ford rhein barge naked guy on deck.jpg
Slowly learning the whims of smart phone technology. Or maybe not.

Almost didn’t get this pic, dear worst-reader. Had to struggle to pull my smartphone from my pocket where it always rests albeit connected to my ears by really bad audio-phonic cabling that enables me to listen to podcasts (mostly Anglo news) while walking Beckett the killer pug. Indeed #1. In the nick-of-time, I noticed yet another rhine barge full of Ford Fiestas on its way, probably, to Holland, and then on to other places on this planet. Indeed #2. All the little krapp cars that are made just down the river at Germania’s pseudo-socialised Ford manufacturing plant, will be loaded on to some other ocean-going vehicle and then, probably, transported to India, Africa, Mars (for all I care), where they then will be sold to willing suckers that think life begins with a car. Indeed end.

Rant on.

-T

PS The only thing left to do is eventually learn how to take pics with my damn smart phone. (Or is such a skill really not worth the effort?)

Glass Cliff, Glass Ceiling Or How Her Corporate Soul Is Made Of As Much Nothingness As His

glass shattered

I’ve always had a problem with motherhood being on a pedestal. Is it because I was hatched? Procreation is more of a disease than something worth a baby shower and the happy wonderland consequence that is the lie of family life. I suppose that could mean I’m only partly misogynistic or just General Schmuck. Anyone remember Schmuck? He was the undersecretary of the military that served in Patton’s underpants and it is said he was lost behind a tank that made a wrong turn while hunting Rommel in North Africa carrying both a victory flag and roll of red, white and blue toilet paper. Then again, I’ve got no prejudice in my life because loss and Victoria, a grand ole bitch I’ve been fcuking for years, won’t leave me till I’m dead. And you know what they say, eh, dear worst-reader? It takes two to blame one in this game of touch and feel and everything is ok. I mean, come on, would we (men) really go for the family thing if given a choice these days? Trust me. Hatching the future is definitely worth a try. Or would we rather run off to some war-of-choice with the booty of expensive gas to cruise our broken streets in our broken and never-paid-off cars? Oh, isn’t it obvious how we ( men?) have been tricked? Played? Jerked ’round? Obviously males did go for this back in the day. Back in the day when dragging multiple wives into caves by their hair and our knuckles was a worthwhile undertaking. An undertaking that is reflected so clearly in how the world works today for the corporate state. But I’m off subject. Or maybe not.

Oh yea–we were worst-discussing my prejudices.

And so #1a

I simply hate everybody and almost everything. With that in mind, there’s no reason to feel special if I call you out for a having uterus–and a mind incapable of dealing with it–especially considering how the outer part of the feminine sells that uterus.

And so #1b

I do not hate the perfect balance between man and the uterus machine–if it can be achieved–especially in that which is manifested in a perfectly tuned turbo-charged V–8 that when given the gas it presses uterus (Her) so completely to the back of the passenger seat that breasts poke out and beg the driver-male to play another game. Hence youthful if not teenage sexuality aloft in the sky full of your candy clouds. I also find perfection in pistachio ice cream slowly blended into Napoleon ice cream after fcuking the entire day while laying in a field of daffodils and quaker oats mixed in real maple syrup. Beyond that, I gladly and openly live the life of a humble and powerless cartoon-like monarch-god that is angry and bitter and ashamed–for the sake of shame. I only blame part of what I am on the other sex because of Her desire to lock males into the uselessness of romantic love run amok in a world where pornography earns more than (insert your industry of choice here). Pornography, btw, isn’t as profitable as it is just because men want to spank it all the time. Indeed #1.

And so #2

At the behest of my better-half, the Vladimir Putin of my life, I am a man destined, like Russia, to be ruled by two-bit dictators with tits. For that, like many Russians, I am thankful because I have been endowed with

  1. a well-careered wife and
  2. a society that couldn’t save itself from itself–if it had to.

