Bad Apple, Bad Apple. Now Go In The Corner For Your Time-Out.

bad apple bad apple.jpg
WTF Apple?

Oh my, dear worst-reader. Since confiscating my better-half’s 2016 12″ MacBook–and she going full iOS as of late 2017–I’ve been enjoying this little über-fantastic device which has even made me forget my beloved 2015 13″ MacBook Air with that friggin i7 processor and that fan that randomly interupts everything all day long–and wants to burn hole in my lap sometimes. Contrary to what you might read or see in reviews, the performance of the 12″ MacBook with its low-end M3 processor is more than adequate for my digital needs which includes stuff like this worst-post typed in the WordPress app and using Apple Preview for the screenshot (above). According to specs, the MacBook is running the lowest available CPU Apple offers. And after a few months of use, I could give a hoot about that power-pro-macbook-nonsense–nor do I mind being a light weight computer user. But enough about worst-moi. §When the device was introduced in 2015, I even giggled here or there about what Apple had done. Keyboard. Camera. Single port. Etc. After watching you-tubers review this thing you’d even think Apple had lost its $hit when it comes to Macs. §Au contraire, dear worst-reader! §The 2nd iteration low-end Macbook (2016) is supposed to have the processing speed of a tortoise freshly hatched. Yet I’m digging it as though it’s more like a mini-hare jotting through the landscape of tech nonsense galore and all the while not paying attention to the Pam Anderson like tech-wannabes sunning their fun-parts in fields of silicon beauty. Also, since I’m a stickler for watching my back when it comes to the greed-show lead by Apple and its strategic genius of corpo-obsoletism–that is, systematically making people buy new iPhones and Macs when in reality if Apple would not push us to upgrade the OS but instead just let us chose which OS we want to keep working with (and thereyby fix those as we do), then I too might not be so critical of this/our universe’s most profitable organisation worthy of all my love-hate. But enough buttering up, eh. §When my better-half purchased the MacBook in the fall of 2016, it came with El Capitan OS X (10.11). As stated (or as worst-written), I’m a stickler for NOT upgrading my OS. Or. Put another way: I prefer to not upgrade until I’m convinced that the $hit won’t hit the fan by doing so. I also, by-the-buy, never buy first iteration Apple products–hence I pushed the 2016 model over the 2015 even though the Apple store tried to push the latter on us. And so, dear worst-reader: I’m no beta-tester, motherfcuker. But that’s neither here nor there. §I let my wife’s MacBook ride on El Capitan for most of the eighteen months she let the thing sit on the shelf as she turned more and more into the iOS centric person she has become. I also never upgraded my MacBook Air beyond El Capitan–as that gorgeous little newer device was itching (from that shelf). And while on the subject of upgrading our Macs… As far as my home server is concerned (a monstrous Mac Pro 5,1), El Capitan is the end of operating system upgrades. The Mac Pro is from 2010 (and I only miss OS X Lion a little bit). It still works great but it is truly an old truck (a very powerful truck) with numbered days. Oh, and before I forget. One of the biggest reason I can’t/won’t upgrade my older equipment is because of Apple’s new files system. Seriously. AFPS or APFS or whatever it’s called, scares the beegeezees out of me. And keep in mind, dear worst-reader, I already went through the Apple chaos of the company switching from power-pc to intel. Aghast! Anywho. Although my Mac Pro boots from a PCIe SSD (the new file system is supposed to be geared toward SSDs) it also has four spinning HDDs internally and four more externally hooked up through various ports (firewire). But I’m off topic. §There was nothing in OS X Sierra (10.12) that interested me so I didn’t even bother with it. Usually, though, after one or two OS X releases, I start to get itchy. I finally came around with the MacBook and installed High Sierra at the end of 2017. To be honest, there really isn’t much difference to El Capitan–except for new file system and (Aghast!) Apple’s attempt to be hip with its (still) awful iCloud cloud service. Of course, all the believers out there say that the changes of High Sierra are under the hood. I say, after fiddling with it, what was the point of Sierra before its High? But here comes the real killer–at least for me. If you haven’t noticed already, check out the position of my DropBox folder in the pic above. I can’t believe that Apple would allow/enable its cloud service to assume that I would want my Dropbox folder (from a competing cloud service) to be included in its service. Whaaaaaaa! Of course, being the dunce I be, I didn’t pay enough attention to the install/upgrade procedure of High Sierra. I mean, I remember being asked if I wanted iCloud integration but I was so nervous about whether or not I did the right thing in the first place…. I know. I know. I should grow a pair, eh. Btw, I also upgraded my MacBook Air to High Sierra but have since restored it back to El Capitan. The upgrade is ok for the MacBook–on account I think the only real benefit is the new file system and the retina display. Something was very different about my MacBook Air’s screen with High Sierra. I might be seeing things in my old age–with my old, weak eyes–but I swear everything was blurry on my MacBook Air after HS upgrade. But then again, once you go retina there is no going back. §And that’s what she said, baby.

