The Harvey Weinstein Apology

road kill frog or toad

Subtitle: Or All Men Are Rapists And If So… Sorry About That.

Disclaimer: this post is NSFW; it contains material of a sexual nature.

As much as I try, I can’t put myself in a mindset that can understand what women go through when it comes to sexual abuse. Seriously. I’ve tried. During one Halloween I dressed up like a sorority girl and I was sexual assaulted by numerous men. There was also the time I had my hair permed—when I still had hair—which was probably the most feminine thing I’ve ever done—and the guy that did it offered to blow me at least three times while I waited for the chemicals to set in; to this day I regret not letting him do it. During yet another period of experimentation I jerked off three dicks that stuck out of gloryholes—and not one of the recipients said thank you.

But all belittlement aside.

The thing I learned during my growing up days was that women, mostly because of men, have to have a different point-of-view when it comes to all-things sex. The simple-minded male oriented explanation for it is simple: it is just sex. For women…? Oh boy. Is it because there’s an added biological component that it’s different for women? You know, that whole procreation thing and the fact that women can be men but men can’t be mothers? Or is there something else?

What I could never really grasp is what exactly goes through a woman’s mind when she faces the abuse? I mean, it’s been going on for so long is there a physiological, biological, chemical, ecological evolutionary change? Which brings me to this worst-question: was it ever really necessary that Daddy give his daughter away?

Again. All belittlement aside.

Sex is everything. Just look at how the world works. Money has failed us. Religion has failed us. What’s left? You’re either getting fucked or you’re doing the fucking. This differentiation, by-the-buy, is waaaaaaay beyond the birds and bees, don’t you know. Hence, what’s the point of sexuality or things like gender differentiation if everything is always just about getting your rocks off? And. Does political correctness actually mean what we think it means or is it ultimately just a call back to the days when sex wasn’t everything?

I suppose there was a time when minds weren’t spinning so much (about sex) but those are long gone. And I don’t think they’re ever coming back—even though so many in my beloved #americant hope they do. Those were the days when it wasn’t ONLY winner take all—and there was one fucker and one fuckee. But then again, do we really wish for the return of those days?

There might be one good thing about sex being everything these days. And here it is as only worst-writer can write it: The days of the three little king-queens are gone. That is, money, sex and religion once ruled the world. (Not necessarily in that order.) Now only one of the three rule the world.

Still with me, dear worst-reader?

The Actress

All of this talk of sex abuse has gotten to me, dear worst-reader. It reminds me of those days when I once contemplated: am I a rapist?

I’ve had my way with a few women, don’t you know. And not just women. I’ve had my way with a few actresses. (But don’t call me Harvey Weinstein, baby!) Indeed.

I was once a itty-bitty play producer. And get this. I utilised my itty-bitty play producer casting couch whenever the opportunity arose. In fact, after my first play production, the opportunity–of my casting couch–arose more than I deserved. But let’s focus on the first casting couch experience, shall we?

She was a lovely young actress. She had beautiful skin, long wavy hair, thighs typically early twenties thick. While she read the lines of my play I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting to you know what. I looked at her neck and her lips and her elbows. Yes, dear worst-reader, I am a stickler for joints—my favourite being ankles but they are at times the most difficult to see. Needless to say, within minutes of starting to read the script I had a raging erection. What does one do with a raging erection when the cause of it is breathing next to you?

Due to the discomfort, I stood up in front the actress while she was reading her lines. I thought I was gonna get a cup of tea. But, while my cock was trying to poke out of my relative loose fitting chino-pants, she stopped me. Before I could apologise and make some excuse, the actress said something like “oh my” and “my goodness”. She was staring at the bulge. She then put down the script and told me that I couldn’t cum inside her and she didn’t like the taste of cum. I then quickly placed a huge kiss on her face and at the same time undid my pants.

Within seconds her pants were off and I was caressing her ankles with my ears. I then went down on her and kissed and licked her till she came. Dripping from so much activity down there, I heeded her request not to cum inside her—assuming she was referring to procreative, vaginal activity—and entered her anally. She let out another “oh my” and “my goodness”. Her discomfort aroused me even more. To this day I can still hear her mumbling and gasping and slurping.

