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.
Link that motivated the post: