (2019) on an extended weekend vacation to Berlin where we drove up there with our e-bikes on a hitch. The intention was to cruise the city for four days on e-bike but I was only able to ride one of those days due to the above mentioned issues. I just couldn’t take the pain, especially my neck and my upper shoulders. After about twenty minutes my foot hurt so bad I couldn’t peddle or walk the bike home. And that krapp stye in my eye… Although it’s gotten better, I’m still nursing it as I worst-write this. So much for Germania miserable winter weather that holds on and on and on. Did I mention that I probably drank too much this past winter? Oh well.

It took me, along with some yoga and a stretching routine, till about mid May before I was able to ride again. Then came more rain. In early June we took a ten day vacation to a small beach resort on the Baltic Sea, in a place called Zingst. As usual, with our trusty e-bikes hitched, the idear was to drive the eight-hundred KM up there and then only use our bikes to get around. Other than one day, we did just that. And it was brilliant. Although my back pain lingered on, it was getting better with every ride. And so. It took me well over a half year to get from 7000km to 8000km. Can I get an amen here?

Oh yeah, our magical über expensive E-Bikes.

At about 7200km I finally got a new chain and sprockets on my Charger GX. More on that here. According to my mechanic, I’ve now got a chain that is specifically made for high-torque e-bikes. “You mean the previous chain wasn’t for e-bikes,” I asked him. Of course, I was deferring the conversation that I probably should have changed the chain at about 5000km–and then when asked how much I was willing to spend… I just waved him on to get it done.

The odd thing about the new chain–and my skepticism/cynicism regarding its cost (just over 200,-€)–is that it’s taken at least five-hundred KMs to break it in. In fact, I’ll go so far as to assume, after just hitting 8k, it still might need a hundred or so KMs more before it’s fully broke-in. Which begs the question: A thousand KM to break in a chain and sprockets? Add to that, the chain is extremely loud. In fact, I can feel the chain riding on the sprocket cogs. Add that to an already loud (Bosch) motor, and I’m really starting to like my wife’s belt drive Charger Mixte and its continuous hub gearing. With that in mind, the idear of upgrading my GX next year is getting more and more appealing. But upgrade to what? (Stromer maybe?)

But let me not get ahead of my worst-riding self, eh. I still love my Charger GX. The fact that I have little to report regarding its stamina and utility and quality, should say everything. Other than a few slight squeaks, which are mostly dealt with by keeping it clean and oiled–plus the cost of maintaining it–I have never regretted buying this bike. It still exudes quality, don’t you know. In fact, on a recent ride a fellow e-biker informed me that I was riding the “Mercedes” of e-bikes. Yawn.

  • The B-17 saddle is still in great shape.
  • The handle bar, that is a bit wide for my riding preference, and I thought I would have changed by now, is still original.
  • The handle bar grips are gonna last forever.
  • I’ve never (knock on wood) had a flat tyre (tire) and rarely have I had tyre (tire) pressure issues.
  • The brakes are brilliant and it looks like my brake disks are gonna go on and on and on, but definitely won’t last forever.
  • Heck, even the wheel fenders are still perfect–and I thought they’d be the first to go.

The only thing that bugs me and might motivate me to up-grade my e-bike next year, is the fact that the Bosch battery is definitely starting to give way. It’s been steadily losing power since about three thousand KMs. Where I once was able to ride well over twenty KMs for every bar on the battery indicator–even while in Sport mode. I’m now lucky if I can get it to fifteen KMs per bar. The cost of a new battery is definitely gonna influence the future of my grand Charger GX. Will Bosch upgrade its external battery design to the 650W battery that they are now offering with new motors but ONLY for internal frame mounting? And if they do offer it, you know, so that it fits my frame (externally), will I have to get a mortgage to afford it?

The wife approval e-bike.

My wife’s Charger Mixte has under three thousand KMs. We purchased (consumed-to-survive) both bikes at the same time. Although she doesn’t ride much, I’ve been using her bike for various chores. Also, when I couldn’t ride my somewhat extreme positioned GX, her Mixte and its more comfortable sitting position, really came in handy. At the least, having two of these things is definitely über-cool, especially since both use the same battery and the time is coming when I’ll need her battery even more than I do now.