And, by-the-buy, she was an awful actress. Her voice had no cadence. She kept screwing up the timing of the dialogue. When I asked her to say some lines without looking at the page, she couldn’t. In fact, she was completely incapable of memorising anything. But before I get too far off subject…

It took a few minutes but the she eventually relaxed. I don’t think she enjoyed anything that afternoon except me servicing her and the shower I gave her after I dumped my goo in her ass. After a few dates she told me that she had found someone else and, she added, that she considered our first encounter to have been rape because of the way I helped myself to her ass. Then she also added that she has a new job and couldn’t continue with my play. I asked her for one last sympathy fuck and when she said no, I thanked her, said goodbye and told her that I had found another actress anyway.

(For those interested, as far as the play is concerned, I eventually put the female role of my play, using casting couch actress #2, into a TV screen. This helped the productions in many ways. First, we were no longer dependent on an actress remembering her lines, i.e. we could just feed her cue cards. Second, of the three other actresses that were on my casting couch for that play, none of them mentioned rape even though we never once talked about all the fucking we did. And I had them many varying ways, too.)

The Other Girl

I met this girl in college. We went on a few dates, the movies, the usual. I could get to every base with this chick except home base. That is, she wouldn’t fuck me but she would suck on my dick if I promised not to ejaculate. (Who raises these chicks, by the way!) Then I met her best friend who said that she would fuck me. But I couldn’t/wouldn’t  go there; I didn’t go there. I simply didn’t think it the right thing to do—you know: date one chick who wouldn’t and then fuck her best friend who would.

About a year later, long after the chick who wouldn’t fuck me (but would suck me) was out of the picture, I met up with her friend again. She mentioned how we were both caught up in a world of bad timing. Now she was seeing a guy and because she was fucking him she wouldn’t fuck me. She only fucked one guy at a time, she said. But she also said, “how bout the next best thing?” One evening after giving her a ride home she invited me in to her apartment. I was indeed curious… about the next best thing.

Within minutes my cock was at the back of her throat. After about ten minutes of her proving why it’s called a blowJOB, she told me it was ok if I cum. I told her I wanted to fuck and then would gladly finish in her mouth. She told me once again about the other guy that she was hoping to have a relationship with and also added: “he’ll know if you fuck me, so let’s just do this… the next best thing.” I guess she was referring to the mess a man can leave behind. And I thought of two things: first, who doesn’t like sloppy seconds and second, girls don’t leave a mess behind?

Another ten minutes went by. She was getting tired and resorting to the use of her hands. “Please, come all over me,” she said. “Let me fuck you and then I promise to come on your face,” I said. But she was incorrigible. She took a deep breath and tried to break the back of the bear that would be her last ditch effort to get me to ejaculate. I could tell her knees were aching, her arms were getting sore, her nose was slapping the tight skin of my lower abdomen, her tongue was losing its ability to jostle my sack. She eventually fell on her back and my cock was above her, raging hard and blue. “Ok. You win. I give up,” she said. “Are you ok,” she asked.

I packed my blue junk as best I could back into my pants and kissed her on the forehead as I left. “Let me know when things don’t work out with your boyfriend,” I said. I drove home and it took me two days and countless jerk-off sessions to relieve myself of blue-balls.

A few weeks later we were in the same situation. I had driven her home and she mentioned how much she wanted me to cum in her throat. I smirked and admitted that maybe I would give in this time. But I also asked her if she would at least let me play around a bit. “Ok,” she said. “But you still can’t fuck me.” When we got into her apartment she immediately removed all her clothes and I proceeded to fuck her mouth every which way. She laid on her back on the coffee table with her head hanging backwards over the edge. She made me get on all fours on her dinner table and she attacked my junk from behind. She blew me while she peed. She even tried to jerk me off while talking on the phone to her mother. Of course, eventually, we reached that special moment. “Ok, come now,” she demanded. “I’m not ready yet,” I responded. She then gathered her guns, prepped her jaw and continued the good fight.

That’s when something hit me. Fuck this! I don’t have to take this krapp. And so. While doing one of her change-ups, relieving her jaw, my dick and balls getting bluer and bluer, I grabbed both her arms from behind, holding them together at the elbows. She squirmed but didn’t really try to get out of my hold. Slowly, already lubed-up from so much contact with her throat, I slipped my raging cock into her ass. Her squirms turned to a slight jolt but I pulled her arms back towards my chest. I leaned in with my hips and before kissing her neck I said: “is this what you wanted all the time?”