Rant on.

-T

When Your Creek Finally Becomes A River Paint Your Car Ridiculous Or Dig It Out

The Rhine is swelling, dear worst-reader. Even though we’re not having the bomb-cyclon winter storm that my beloved east coast #americant is having, the weather in old Germania plays strange all the same. Check out how close the river is to the tree top and the dike in the pic above. The vehicle almost buried in snow is from my home town where a bit of crazy weather is happening, too. And the odd painted BMW is yet another example of Germans failing miserably at just trying to be funny with the only thing they can really do (make cars).

Rant on.

-T

Not Only In #Trumpland Does Disinformation Serve The Agenda. Would You Believe Corporations Use Smoke Screens Too? Duh!

three dollar bill apple logo (low res)

Worst-writer has been wielding an iPhone 6s for well over two years now. It’s my second “smartphone”. Worst-writer has never been a fan of Apple’s iOS. In fact, most computer operating systems suck. On top of that, the whole smartphone thing bores me. Reason? These things can do so much more. Here’s my worst-dream for smartphones: These things should be a person’s sole device. When on the go, there’s the phone. When at home or in the office, we should be able to use it with some kind interface (hub, docking station, etc.) and thereby have a monitor, keyboard and pointing device. Indeed. We should be able, as of 2017, to carry around a full functioning PC in our pocket. Instead we carry around widget that serves a higher greed purpose. But I digress.

From what I can tell from iPads, Surface tablets, smartphones, etc., these things are most certainly powerful enough to fulfil worst-writer’s worst-dream. Yet we’re still stuck with having to buy separate hardware in order to worst-write, worst-view and worst-consume… all the porn the world and its females can offer. So when I read krapp about how the world’s greediest corporation may or may not be manipulating its products in order to force consumers to buy anew, I go he-he-ha-ha-he-he-haaaaaa.

As far as smokescreens go–which we should all be used to considering a world where #Trump can get elected–Apple has done a fine job of shifting the issue that we should really be discussing. The fact is, Apple’s products are not only dependent on batteries, but they are also dependent on software. I know. I know. Most worst-readers reading this know that. But still, since the issue broke about Apple’s greed systemamtic planned product obsoletism, it seems the whole thing is now ending in it all being about the battery. The problem is sooooooooo not the battery.

For those interested, here’s worst-writer’s solution to the whole worst-thing. Combined with a fair priced battery replacement, Apple could make an iPhone last (until the hardware fails) by allowing customers a choice which iOS version they want to use, including just staying with the iOS that came with the device when it was purchased. IMHO, it is all these crazy iOS upgrades that ruin not only battery life but the whole user experience. Seriously. There is nothing in any iOS upgrade I’ve experienced that has made the degraded functionality that follows worthwhile. Btw, IMHO, that’s exactly what PC makers–including Apple Macs–have done with operations system upgrades, too. But what the hell do I know?

Rant on.

-T

Link that motivated this post:

That Day Great White Apes Unlearned A$$ Whipping And Replaced It With Learned A$$ Kissing–Plus My Translation of Rammstein’s Bück Dich