But let me get-on a bit about my wife’s biggest gripe: I’ve forbidden her to attach a dog trailer so she can lug around our ageing killer pug. The reason I don’t want to attach a trailer is because of the way the rear axle, wheel, drive-train is mounted to the frame. To me, there are already too many connections back there. To add another connection (to the axle) in order to trailer an über-expensive dog-box with wheels, that may or may not be rejected by our killer pug… No thank you. If that sounds a bit harsh, here’s a bit more about owning a killer pug and an e-bike.

We have a dog known as Beckett, the killer pug. As you may or may not know, pugs are not very active, long-winded dogs. Even though we fight to keep his weight down and I walk him at least three times a day, these types of dogs would rather lie on the couch and try to hypnotise you to feed them all day long. That worst-said, we’ve always wanted to be able to take him along with us on short to mid-range rides. The problem is, as we learned with our previous non-e-bikes, which had a dog-trailer attached to the rear axle, the killer pug hated being put in it and lugged around. He didn’t just reject being trailered in a small, whiny way, though. When trying to ride with him he would bitch & moan so much people would call us animal abusers. Yeah, he would literally scream at us to let him out. Ever hear a pug scream? Would you believe that that trailer ended up becoming nothing more than the best bike attachment ever for lugging around cases of Kölsch or Alt (beer)? Indeed.

Eventually the trailer rusted to hell and we gave it to someone who was interested in our not throwing it away. Unwilling to accept the fact that our dog probably wasn’t made (trained?) for e-bike transport, I bought one of those dog-carry backpacks. Guess what? He rejected that, too. And so. In one last effort in pleasing my better-half, I bought one of those rack-time basket with an open wire lid–that is meant for small dogs. Although the killer pug still whines a bit here and there, he seems to have accepted this mode of transport–as long as he’s behind my wife (and not worst-moi).

And while I’m on the subject of rack-time baskets.

I also bought one of those solid plastic rack-time baskets which relegates both our e-bikes to being even more convenient for shopping and chores. Even though owning two rack-time baskets might seem like over-kill, they each serve a purpose. On top of that, they are very stable and reassuring while attached to the bikes. The black rack-time basket is great for small/limited groceries or picking up take-out. It comes with a heavy-duty strap that, once detached, makes it easy to carry around. Of course, I still use side-bags for heavier/larger groceries.

The dog basket, of course, is really only good for the dog as it’s quite a bit larger than the other basket. The only down-side to these baskets is you can’t use side bags anymore, nor can you use the the rubber strap the bikes rear rack. I’m curious about one thing, though, based on what I read during my last visit to Riese & Müller’s website and reviewing all their new bikes. Has R&M abandoned rack-time on all their newer models? If so, why? Oh wait. How ’bout this: after buying one (or two) of their bikes, there’s no money left to buy these über-expensive baskets/attachments–unless the tears of your eternal puppy dog make you do so. Or? Yeah, this $hit is expensive.

But I die-gress.

Almost two and half years old and eight thousand KMs, I’m very pleased with my über-expensive e-bike. It’s gonna be hard next year, though, if I stay with R&M or if I move on to something even more expensive.

Rant and ride on.


When It’s Time To Fear… Fear Itself


“President Hoover, Mr. Chief Justice, My friends,

“This is a day of national consecration, and I am certain that my fellow Americans expect that on my induction into the Presidency I will address them with a candor and a decision which the present situation of our Nation impels. This is preeminently the time to speak the truth, the whole truth, frankly and boldly. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing conditions in our country today. This great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory. I am convinced that you will again give that support to leadership in these critical days.”

FDR’s inaugural address, 1933 (bold text mine)

Keep in mind, dear worst-reader, with the quote above, I’m kinda crossing the streams. That is, ironically (or not), FDR is the patriarch (procreator) of the $hit$how generation known as Boomers. It was his policies (politics?) that enabled and facilitated the ultimate greed generation–most of whom haven’t done a f’n thing their whole life except live off the margins of the previous generation. Now that there are no margins left to live off of, thanks to Ronald Reagan, #Americant is dutifully trying to do just that… all the same. And what a $hit$how it’s been so far, eh!