After I finally released, I sat on the couch and said something about needing more of the same in a few minutes. You know, that old saying: “Hold a sec, baby. I’m not done yet.” Then she turned to me and said something about rules and how I just broke them. I smirked. “You’re not serious,” I said. “You can do what you have to do tonight–I’ll grant you that. But this is it. I’m the one that sets the rules. You broke them.”

My jaw was hanging even though my dick was still raging. Then she mentioned that she had done anal a few times before but it wasn’t really her thing. She added that she would definitely not suck on my cock anymore even if I washed it with turpentine. Then I asked her if she was crazy. She repeated: “I’m not crazy. I set the rules.”

Since I was a good listener back then, I got up off the couch, grabbed her by the arms again and turned her around. I bent her over the dinner table and fucked her in the ass till I came two more times. It was glorious.

Finding Love

And so. I’ve had my way with a few women here and there. As far as I can recall there have been a total of two No’s and numerous encounters where the issue was never discussed but I still had my sexual fun. Through out all my years I’ve often asked: Have I always thought enough about her while I’m doing her? Is her orgasm as important as my release? Does any of this make me a rapist?

While growing up in my beloved and missed #americant, while entering the world of sex and relations and fun, of the women/girls I was with, the majority of them complained about being abused at one point in their lives. That thought has never left me. So let me try to say it again, put it another way. By the time I was 25—and I started having sex when I was 17—the majority of girls I had sex with complained about sexual abuse–and not by me but by someone in their family, their stepfathers, church, athletics, etc.

Whaaaaaaaaa the fuck is going on?

And so. I have never cat-called a woman. I have never asked any of my girlfriends or wives or fuck-buddies to either make me a sandwich or iron my shirt. I’ve never entered a woman once without at least taking her out to dinner or to a movie … afterwards—where I then tried to fuck her again and most of the time succeeded. I’ve also never had a one-night stand because to me, no matter how bad the first time was or what my (relationship) intentions were, I always believed you had to do it with the same woman at least three times to even begin to get it right. With that in mind, there were still two women in my life that said “no” and I fucked them anyway because 1) they wouldn’t/didn’t leave (when they had the opportunity to do so) and 2) they didn’t stop what we both started.

Now. Am I a…

Which brings me to #Trump, Harvey Weinstein and being raised in sexually repressed #americant.

The worst part of living in these nightmare times of a president #Trump is that he’s not just a sexually repressed man but he’s also an atypical greed-monger–and he is one among the many. So in a way, I guess, it’s no wonder women are going nuts. Especially those raised by very confused mothers. And so. Where has feminism got them? Did they end up not being like their mother(s) or did they just become the same (as their mothers) albeit wearing more fashionable fancy coats and shoes?

The other thing is, I feel like the thing that #Trump really is, is that he’s something that is everywhere and he is, unfortunately, that which raised me. And no matter what I do the thought of being an abuser because I had my way with a few ladies will never leave me–as I’ve worst-written about here today. Indeed. I have to live with that. On the other hand…

While I was out there trying to find love the Harvey Weinsteins, the Bill Clintons, the Bill Cosbys, the Woody Allens, etc., etc., have been ruining good fucks since day one. And for that I am very sorry. I really am.

Rant on.

-T

Malice And Spite Make Not Everything Nice

executive crime by president
Source: DailyKos; see link below

You’d think that a criminal indictment of a presidential candidates campaign worker would be enough to fulfil the greed-needs of mongers, i.e. stupid white people that are unable to cope with the harvest they’ve sewn. No. Seriously. Harvest. Like a harvest of wheat totally and completely compromised by excessive ergot exposure. Are republicans finally so high (ergot poisoning) that even they can’t tell the difference between stupid and more stupid? But I digress.

I’m worstwriting, of course, about my beloved #americant and its current iteration of humanity’s grandest experiment. Btw, let’s worst-look at the word indictment:

Indictment: An indictment is a formal accusation that a person has committed a crime.