girls_sexscene9-300x200

Wake up, dear worst-reader. I’ve got some worst-newz for ya. Did you know that there was one of the worst outbreaks of hepatitis-a in the greatest country in the universe last year? Whaaaaa? Repeat: hepatitis-a broke out in southern California! You didn’t know that? Did you not know it because, well, you’re one of the automatons that actually directly contributed to there being such an outbreak? The problems of the world today is mostly due to the passive yet indirect contributory activity of the automaton masses. Even though that mass has been systematically culled over the past two or three decades. Perhaps that’s the reason automatons are so damn nasty these days. And by-the-buy, did you also know that hepatitis-a is one of the easiest diseases to prevent? That’s right, all you gotta do is clean up after yourself and make sure everything else is clean around you. And when I worst-write about clean I’m not talking about clean sneakers or picking up after yourself when you finish your fast-food. I reckon in the land of the free-to-be-stupid taking cleanliness to higher levels–and keeping them there–is asking for a bit much. Of course, my beloved #americant isn’t alone among the so-called first world nations that’s having trouble getting rid of the one thing humanity knows how to make without exploiting others to do it. Even though the two situations I’m referencing here (links below) are quite different, one thing remains the same. You can trace the automaton worship of greed as being the point of entry to the poverty of the soul we all live for now. And the fact that the poor–I’m worst writing about the real poor here–the people that can’t even afford to wipe their a$$es–are soon gonna join the zombies (automatons) as the fastest growing population segment–without proper sanitation and/or sewage. Indeed. Until then, not only do automatons need a place to $hit in the filthy and dilapidated office buildings but the wannabe automatons who couldn’t make it (yes, I’m pretty much one of the later) are leading the way of having to $hit in the streets again (but I’m not quite there yet). Wow. Not unlike feudalism from the good old days, eh?

For what ever strange reason, worst-writing about all this unnecessary poverty in this world got me thinking about Rammstein. I mean, of course, the band and not the rundown town in southwestern Germany. There’s always been something about the song Bück Dich that has bothered me over the years. I remember struggling with the text when I first heard it. Words like Antlitz and Passgang drove me to the brink of coping with having learned this gross language. Yet these words were somehow poetic islands in the sea of wanna-cry devastation that the world has brought upon itself simply because there is so much inherent greed and hate for brothers, sisters and all the freak show inhabitants in-between. Which brings me to this new translation retry of Rammstein’s Bück Dich1:

Bück dich befehl ich dir
(I order you, bend over (and get on all fours))
Wende dein Antlitz ab von mir
(Keep your (facial) expressions to yourself (because of what I’m doing to you)
Dein Gesicht ist mir egal
(Your face doesn’t matter (which is not unlike a whore fcuking her John)
Bück dich
(Get on all fours)

Ein Zweibeiner auf allen Vieren
(Two-Legs is on all fours)
Ich führe ihn spazieren
(I take him for a walk)
Im Passgang den Flur entlang
(Amble along the hallway)
Ich bin enttäuscht
(I’m disappointed)

Jetzt kommt er rückwarts mir entgegen
(Two-Legs passes by me going backwards (but what he really means is that his subject is starting to want it))
Honig bleibt am Strumpfband kleben
(The/my honey sticks to his stockings)
Ich bin enttauscht total enttauscht
(I’m disappointed, really disappointed)

Bück Dich…
Das Gesicht interessiert mich nicht
(Faces don’t interest me)

Der Zweibeiner hat sich gebückt
(Two-Legs bends over)
In ein gutes Licht geruckt
(Finding favour in the light (where I can hone my aim))
Zeig ich ihm was man machen kann
(I show him what a man can do (to another man))
Und ich fang zu weinen an
(Which brings me to tears (of joy or maybe not))

Der Zweifuss stammelt ein Gebet
(Two-Legs screws-up his prayers)
Aus Angst weil es mir schlechter geht
(He is afraid because I’m not pleased (with his performance))
Versucht er tief sich noch zu bücken
(So he tries harder to bend over more)
Tranen laufen hoch den Rucken
(My tears flow up his back)

-end translation-

So I guess, in a way, dear worst-reader, Rammstein has written a homage to humanity and its ability to subject itself to Bück Dick or, putting it in a less Germanic way, bent over and wantonly penetrated so you can have a life where/while someone else can’t. That is, indeed, the only reason you have a life, isn’t it? Because someone else doesn’t? Or are we still on the great white ape thing and how humanity achieved so much coming out of the stone age? But I digress.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:


  1. Note dear worst-reader: I’m taking extreme liberties with this translation. In fact, I am stretching bigly here in an attempt to capture some essence. For example, although I’m using a simple and direct translation of Bück Dich above, there are other translations that would be just as good, e.g. bend over bitch, bow (as in before me), submit (your ass to me), know your place (in this world or in this corporation), I know your place (in this world or in this corporation and will lead you to it you fcuking simpleton automaton that has never had an original thought). ↩︎

The Bridge To The Cliff Has Already Been Crossed. So How’s The View While Falling Off The Cliff That Has Been Your Life Journey?