Well, don’t you know, dear worst-reader. Guess who’s the leader of the $hit$how? Wrong. It’s not #Trump. For you see, even though he’s all out there, revealed and reviled and relating the truisms of who and what he represents, he is a vassal. But then, was he and what he represents ever anything else? As usual President Pee-Pee-Hair is ruling you and your narrative. It’s why you are part of so much STUPID. And while he laughs at you while you play in your third-grade sandbox, he’s also saying: you’re welcome sucker. And. That’s ok, right? It most certainly is. For you can still watch TV. Fill you car with gas. Buy something. Bling. Bling. And. That’s exactly the way you want it, the way you were raised, it’s all you know. For it is the result of being yet another generation of no-doers trying to live off the margins (the scraps) of that which made you.

Worst-writer’s greatest concern over the election of yet another moron to the highest office of the LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID and his relative consistent behaviour has always been… when will he release the Kraken? For the Kraken isn’t necessarily a mythical beast with only eight tentacles that it uses to submerge decadent ships carrying human contraband and/or the profits of greed-mongering-galore. No. The true Kraken not only has eight tentacles but every tentacle has eight tentacles and every tentacle from there also has eight tentacles. You know, it goes on and on with the tentacle thing until it reaches an amount that is the white people disease of #American’t conservative politics–born and reared by FDR (and his ilk). Has a generation ever been more spiteful and greedy than Boomers and that which made it? Indeed. The Kraken awaits you with arms outstretched.

President Stupid’s recent reaction to a few congresswomen who are making (some) inroads (for the better) regarding the political narrative of my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant, is really starting to worry me. The Kraken is at the gates of fearing fear itself. Just look at how ugly, disgusting (vampire-like) people, aka Lindsey Graham, are trying to sustain the narrative–that has given the world #Americant for the past fifty or so years, including those who think #Trump is the problem. This is a generational war, dear worst-reader. And with the release of the Kraken, i.e. the true, ugly face of the boomer generation, I’m curious how it will all turn out. Like President Stupid’s hair, it ain’t lookin’ good so far.

Good luck suckers.

Rat on.


Links that motivated this post:

Käpernick v Brexit

brexit turns back on EU.jpg
Screenshot from the Interwebnets

Alternative title: How To Make Your Protest Unenlightened

Well, there you have it, dear worst-reader. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It is #Eurowasteland to me and for the better part of my expatriation has always been that way. Indeed. I do live in it. In fact, when I first got to The Continent one of my standard questions while socialising among Das Volk was:

So, #Eurowastelander, are you (German, French, British, etc.,) or are you European now?

It was 1990, don’t you know. I was from a place that had long ago united its tribes. Although the EU thing had been going on for some time, it took till the 90’s, including that whole reunification thing, for Das Volk to realise that perhaps something might be awry (in this uniting experiment). Or was I the only one to notice the Anglo-way v. The Germanin-way… of doing things?

It’s not that I was always a skeptic (against all-things Euro), it’s just that I had a bit of knowledge about what Europeans are/were before the $hit$how began. Or am I the only one to have missed the history, aka, the genocide that is the founding of #Americant, Capitalism being a new & improved surrogate for Feudalism, tribalism, white-man greed-galore, etc., etc.–all doings, don’t you know, of Euro-fcukin-peans! But hey. Let’s not split hairs here. The EU has been good for worst-moi. Yet why the fcuk ain’t it just as good for those monarch loving cock$uckers in the UK who are throwing Brexit around like an unfulfilled child at his fav toy store? Oh wait. Let me not get to deep into my own Brexit prejudices.

All the tribes have their own way of doing things, right? Luckily there’s no need to get into the details. But if you have to summarise it, or worst-write about it, then one can frivolously call the differences among the tribes as… the Germans against the fcuking world. Or am I being too fcuking British right now? Again. Don’t get me wrong, dear worst-reader. I love the British. I hate the way they talk–slurring as much as any southerner in my beloved & missed #Americant. But there is something peculiar about how they’ve gone about this Brexit thing. I mean. Come on. Look at how they protest!