Unlike being arrested, where a policeman takes you in after you’ve committed a crime, i.e. given him/her reason to take you in, an indictment is like a letter from a dire foe that seals the deal of your destined failed relationship with not only fear but reality for the $hit you’ve done and tried to sweep under the rug. Of course, is any of this a surprise? Just check out the chart above, stolen from DailyKos. The coolest thing about the chart? Check out Barry-0’s record of trouble with the law. Is that cool or what? Do you miss him, too? Oh wait. If you’re #americant and dependent on the greed-mongering you live in, I guess you don’t like Barry-O. But on that issue, I digress once more.

And so. What are we (yes, I’m still an #americant, too) really dealing with in these times of free-to-be-stupid? Well, according to the newz–that I’ve been avoiding for the last two weeks–the proverbial $hit may be hitting the fan for president stupid (#Trump). Would you believe his chief of staff has publicly admitted to a new level of stupidity? The Civil War, according to mister chief of staff, was caused by an inability to compromise. Whaaaa! I can’t believe what I’m reading. Does this person know nothing about the years of abolition prior to the Civil War? Oh wait. We’re in the land of president stupid and his dumba$$ minions–not unlike the morons that voted for him thinking that he’s gonna drain the swamp.

To add oil to the stinky flame of stupid, the US congress, filled with morons that more directly represent the morons of land of the free-to-be-stupid, have reversed the small attempt under the Barry-O administration to put some curbs on banks thereby letting cheated consumers sue them. That’s right, dumba$$es. If your bank screws you, if equifax screws you, if insurance screws you… you now have no recourse other than to submit your complaint to a group of men who have been hand picked by the entity you’re suing–who will then arbitrate your complaint.

Way to go #americant.

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Golden Rain Fun In Moscow

golden rain golden shower trump

As I’ve said here, #americant deserves #Trump. And. From the get-go, nomatter what believers (i.e. the fail upwards middle-classes) claim as they are chocking on that belief, there was no doubt in my mind that president über-stupid likes the peepee. Now. I suppose it’s debatable if he’s one of them perverts that likes to watch the/his women-folk pee or if he likes the other version–being peed on. But there’s no doubt that he likes the stuff–probably the yellower (or is it goldener) the better. And since the pee-dossier (see link below) has received some new life in the media, why not begin the arduous task of researching whether or not #Trump actually kissed his mother with that butthole of a mouth he sells (and #Americants have bought whole-heartily). No. Seriously. Dearest worst-reader! Get this. If/when #Trump gets impeached or quits, the idiot base that elected him will replace him. Indeed. The religious $hitbags will then have finally gained what they always wanted. Seriously. That’s it. There will be more wars of choice. Further looting of the treasury. And women will be required–according to the standards dictated by inept interpretation of a book written during the bronze-age–to bear the children of men… that like to be peed on.

Of course, the saddest thing about #Trumps despicable, obscene, abominable behaviour is that the really bad stuff in the pee-dossier will not only reveal some truths about the man but, perhaps, the whole of the united mistakes of #americant. Yea, baby.

Rant on. Suckers.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

A Faustian Bargain Is Not A Pact

mephisto - brandauer

While listening to the news about my beloved and missed #americant, and, of course, news about #Trump, some talking-head started on about a Faustian Bargain. In the wake of Charlottesville, VA, isn’t it time to have something new to take your minds of the reality you’ve given yourself? Of course, I have to stop in my tracks. #Trump and neo-nazis are not about a Faustian Bargain.

Now. I’m obviously no über literary type. In fact, at last count (this morning) it’s been at least fifteen or so years since I read anything Goethe. (Yeah, kinda gave up on the German literature thing after the Germans, like the Americans, gave up on me. Fcuk ’em all, eh. But enough about worst-moi.)

Here’s two things to keep in mind:

  1. The Faustian Bargain is from Goethe’s Faust (part 1)
  2. The pact with the devil is from Dr. Faustus, by Christopher Marlowe

Now. I’m not familiar with the original story of Faustus, which is from German folklore and where Marlowe got his story two hundreds years before Goethe wrote his. Goethe’s version is different than both the original story and Marlowe’s–and that’s what always drew me to it. But, again, enough about worst-moi.

#Trump is not a Faustian Bargain. Nor is America’s electing #Trump a Faustian bargain. Reason? A Faustian Bargain is not a pact with the devil. In fact, from what I recall, in Goethe’s version of the story–which is the best of them all–Mephistopheles is actually the one who gives in to Faust because Faust won’t make a pact with him. Faust is simply above Mephistopheles both intellectually and morally–you know, the way it should be in an enlightened world. Without splitting too many hairs, what Mephistopheles actually ends up doing with Faust is more like a wager. In the end, even after ruining a really nice chick, Faust beats Mephistopheles.

