The Darnedest Things Around

Brisk walk this morning… No. This afternoon. Yeah, had brisk walk this afternoon. Nomatter. Get a load of that elbow, dear worst-reader. The left elbow of the dude with the fancy pig head. I’ve been passing by that Baroque building and statue for almost three years now. Never noticed the strange position of the elbow, though. Ever seen such a thing? Luckily, when I consulted Claudia, a former sculptress, and now a highly praised dancer in the art of vertical pole-ology, she told me that she even knows the local artist that made it.

“Yeah,” she said. “He ran out of time and money, as usual. So for shits&giggles he threw an arm on it that was laying around. He saved some money, don’t you know.”

Well, go figure, I thought. But it does (the arm, elbow) look kinda out of joint. Or?

Then I found a teddy-bear from Vulcan (yeah, Spock Vulcan). Found green blood n’all. I’m sure he was a cute little fellow at one time. But he smelled kinda funny when I took the shot. (And, yes, I buried him out of respect.)

The kicker in this post, though, dear worst-reader, is the Anti-Monopoly game I found on a park bench along the Rhine River after a welcome rain storm. You know, we’ve been having a heatwave here. My only question was, did the storm come along and scare the players away? Cause they left the whole game.

-Rant on.


Wishful Roadkill On Your Dashboard And Other Worst Pics

Cute as a button how someone could put tiny animal-dolls on their Mercedes dashboard. I only wonder what they are thinking as they drive. I even went around the car to see if there was anything else to photograph. No rotting animal carcasses anywhere. Also, no USB cables or smartphone holders. Whaaaaa? I then headed to the Rhine, which is terribly shallow right now on account of one of #Eurowasteland’s worst heatwaves in years. But perhaps the desertification of the Rhine region might hold out a bit. Then again, shipping German made tractors can’t displace all the much water. Or? Then Beckett, the killer pug, discovered a pumpkin patch right on the corner of a drive-way. Cool, I thought. Now if only Cinderella can find it when she needs it. Say, ever herd of “Gang – Joker Crew”? Me neither. But I think I’ve seen this graffiti before. Nomatter. Final pic is of some German miscalculation when tearing down an old house. Or do you think they hit it right?

-Rant on


Crocs Of $hi+

crocs of__
Worstwriter’s leather topped and fancy speckled…in my fav colour.

“Crocs, Inc. is a company that manufactures and distributes a foam clog shoe.” -Wiki

The above quote says pretty much everything, eh? “Foam clog shoe…”???? Unless, of course, you’re a devotee. According to the pic above, I guess, I’m a devotee. Actually, that’s not true. First. Yes, I own a pair of crocs. As you can see in the pic above, they’re a pretty old pair of crocs. I think they’re at least ten years old by now. Does that say anything for this brand of shoe? Who the f cares? Second. The truth is, I hate these things. The only reason I have them is because, well, I’m f’n lazy and über middle-aged–and I hate shopping for house-shoes–which means I haven’t yet gotten around to replacing these things that were a gift from Mom. Also. I hate hard wood floors. And when my feet get tired from standing while reading… Hold a sec. Let me clarify that. That’s right, dear worst-reader, for half of my designating reading time, I stand. Give it a try. It’s a healthier thing to do. Anywho. When I’m standing while reading my feet get tired–from the f’n hardwood floors. These krappy shoes–clogs?–actually provide some relief when standing for extended periods. But as soon I start to walk around in them, I want to remove them. These things are awful to walk around in. Why do people love them? With that in mind, I’ve been living with hardwood floors for most of my years in Germania expatriation. Seriously. What’s with hardwood floors these days and when is shag carpet gonna make a comeback? Hardwood is freezing in the winter–even though our place has floor heating. They’re hot in the summer–especially considering the heatwave we’ve been dealing with lately. And they produce an odd and prevalent dust-film that is extra difficult to clean. That is, because of the hardwood and possibly the floor heating system, there is a constant dust-film everywhere. Needless say, Margaret, my Dutch slave-maid who wears skimpy garb when cleaning, hates me for dust but that’s why I pay her with my presence and money. And on that note, I digress.