This is protest!

A great deal can be worst-said about protesting. Gandhi and Martin Luther King come to (my) mind. And what about the Occupy movement? Then there’s Colin Käpernick. They were all about protesting, right baby. But they were protesting for what was/is right. Or? But what happens when the ones the world has been protesting AGAINST suddenly get a/their platform to claim they too need to protest? Holy krapp, dear worst-reader. So I guess we should just leave it up to the failed state of the Monarchy $hit$how that is Great Britain–trying to be made greater again as only the #Trump mind can (make it happen).

The Anglo-way has failed. Brexit is #Trump. There is most certainly a correlation to other failed #Eurowasteland tribes as they have adopted that same Anglo-way.

Greece come to mind?

And then there is the Germanin-way. Which, IMHO, has only failed less (than all the others). I honestly don’t know what the answer is, even though things have gone well for me while living among the Germanins. Perhaps there is just a fine line here, eh.


The recent human embarrassment of white British people protesting… what?… is so ludicrous that even worst-writer giggles and smirks. What a bunch of nitwits with fcuking knickers for brains. Why don’t you’all just go lick the space between your monarchy toes and see what comes from that.

And so. Käpernick wins!

Rant on.



Study Guide For The Lumpenproletariat

trotsky and revolution books

Subtitle: Every link from Chris Hedges The Dilemma of Vladimir Lenin, July 1, 2019,

Don’t you love it, dear worst-reader? Don’t you love it when you fight so hard to avoid all the entertainment afforded us in these days of interwebnet-galore, including all the glorious porn, facebag, puppy vids, forced early retirement, and thereby happen across something interesting that may or may not make your day? It happened to me this morn, dear worst-reader. After walking Beckett, the killer pug, I did the dishes from the night before–where I masterfully concocted a veggie curry with chick peas, cauliflower and exactly one minuscule slice too much of level eight (out of ten) fresh red chilli–set the iRobot to vacuum downstairs, refilled my tea (rose yunnan black tea, btw), then headed up to my worst-writing cave, opened all the windows to let the breeze through (what a relief from #Eurowasteland’s current heatwave, eh) and then it began (see link above). Here’s a taste:

“Imperialism brings with it corporate monopolies, a characteristic of the late stage of capitalism. It shifts power away from the manufacturing class to a parasitic class of financiers, the rentiers, whose profession, Lenin wrote, “is idleness.” The late stage of capitalism inverts classical economics. What was considered unproductive—the parasitism of the rentier class—becomes the real economy. And what was considered the productive sector of the economy—labor and industry—is treated as the parasite.”

-Chris Hedges

I’ve read Hedges (tag link) here and there. Although he’s not as contrarian as I’d like, I started reading Hedges after Christopher Hitchens died. He’s since became my go-to guy for all things knowledge when it comes to (at least) trying to understand the fcuk-up that is the $hit$how we must all live in. And by fcuk-up I mean, of course, along with my pseudo-forced expatriation from my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant, living in #Eurowasteland, dealing with my past and–forgive all my worst-redundancy here–the porn that life is these days. For it is all a $hit$how–or am I wrong, dear worst-reader?

Then again, I get such a kick out reading stuff like this. Reason? As part of the Lumpenproletariat it’s always been my desire to break free. Not financially, of course. For I could give a hoot about money. (Although I’ve managed that pretty well, too.) I suppose, in part, that’s the reason I left my beloved & missed #Americant (lumpenproletariat galore)–and probably will die abroad with the delusional dream that my ashes will be thrown into some #Eurowasteland toilet after my worst-soul is incinerated knowing that at least a speck will make its way to the westerly Gulf Stream of the Atlantic and eventually bring me home. But enough about me.