Goethe’s Faust is a really, really smart guy. I guess, to some, Goethe is or would like to have been Faust. I mean. I’m sure Goethe was pretty ticked-off that he couldn’t get any of the fame that his English rival got. You know, Shakespeare (and the English language) did do a number on those who were interested in writing $hit down–and the German language never matched that. Wait. Let me get out of the way of that can of worms I just opened.

And while I’m off subject, Goethe is probably one of the last polymaths and he was certainly preoccupied with other things even while writing one of the greatest epic poems slash plays ever. Whereas Shakespeare was probably out there somewhere banging the women that weren’t allowed on stage in those whacky female characters he created or he was heisting text from Marlowe, Goethe was… well… polymathing. But, again, before I get too far off subject.

But here’s the thing…

America made a pact (art of the deal) with–and thereby sold its soul to–Mephistopheles long before #Trump. The most important thing to remember about the pact (art of the deal) was that it would last through generations. How many generations? Your guess is as good as worst-mine. But that’s neither here nor there at this point. The thing to remember is that it started when America, Americans (#americant) replaced God with money. A short time after that it elected a former actor and governor of the snowflake capital of the world, California, as president. Indeed. The snowflakeball of hell has a limitless mountain side to roll down.

Ronald Reagan, who was a huge fan of Mephisto–Mephistopheles’ nickname among certain privileged classes–was able to up the ante of America’s pact (art of the deal) with Mephistopheles. Reagan was able to do this because of how Americans fell for his chart plotting, thorough scape-goating of government and taxes, and the demonisation of communism. In return, Mephisto saw to it, following what Reagan had started, that the US would win the Cold War. For those who grew up worshipping the God-Dollar–i.e. the baby-boomer generation!–it was a time that can only be compared to Sodom & Gomorrah. And so. The winners of the Cold War, like evil, filthy, retarded pirates, took no prisoners. There was only pillaging, rape, a bit too much incest (hence those flag waving boys at recent Charlottesville, VA, debacle) and, of course, waaaaaaay too much… wet t-shirt heroism on the part of utterly stupid search for a husband females.

There’s only one problem now that Mephistopheles owns everything because of how Americans have sold out (to conservatives first, republicans second). Mephistopheles is bored. #Trump bores him to tears. The ignorance of Dubya Bush was much more entertaining. Even Barry-O and Hillary brought some light to Mephistopheles who was starting to regret outsmarting a country of rich nitwits. Indeed. Depravity can even bore the evil spirit.

So you see, dear worst-reader, there’s no reason to blame #Trump for your ills. He is but a cog in the wheel of the evil you’ve perpetrated to get you where you are. If you have enough money to consume-to-survive, then bend over for your Mephistopheles. If you don’t have enough money, you’ll bend over just the same as those who do. Which kind of equals things out for you, don’t you know. And in the end, while your blame game continues, while you twitter around the left and right side of your conjoined cock-pussy-brain, at least you can still buy candy corn. Halloween’s coming, baby.

Rant on.

-T

Cut Off Nose To Spite Face, #Americant Style

It just keeps gettin better and better. Sitting on this pedestal I’ve made for myself at thirty thousand feet above normal, I look down at my brethren of yore, my deepest cousins in crime, the land I miss so dearly. And while looking down, what do I see? A shit-show of epic proportions. I mean, you’d think that at this point someone, somewhere in #americant could step up to the plate. Not Joe-shmow, of course. Joe-Shmow is the problem! But why not a Senator, why not a former president, why not Hillary? As far as I can tell there are only a few congressmen that have stepped up to the plate so far, i.e. the two-hundred or so that are suing #Trump over violating the emoluments clause. Bless their sweet little liberal hearts, eh! Of course, we all know what lawsuits are all about. I mean. Come on. Lawsuits are like porn was back in the day when you had to put a quarter in a machine and a small window opened up where you saw Davila playing with her Dirty Nikki. I mean, you really gotta wanna go there with lawsuits these days–but once you go–you’re there. Or maybe not.