orwell big brother

The political payback president stupid owes certain republicans has been trickling in with ferocity lately. By certain republicans, of course, I’m referring to the bat$hit religious nutjobs that got Stupid elected. The best example of this can be seen in #Trump’s appointees. There are also a bunch of bat$hit appellate judges he’s been appointing–some of which have never tried a case in court. The way the State Department is being gutted is another example. The department is being headed by a #Trump appointee that is still a f’n Boy Scout. (Yes, I’m ragging on Boy Scouts.) Through new ideological leadership a bunch of long standing diplomats are either early-retiring or quitting their posts at the US State Department. I don’t know about you, dear worst-reader, but I thought draining the swamp had more to do with elected officials and not a bunch easy-target bureaucrats. And let’s not get too deep into the recent tax break that’s been approved by a bat$hit republican Congress–where the richest #americants are not only being giving the largest government hand-out ever but are also being enabled to hoard what’s left of an already decimated economy that probably can’t recover. And by-the buy, how much do you want to bet that of all the free-money the rich are getting after this tax-break none of it will recirculate back in the country? But all that nonsense is neither here nor there. Reason? I can deal with $tupid politics. Stupid politics can be fixed. But there is one thing in politics that can’t be fixed and it almost passed right be me the other day–if it weren’t for a German article my better half showed to me. Did you get the recent BS about #Trump telling the CDC (Centre for Disease Control) what words to use when publishing official documents, especially budget reports? Get this:

In some instances, the analysts were given alternative phrases. Instead of “science-based” or ­“evidence-based,” the suggested phrase is “CDC bases its recommendations on science in consideration with community standards and wishes,” the person said. -from Wash Post article

Gee, dear worst-reader, who do you think the community standards and wishes is in the quote above? If this doesn’t put creepy crawlers under your skin, than nothing should. This is Orwell newspeak, baby. And it’s being officially dolled out by your electoral college elected officials.

Look what you’ve done #americant.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Maybe Put A Label On It Instead Of Enabling A Bimbo To Sing Put A Ring On The Heart Of Suckers Born Every Minute

sucker born every minute
“There is a sucker born every minute” -PT Barnum

How do you regulate consumption? The consumer is the backbone of the greed economy. No wonder we all have back pain, eh. Yet we also live in a system that has found a way to protect the riches of great-great grandparents. Indeed. Long dead stupid white people have inherited their wealth to offspring that are obviously less ingenious. It’s interesting how the careful consideration of wealth can have grave ramification for a society that only knows the power of suckling the teat of a really, really fat motherfcuker. But I digress.

The issue today, dear worst-reader, is how former president Obama takes sides in the debate of what to do with a society over flowing with Stupid. I mean, why else would it even be an issue–this whole fcuking fake newz thing–if there were just a few more smarts in the world? And so, even a pretty smart guy jumps the gun and blames, of course, the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. And so the disinformation show–which is something different than fake newz–goes on.

Btw, if Obama warns us about “irresponsible social media abuse” who is gonna warn us about all the greed abuse that got us to this dystopia place at all? Oh well.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

Link that motivated this post:

Pyongyang’s Train Driver (A Dream)

kim jong un portrait

The man I was sent to replace was named Charlie. His full name: Christofer Littleton. He was born in Liverpool, England, but hadn’t been back there since he was a kid. After his mother abruptly died on his twelve birthday, his father, who was an engineer for the British army, packed up everything and the two went to India. Charlie finished growing up in Bangelore where his father was a consultant to the Indian Government. After completing compulsory school and utilising contacts from his father, Charlie took a job as a tool-man in Hong Kong. When he departed India, it was two days before his eighteenth birthday. It was 1953.

A “Tool-Man” is another name for a train engineer.

His idea was to work in China and help that country develop its metro system. To start, though, Charlie worked with the digging crews that would eventually lay the first rails of the Hong Kong MTR. During his second year, right after his contract was renewed, Charlie met Marry. Marry was from Korea. Marry moved to HK just after North Korea tried to invade South Korea. Marry and Charlie never had a family. One day Marry went to Charlie and told him she was unhappy with their lives in Hong Kong and that her unhappiness had nothing to do with being barren. She then said that she had a big family back in Korea and she was ready to go home. Charlie had worked ten years. The HK MTR was flourishing.

Charlie quit his job at Hong Kong MTR. With in a few months he and Marry took a boat to South Korea. Once there Marry revealed that her family wasn’t in the South but instead in the North. This revelation had little impact. Charlie joined his wife and the two entered North Korea. It was 1965.