I read a strange article on the #interwebnets this morning that Crocs–the shoe maker–was shutting its doors. First, I giggled. Second, I was kind of relieved. But then I started to think about it. Could Crocs actually go out of business and shut it’s doors? I mean, even though I hate the shoes, whenever I’m in my beloved & missed #Americant, I laugh my a$$ off watching people–a lot of people–walk around in these shoes in all kinds of public places. And for that, I suppose one has to recognise the genius of who ever came up with this krapp. Make it, make it cheap, sell it everywhere, always. There is a mass of human beings that would rather walk around in ridiculous sub-par house-shoes than wear something decent. Which brings me to this last worst-thought: even though I’m getting to that age where wine consumption and other sustenance abuse makes bending over and tying my shoes torture, I swear that I’ll do it till the day I die if it means not having to walk around in public as though the whole world is a sloppy Walmart store.

And by-the-buy, the article I read about Crocs closing is bogus. Yeah, fake newz has really caught on, eh.

-Rant on

Links that motivated this post:

Myth Porn Or How I Learned To Dodge Jizz Bling Bling

viking myth blood eagle.jpg
The Blood Eagle. A depiction of sacrifice, burial or pre-barmizwa?

As stated here and here, dear worst-reader, I really dig the epic poem Beowulf. Reason? It’s a very telling story–and not just about times long past, don’t you know. Although difficult to read, especially the latter parts, it is truly a work of art that, once conquered, gives the feeling that one can somehow relate to what is depicted–in a literary sense, of course. But I suppose that’s what the written word does. Or?

Considering the popularity in recent years of various screen oriented story-telling that is not far flung from Beowulf, I’m wondering what writers of these pay-per-view TV shows are really thinking when they manufacture this stuff. For it is manufactured, isn’t it dear worst-reader? I’m referring, of course, to TV shows like Game of Thrones and Vikings. By-the-buy, I actually got through four seasons of GoT, don’t you know. Of course, after about three seasons I was already tired of watching it. I was tired, indeed, of the repetitiveness and stretchy-ness of every mis-continued episode. But since I had purchased the DVDs (second hand, of course) and ripped them to my home server, I thought: what the heck. And so. I have not seen, nor will I put any effort into watching any other season of GoT. Do you know why? That’s right, dear worst-reader. Once you’ve seen one episode you’ve practically seen them all. But let’s give credit where it’s due. Four seasons of GoT, baby. I did it.


After putting it off for sometime, I recently dabbled in the TV show Vikings. Reason? I had read a few things here or there or heard someone in a podcast talk about it. It is supposed to be a great show and everyone should watch it. The drama and story and the settings and the characters… bling bling. Even though the show is currently in it’s eighth season, I thought I’d give it a go from the beginning. And get this: Would you believe I got through eight and a half episodes of the first season within, like, three days? Well, it’s true. Eight and a half–ain’t that something akin to a Vikings’ lucky number? Oh wait. Dumba$$ Vikings didn’t even have numbers. Nomatter.

First, let me just put this out there: who watches this $hit?

Don’t get me wrong. As far as production value is concerned, Vikings (in the eight and a half episodes I could stomach) is much better than GoT. Also, Vikings (in eight and a half episodes) didn’t immediately turn me off because of the excess fantasy genre-krapp that, IMHO, is the ruin of GoT. But this post ain’t a comparison post. This is a rant. A rant, indeed, about what the fcuk do people think they are watching when they scatter their brains with this krapp? Oh wait. We’re living in porn-times, eh. Yeah, we are. Everything is “porn” now. There are shows and podcasts and video clips of people freaking out over cars, jet planes, cooking, sewing, fat asses with dollars stuck in fat cracks, and bling bling. The only difference to this krapp and real porn is that, heck, back in the day of real porn–let’s say 1980s porn–it was actually better than all this genre manufactured TV $hit.

Alone the shear glorification of violence is ludicrous. But how do the manufactures of this krapp compete with all the bling bling? That’s right. You turn it into porn. Seriously! After seven or eights episodes of Vikings–and also knowing a little bit about Norse Mythology–I decided to fast forward to the cumshots. So I resorted to YouTube to do some research. You know, on account the cumshots of 1980s porn was the best part. Alone the reaction of a woman receiving a man’s sword gluttony all over her face and, where applicable, she is enjoying it, on account she knows she ain’t gonna get knocked-up, is just downright cool. But on that note, I digress.

Now where was I?

Oh yeah.

The facial.


Oh yeah.