Speaking of lawsuits. Last year when my better-half dragged me off to India for what was supposed to be a two to three year stint aka career betterment–but turned out to be a dudd–I was threatened by a restaurant manager who thought a lawsuit was the best way to solve a simple bank transfer problem. Seriously. We had a lunch at a Bangelore shopping mall. The bill was (insert # Rupees here; about $14) and we thought we paid. I even kept the receipt. About a week later we got a call from the restaurant manager that the bank transfer of the card didn’t go through. If we don’t pay the bill by that afternoon, he said, he was gonna sue me. Seriously, India? Are you the first other world country to be Trumped above the rest? The next day, of course, I travelled back to the mall/restaurant–getting around Bangelore is a nightmare, btw–and paid our bill with cash. The manager was thankful and went into this long tirade about how some people just don’t pay their tabs. Oh really.

I suppose every once-a-once, in a world governed, managed, made profitable by lawsuits, there might be one or three out there that actually makes sense. And so, with all the gusto I can muster from these thirty thousand feet, looking down upon the land I love/miss so much–and for the sake of Seth Rich’s family–sue the beegeezees out ’em, baby.

Rant on.

-t

Links that motivated this post:

Stuck In The Abomination That Is The Third Grade Through To The Sophomoric. You’re Welcome.

the couch

The moment I first heard the term “fake news” I laughed my a$$ off. I mean, come on. I grew up in a suburban hell that can only produce propaganda, greed, and, maybe the rock band Texas Hippie Coalition (even though, in spirit or proximity, I’m from no where near Texas). No. Seriously. I just discovered that band on the interwebnets. Boy, does that lead singer have a pair of lungs on him. And the chick in the “Turn It Up Louder” video. Darling Nikki/Honey? (Yea, I actually listen to lyrics.) Lorde have mercy at the moment she appears in the music video! She is made in the image of a stripper not unlike David is made in the image of white men destined to fcuk up the world. But before I get too far off subject. Back to what makes Joseph Goebbels not only turn over in his grave but his dirty rotten soul is probably pleasuring itself with wet dreams for all eternity with what’s happening right now in my beloved #americant–whether or not you have watched Turn It Up Louder. Indeed. Fake news has many faces. Of course, there is one caveat about this whole fake news nonsense. So let’s go where Trumpians won’t go.

Although I’d rather try and worst-write about psychological projection (see link below), Dirty Nikki got me all hot and bothered. Instead, while staying on a über superficial level with Freud and how he made fake news possible, let’s also have a quick look at Dr. Fcuking Freud and one of his other grand achievements. Did you know, dear worst-reader, that Sigmund Freud gave some of his patients cocaine? And we’re not talking just the snorting of the stuff. Or did you not know that Freud also discovered the therapeutic use of the drug for frigid women? To ease a woman’s nerves and help her open up during sessions–just like Dirty Nikki eases mine in the confines of that little space left in the back of my mind where I can still look at a female that way–Freud instructed some of his female patients to not only snort cocaine but also to rub it on their Dirty Nikki parts so that they could prolong self pleasuring themselves and, of course, at the same time talking as only women know how to talk.

And so.

A rich banker type named Gunther Leckmichamarsch (GL) rushed into Sigmund Freud’s office one day in 1885 in the grand city of Vienna. GL was on a mission, baby. He was going to Freud’s office to save his wife from what he called the corruption of a second husband–who he was paying hourly for. Lydia Leckmichamarsch had been seeing Freud for three months. But GL noticed changes in his wife only after her second week of analysis. She would come home euphoric, excited, she even went about her daily affairs with a slight dance in her step. Even though she was less irritable than at other times, GL didn’t like the sudden change. It was unbecoming of a woman. It was unbecoming of his wife.

GL knew that other wives from his big banking office were seeing Dr. Freud, as well. So he started asking around. Three colleagues, one below and two above his pay grade, said they noticed the same thing in their wives after visiting “the doctor”. When GL asked the other men if they’d like to do something about what was going on, two said they didn’t mind what was happening. For them it was a relief, they were even joyous of the change in their wives. The hassle of marriage had finally become tolerable because the women would just leave them alone and go about doing other things, always preoccupied. The third gentleman admitted that he was already plotting to murder Dr. Freud and when GL said that he wasn’t willing to go that far, he knew he would be on his on.

And so.