I met Charlie in 1989 in a small office in the south-east corner basement of The Pyongyang Great Hall. The door to Charlie’s office was labelled “Tool-Man” and below that was the Korean translation. After greetings and other formalities, Charlie immediately took me to the train station that was directly at the rear entrance of The Great Hall. It was during this walk through the building that I realised my situation. I was living a dream. Yes, dear worst-reader. Some live dreams through the physical universe, some do not.

I tried to question Charlie about his decision to live in The North. Other than the following, Charlie withheld elaborating about his life decisions. He said, “Do your job.” His other remark was: Not unlike where you come from, everything here is not a dream.

We exited the rear of The Great Hall and I found myself standing directly on the train departure platform. Something was waaaaay out of whack. I couldn’t place it, though. My watch read nine forty-six. The morning air was fresh and crisp, unlike the air in Seoul–which I had no recollection of traveling to. The grey sky dimmed my view somewhat of the train grounds behind The Grat Hall but below the platform was a single narrow gauge track. The track was just as out-of-whack as the departure platform. In fact, according to my limited knowledge of trains, the gauge of the track meant that the train could not be a real train. But none of that mattered because, regardless of train here or there, I would command it the rest of my life… in North Korea.

During the first few moments of this passing of the baton, Charlie voiced soliloquies about his endeavours and when he was done he continued with songs of glory-interludes, adding tales of privilege while driving Dear Leader around the grounds behind The Great Hall. There was also a small buffet of goose-shrimp, tackle-butter and confused-gender bread but only attendees with a special badge could take from it. I did not have the special badge.

I kept one eye on Charlie and the other on the people gathering around us. As each person recognised Charlie and then me, the reason for my presence became clearer. Oh, dear worst-dreamer, I was indeed there for a reason. The reason goes beyond the metaphysical of my never having laid one foot in either South or North Korea. As best as I can surmise, the only reason I was there–in reality or not–was to relay Charlie’s message. For I am, in fact, a chronicler of a dream’s dream.

Being a tool-man wasn’t Charlie’s only purpose in life. His life was the two sides of all coins. First there was Marry. Second there was his message. Together these two purposes served a power higher than even the most giving and willing humans have ever attempted. I speak, of course, of the great messengers Jesus, Mohammad and, perhaps, #Trump. (I use the word “perhaps” because purpose remains to be determined. Or?)

Upon my arrival Charlie had already surpassed his time on earth. His extension or continuance, if you will, was granted by Dear Leader. The cause of this grant was a mistake in life and was not unlike mistakes from other infamous messengers: He failed to get the message out.

I’m wondering if the whole idea of message-delivery is that which brings me to my greatest fear: Not having enough time to debate the error and misfortune of the only son-of-God, born to this foul-able coil, like so many others, of mortality, and thereby stuck with the impossible. But I’m off subject–perhaps.

No matter where Charlie stood during the ceremony there was a descending sun-glow around his head. He had no remorse in saying goodbye to the facility that had him trapped for so many years. Is his face just like that of Jesus? Was his a face of disappointment? A face of misguided rage? Forgive me father for we have sinned?

By-the-buy, asking The Father for forgiveness of your sins was once a translators interpretation of pre canonical text. The reason it is still used today, even though it has nothing to do with biblical forgiveness-seeking, is because it’s what JC said either before or after “Father why hast thou forsaken me.” In fact, JC mumbled no-nonsense for hours before his final light went out.

But Charlie’s remorse was something else. In fact, I’d go so far as to claim that he knew all along that I would get the baton. He might not have known my face but he knew someone would be there. He might have even known all along that he wouldn’t be able to get his message out. So I also wondered if he was enjoying the suffering in my face. Yes, I think he was enjoying it.

After elegantly praising his time as Tool-Man and extolling the joy of marriage, he turned to me and put a hand in a coat pocket. Out of his pocket he pulled a lone key attached to a six inch diameter stainless steel ring. He handed me the ring and key and told me to be gentle but also firm… with her. Then he added: she will determine your time. He stood at attention as the small gauge train rolled around the small gauge track and came to halt before us–on the small departure platform. It was the first time I had seen the down-scaled train.

The underlings of the train exited from one of the three cars attached and they all shook hands with Charlie first. Charlie responded in Korean to their gestures and when all was done, the underlings turned to me and offered salutations anew. As I began to shake hands and reciprocate, Charlie entered the last train car and the train drove off towards the west corner of The Great Hall and I would never see him again.

Just then I woke up.

-end-

Rant on.

-T