The glorification of violence in the TV show Vikings is downright ludicrous. So I did a little search for “Viking TV show and death…” and behold, toot-sweet baby, I got a whole lot of hits of various slaughterings galore. It’s unbelievable not only how much but how death is portrayed in this TV show. But I guess it’s the same everywhere on TV. Or? I mean, all the killing on GoT was just as stupid. Like that idiotic fight between The Hound and that… yeah, Viking blond chick! Whaaaaaa! And what about all the super hero movies–most of which I can’t stand to watch anymore on account of stupid super hero capes and silly super hero pseudo-violence. You know–gotta appeal/sell it to the kids, right? No wonder the world is so fcuked up these days and a guy like $hitbag #Trump can become President Stupid of land of free to be stupid. But before I get too far off subject.

It’s not only the glorification of violence these shows hang out there. The show Vikings is a perversion of Norse Mythology dressed in a stupid-cloak. Indeed. We live in stupid times. For example. (Spoiler alert!) That “Blood Eagle” torture-death of whatever dip$hit English King in season… whatever. I mean, come on. Is there really verisimilitude in this depiction? I know. I know. You know it’s all just fiction. But do you really know that? Do you know that people watching this stuff, people that are glued to it, really know the difference between fiction and Norse Mythology? And if you do know it’s all fiction, is it possible that through so much bling bling, people will never put any effort into trying to get informed about how incestuous tribes of Northern Europe did what they had to do in order to survive–which had nothing to do with slaughtering defenceless priests with hi-larry-us hair-dos but instead they had to move south. In fact, that’s why/how the blonde hair, blue eyes got to Europe in the first place. It’s because all those inbred cocksuckers from the north could no longer survive when sisters and brothers kept bearing grapefruits as children. With that in mind, the first thing to know about Norse Mythology is that it is all about exaggeration. Indeed, dear worst-reader. Exaggeration galore–and a few glorious cumshots.

-Rant on


Misdirected Lyrics And The Ultimate Lie Of The #Americant Mind Long Run Amok

Another email exchange with an old friend.

To Worstwriter:

I’ve been reading a bit lately. Found this quote:

What’s more crazy than a bunch of people gathering each Sunday to sing and greet each other at the foot of an empty cross, the ancient equivalent of the electric chair?

Pretty good, eh.

Your old friend.

To dear old friend:

Oh, dear old friend, since you insist on quoting odd and perhaps mis-directed lyrics—especially without sourcing it—then you deserve yet another worst-writer response.

The analogy in your text is, of course, inaccurate and ultimately fails to convey, what can only be assumed, is its intended message: that people are witnessing a murder sanctioned by the state while worshipping a supernatural being. Obviously your lyricist is trying to compare modern day church-goers with people witnessing a capital punishment execution each time they go to their place of worship. Is then their place of worship an execution facility?

First, the cross, in and of itself, doesn’t represent a device used in capital punishment. There is evidence, for example, that Christ was crucified on a cypress tree. The exact location of that crucifixion, though, is unclear. But we do know, according to the gospels, that Christ was crucified outside Jerusalem’s walls, which means it is plausible a tree was used. Hence, a cross–or the image of two pieces of wood crossing each other, where the short, horizontal piece of wood almost sits atop the longer, vertical piece, has become the image of a living deity–is not an image of an execution. So. Is the cross valid when comparing it to the electric chair, especially when the man being murdered doesn’t really die? Or. Is state-sanctioned murder also a kind of sport for the stupid-of-mind, e.g. spectators of WWE, realityTV, republicans, modern day evangelical church goers, etc.?


Let’s go with the latter, shall we? You live among the truly Stupid in my beloved & missed #Americant. Now that Stupid has finally shown its true colours, its face, its whole being and thereby elected even more Stupid to the Presidency of the united mistakes of #Americant—most of this was made possible, by-the-buy, with the mindless influence of evangelicals—there might be some minds out there (your lyricist?) hearing new supernatural voices preaching the gospel of fcuking dumba$$ stupid idiot cocksuckers who can only earn money and do nothing else worthwhile–with their lives. And so. Little minded stupid people come up with ridiculous analogies in lyrics in order to circumvent their inner most thoughts compelling them to wake the fcuk up. And as usual, it will all fail un-graciously upward and up.

Anyway. I hate fcuking ignorant play-time lyricists.


-end email-

-Rant on