Phishing Email #(Whatever)

phishing email example.jpg

Don’t know why, but I’m totally into collecting these phishing emails. Here’s another one I got a few months back. Of course, when I get them I think of two things. One, of course, is to make sure I don’t click the wrong links in the email. The second is, …ha ha ha ha ha! John Podesta clicked one of these links and directly partook in the dumbing down of my beloved #americant. Wow. Rant on.

-T

Storms & Tech In Germania

 

Struggling, dear worst-reader. Struggling. It is so wet here–here in worst-writer country–that one can feel it in the bone(s). In fact, one of the warnings from all the extreme weather has been to watch out for falling trees. Parks have been closed, don’t you know. The ground is so wet from so much rain that trees tear out easily from gusting winds galore. But let that not stop us, eh. For our path is set, the journey we must make, or maybe not. And so…

  • Headless Mac Pro (fiddling with it due to indoor out-of-weather preoccupation)
  • That is a tree branch that broke off in a storm gust last week (and I just missed it falling)
  • That is how Germans close park gates (to prevent people from being hit by trees)
  • Those are the cables that lead to the Matrix (or they power the German train system that has shut down because of heavy winds)

Rant on.

-T

Wait. Remember When…

Screen Shot 2018-01-07 at 21.14.22
Missing a few devices there, eh Apple.

In an attempt to figure out Apple’s really, really krappy cloud service, iCloud, I finally hooked up with icloud.com today. Seriously. I’ve never been to this part of the Apple universe before. I guess I always preferred to do all my stuff mostly through a Mac and every once-a-once my phone. I had two reactions to this experience. First, it reminded me of e-World. Anyone out their remember e-World? Boy was that a terrible effort on the part of a company that would soon become the most profitable greed show ever to be run by automatons. The second thing I thought of was where’s my MacBook Air in the My Devices section (see pic above). Then I remembered that in order to get through the BS of Apple’s really, really krappy cloud service this morning, I unchecked my MacBook Air from the service. Is that why it’s not in the My Devices list? Not that it really matters. Wait. There should also be another Apple TV in there and a friggin Mac Mini. Oh my. So it’s probably better that I forget that. Instead, time to remember e-World.

Screen Shot 2018-01-07 at 21.29.44
Apple’s e-World. Which should always be followed by… Why?

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

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

Sous-Vide Goose With Asian Rub Will Be Served In 22 Hours With Chinese Dumplings And Red Cabbage

Nine month old Goose vacuum packed and in bath water of 65 degrees celsius (ca 150f). Also known as Sous-Vide. Before dig-in will place bird on the Weber grill for about 20-30 minutes to get it crispy. The Chinese dumplings to go with it are supposed to have a filling made out of the innards but I’ve never been a fan of organs. Although we did prepare the innards according to the recipe, the flavour is just too… liver. Will probably substitute innards with mushrooms and/or maybe oats. Not sure yet. We’ll figure it out.

Merry f’n xmas.

Rant on.

-T

Finding Your Star Chamber Behind The Swine Ear Before The Nail Falls On The Hammer

300x169-R1244_FEA_Trump_A_SML

Worst-thoughts of the day, dear worst-reader. Hope you have your tolerance-hat on for worst-writing galore. With that in mind, good luck.

Donald Trump and Alex Jones and a society that can’t rise above conspiracy theory, WWE and stupid ugly old white people that belong in the 1950s. No. Seriously. They really do belong in the 1950s. In fact, wouldn’t it be grand if they should somehow be sent there right now? No kidding. Right now. And if they don’t belong in the 1950s and they’re sent there by mistake then it could be corrected if they are sent instead either to the middle or the end of the fcuking middle-ages. Imagine that. WWE wrastlers hanging out in 1790s London. Or how about Alex Jones (the grand conspiracy $hitbag entertainer of the royal middle-class dumb-down) facing a landlord that sucks the dick of some #euro$hitland monarch. But before things get too out of hand…

Does anyone remember the movie The Star Chamber? Don’t worry, I don’t remember it either. But I do remember the 5th amendment of the united mistakes constitution and how preventing self-incrimination was actually a result of a real-life Star Chamber from the late middle ages. Can you imagine living in those times, dear worst-reader? If not, don’t worry. For you don’t have to imagine anything. You’re in those times right now.

The reason I reference a bad 80s movie and one of the many ugly parts of human history is because I can’t help but feel that somehow both the ugly and history are repeating. Forget the fact that 2017 economics is kinda in the same place as, say, 1917. Of course, obviously, that which culminated in The Great Depression won’t repeat in the same way. I’m guessing the reason for that is people have gotten more stupid. You know the old adage. “You can’t fix stupid. Unless you fix it by making it stupider.” And so. Are you the least bit curious as to how the past will repeat itself since you’re pretty much living in the end of the middle ages, too?

Do you know what the worst-thing is about #Trump? I mean, the situation my beloved #americant is in is even worse than his hair, his moronic and spoiled rotten personality, and even the people that he thinks he represents. That’s right. He doesn’t represent people. That’s the real joke about him. I mean, he believes that people voted for him. I’ll give him that. He’s just not bright enough to realise that those people who did vote, were actually voting for something else. And as someone once said…

An idea is the hardest thing to kill.

So. Like. I’m walking down the street the other day and my dog, Beckett, the killer pug, is sniffing soggy mulch and trying to tip toe through the wetness we’ve been having since October. Seriously. It’s been raining here in the Germanic portion of #eurowasteland (where I live) pretty much non stop since October. In fact, it’s so wet here that I can sometimes feel the moisture in my bones trying to find due-north–or at least the direction the Rhine is flowing.

Whenever I waste time thinking about #Trump and my beloved #americant, usually while walking my dog, every once-a-once also think about Alex Jones, wrastling and how unsurprising the new tax $hitshow is. I mean, of the news that I do listen to–mostly via podcasts–it’s all about my beloved #americant. Seriously. I don’t even bother listening to anything about Germania or #eurwasteland. I mean. What’s the point in that? The only countries do anything these days are China, Russia and, yes, #Trumpland. Which means… I’ve been wondering ever since the Dick Cheney regime what will be the catalyst to push the whole $hitshow off the cliff? Or. Why hasn’t it fallen yet? I thought, briefly, when the electoral college elected #Trump, the cliff was finally behind (or above) us. But I quickly realised that that wasn’t the case. President Stupid hadn’t done anything yet. And up until the other day, other then tweets of nonsense, attacking is predecessor and even his previous political opponent, dilly-dallying around on Airforce One, playing golf, etc., etc., he’s done nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The things I’ve been reading about this new tax thing that’s gonna happen is pretty scary. I’m trying to dig up in my memory if, when Reagan did the same thing–but on a much smaller scale so many years ago–the game is finally up. I mean, obviously, Reaganomics, did have a somewhat constructive initiation within the kaputt economy where it started. But that level of Kaputt is no longer applicable. Or am I wrong, dear worst-reader? Nomatter. The thing I’m trying to get at, I guess, is that maybe there is no cliff to fall off of. Maybe, instead, what we’re really dealing with is a $hitshow of such epic proportions that the only way to deal with it is to go this route of spending the money of the future like never before.

Rant on.

-T