Although, as I’m worst-writing this worst-post and listening to all my Radiohead albums on shuffle mode, I haven’t even finished reading the Hedges article, halfway through it it has become obvious that it is something to savour. And savour not just what Hedges so brilliantly writes. The nuggets of knowledge he provides fit perfectly in the holes of pseudo-study I’ve indulged in all these years trying to comprehend political revolution. Hedges masterfully articulates intricacies by comparing Russian and French revolutions through the mantel of Lenon, Trotsky and, of course, President Stupid–or as Hedges calls him: #Trump–and that which has lead to #Trump. But I don’t want to get into the article here. Just read it, if you dare–even if you’ve not indulged in pseudo-learning about revolutions like worst-moi is. And so. This worst-post is about the links Hedges has provided in his article. See below.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.


Links that motivated this post and must/should be pseudo-studied in the near worst-future:–19

Past Participle Of Thunderpussy

Screenshot 2019-07-01 at 12.34.05
Source: Wiki

Is it time yet, dear worst-reader? Time to start trademarking worst-writer? How bout I also trademark one of my other favourites: #Americant? And what about my use of the word fcuk? What? That’s not a word? Come now, come now. Of course it’s a word, don’t you know. It’s a word because, well, the powers-that-be make it so. You know, they make it so through their use of hypocrisy, bigotry and hate–all part of the mechanism that so well facilitates the way things are. Hate (and all the above), fyi, is the basis of all-things conservative in these times of Kavanaugh, #Trump and, of course, minds hell-bent by Limbaugh & Co. Indeed. The powers-that-be, after recent #SCOTUS decision involving some dushbag clothes maker who thinks he’s creative (or something like that) by giving his brand a kind of counter-counter culture name that sounds like the past participle of the word f*$k, seems to think they’re OK with certain words–as long as those words will never interfere with their power. And that’s the ticket, ain’t it, baby? At least that’s the ticket as I worst-see it.


While on the subject of conservative dushbags, what will this recent #SCOTUS decision mean for an up-and-coming rock band–that I only recently discovered while reading somewhat deeper into the issue–that also uses a kind of counter-counter culture name? That name? Thunderpussy. And what a name, eh! Or am I splitting hairs here claiming that a dushbag clothes maker, using the word Fuct (past participle of the f-word?) as a brand name, which is now sanctioned by the highest corrupt court in the LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID, is the same as a rock-n-roll band that clairvoyantly saw the future when they picked their name? I’m referring to a future, of course, that would end up with the likes of President Stupid and his grab them by you-know-what. I mean, Thunderpussy was founded, according to their wiki page, before President Stupid decided to grace us with his presence and thereby show the world the true, ugly, disgusting face, including piss-hair, of #Americant.

I’m sure Thunderpussy is elated with the #SCOTUS decision. Why would they even care how freedom of expression is enabled as long as, just like the dushbag clothes maker, they can make a buck or three with what it is they do? Yet somehow worst-moi is less enthusiastic about the whole deal. Reason? Simple. In this world there are dushbag clothes makers and there are also really, really fantastic rock bands that are playing on the/a/my past on account, well, in music, since, let’s say the nineties, there has been very little creativity1.

There’s no doubt in my worst-mind that the arbitrators of #Americant one-sided law are up to no good these days–nomatter what/how they interpret law. Several recent #SCOTUS decisions may even have some people thinking they are a bit outside whatever immoral compass guides them, i.e. moneyed interests galore. That worst-said, I think what #SCOTUS has been doing since Kavanaugh is a rues the conservative majority is playing so as to prepare (go get some butter) #Americant for what they really intend: total and complete authoritarian rule based on money and immorality galore, i.e. the #Americant way, baby.

Or maybe not.

At the least, lend Thunderpussy an ear. Wow!

Rant on.


Links that motivated this post:
Thunderpussy – Fever | KEXP (Video)

  1. Forgive my prejudices here. The/my reality is, I rarely consume music anymore on account, for me, raised in the sixties and seventies, there simply has been no music worth consuming for most of the past twenty or so years. If this is the result of lack of creativity or the likes of iTunes & Co., so be it. Still. I really dig a few new bands like Thunderpussy, Greta Van Fleet and if it weren’t for Grunge, I would have consumed absolutely nothing in the nineties. But on that note, I die-gress. ↩︎