And so #3

This life that has been chosen for me because society (or is it sobriety?) has no choices left. I consider this (life) as an endeavour that is not without career and corporatist leanings. Indeed #2. We are all a slave to something. I see first-hand the unjust behaviorisms that influences not only mine but my better-half’s life–and the life of so many around me that must or are so willingly employed by the man. But enough about alter egos, wishful thinking and the admiration I abhor of those who are have-mores in the corporate world of their have-choice. And so…

I came across a new piece of feminism v emancipation yesterday: Glass Cliff. Would you believe, dear worst-reader, I had never heard of the glass cliff–until yesterday? I’ve heard of the glass ceiling, thanks to you-know-who. But the glass cliff…

The glass cliff is a term that describes the phenomenon of women in leadership roles, such as executives in the corporate world and female political election candidates, being likelier than men to achieve leadership roles during periods of crisis or downturn, when the chance of failure is highest.

As far as the origin of this nonsense?

While reading an article about the demise of Uber the other day, i.e. a corporate tech entity that is nothing if not a smart-ass corporation to join all smart-ass corporations. It’s being said that a female might be picked to help them turn things around. Seriously? Hasn’t the industry learned by now? What? Marissa Mayer not enough? What about Carly Fiorina? Should I even go down the list of female superheroes that save the world and the men around them? No. Defiantly not. So here’s the thing.

Uber should be about connecting people with immediate mobility and thereby utilising the simplicity of modern technology. Instead it is a platform–a middleman, if you will–that tries to take advantage–or as corporate smart-asses like to put it: disrupt–the taxi industry. The platform on which this money is exchanged is the genius of Uber. Yet, like most who make money on a platform, they have forgotten that the platform must also have a purpose–other then their own greed. And I’m really rambling now.

When I discovered the term glass cliff my heart lost two more beats. I’m so sorry that the feminine not only has to deal with my bull$hit but also that of others–who are so much more than worst-moi.

Good luck, ladies.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

This post was created w/ writing software that utilises markdown and then uploaded to this blog; what the hell that means I have no idear. Good luck.

f-word german

Translating the German f-word and feeling some cumuppance. And so. Another example of living-the-dream in #eurowasteland with Margo Honecker’s Germania-galore protege Merkel and the aristocrats with all the inherited money that afford us park benches. Or maybe not. Ranting onwards.

Conspiratorial Death Of The Eurasian Magpie That Brought Down My Cessna

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No. Seriously. I had this wild pre-dawn dream. I was in PHL with my wife. We were working together on an American TV show that had a deadline. I had to take a Cessna plane to MD in order to solve a problem in the TV show’s script. On the trip back to PHL the Cessna got caught in some kind of whirlwind and we had to make an emergency landing on a road on the outskirts of the city. Before I started running back to the office with the solution from MD, I told the pilot of the Cessna to figure out what was the cause of our having to make a premature landing. I was vehement about knowing why, with so much technology–and the ability to fly–I still had to run back to the office to make a deadline. I then I complained to the pilot about the “pool of sweat” I’d be in when I arrived and how it wouldn’t match my suit. Back in the office, after having trouble finding my way through a maze of stairways in the building, I solve the TV show’s problem but have lost track of my better-half. Then, suddenly, the pilot of the Cessna enters and shows me a picture he took with his phone. It’s a picture of a dead Eurasian Magpie in the middle of the road. The pilot proceeds to explain that the small bird was the cause of our Cessna landing early.

Rant on.

-t

career choice ice cream truck driver

Since I’m on a roll with translating today, here’s one more. Saw this truck this morning while walking Beckett, the Killer Pug, and couldn’t help but think of reality. So I snapped this pic. Indeed. Berufswunsch: Eiswagenfahrer. Translation: globalisation means that kids don’t need school but instead a driver’s license and maybe a few phonebooks to sit on. Then they can drive these trucks around and deliver ice cream at the cheapest wages ever. The ice cream company will be very profitable since the kid truck driver will have to be home so his mom can feed him and, of course, that’s where he’ll sleep, too. Indeed. If only the future could be now for corporations. Or is it already?