After GL burst into Freud’s office that day, while his wife was pulling up her knickers, Freud was informed that his days of taking advantage of the sanctity of marriage were over. Even though Freud ended up writing some whacked out academic papers on the use of cocaine in therapy he quickly found himself shunned in Vienna and had to move his practice elsewhere. For the rest of his days cocaine would remain part of his life but not part of what else he would accomplish. Or maybe not.

In the end, dear worst-reader, the greatest thing about Freud and his cocaine phase was that he single handedly woke up the desperate house wives of the rich and famous of late 19th century #eurowasteland. He opened up a new world where women could at least begin to think twice about their special button and why it is placed so far out of whack compared to where a man’s special button is placed. Which means? Word got out fast about the use of cocaine and Dirty Nikki parts. Yea, baby. Alone its analgesic effects so enhanced not only a woman’s drive but stymied the premature release of those husbands who were willing to give it a go, too. Which brings me back to our loving husband protagonist, GL.

And what a good husband he would become. He even got to know Freud’s dealer after Freud was ran out of town. Which brings me ’round to what I really wanted to worst-write about. Sorry for getting so off-track here. Damn headbanger rock-n-roll! Dirty Nikki galore…

How come the world hasn’t come to an end with the advent of fake news? I’ll tell you why. It can’t come to end because that would mean that everybody has to look in the mirror. And while looking you also have to say the pledge of The Society of the Psychological Projectors.

The pledge goes something like this (warning: this is a worst-work in progress; thanks for lowering your expectations.):

If I say something and you believe it, it’s your fault.

If I do something and it turns out to be based on a lie, don’t worry. It’s what you deserve.

While you’re sleeping don’t be afraid to have your life stolen from under your bed. You’re welcome.

The world is an incredible place for me because I’m rich. And since you made me with your ignorance of politics. Fcuk you.

If you think things are hard now, don’t worry. You can always re-elect Trump.

And so.

Your life is about being stuck in an abomination that is the third grade and if you’re lucky goes all the way up to being a sophomore. That’s it.

Suckers. We (your owners) are laughing at you.

Suckers.

-end-

Rant on.

-t

Links that motivated this post:

Germany And Why #Trump And His Ilk Hate That

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This is just a list (bullets followed by minor worst-explanations) I’ve been putting together in my head since reading that #Trump thinks Germany is bad, bad, real bad. I guess, in a way, I’m kinda jealous of Trump–you know, his bullhorn is so much louder than mine. Still, that’s why the tech-gods gave us all the capacity to have cute little blogs. Or? Anywho. Below is a list of thoughts (bullets) why Trump and his followers hate Germany. And remember, dear worstreader, this type of hate isn’t so much a fcuk-you-hate but instead you mean nothing hate w/out your autobahns and cars… Hate. In other worst-words, keep in mind, when reading this (and other worstwriting), especially when it comes to comparing my beloved #americant with my golden cage, Germania, I will never be a German, don’t want to be one and will gladly pass on without being one of them dipshits that immigrated here (by mistake and got stuck) and took it up the a$$. Or didn’t you know that Germany is a club, a collective club and if you’re not born into it you’re not in it. (Thank God!) Whatever that means. Oh. I’m off subject again.

  • Germany is a politically functional country–that over engineers everything–even government.

Compared to my beloved #americant, the Germans actually do things with government that don’t just benefit one part of society, i.e. the 1%. Now don’t get me wrong. In general, Germany (and Europe) still has a feudalism problem. Luckily, because the aristocrats of that feudalism–made up of both the children and grandchildren that gave us WW2–have been so pacified by what their parents and grandparents actually did, they don’t have much of a voice to manipulate politics–as is the case of the winners of WW2 in #americant and Engaland. (I mean, come on, Dick Chaney, Margerate Thatcher, Dipshit Dubya, #Trump, do all seem to hold a grudge–for winning.) The wealth of aristocrats in Germany is used in part to maintain the structures of the country and, especially, the Mittelstand. In other words, if left up to their own doing, the aristocrats that own Germany would sell it out just like the rich have sold out America since the 70s, culminating in today’s globalisation. How long the Germans can hold out–with austerity n’all–is anyone’s guess. But that’s another issue. Trump and his ilk hate that.

  • Germans love their green aka environment–even though places like Cologne are unGodly ugly and there’s snot everywhere.

I’m always complaining about there being too much green in this country. I read somewhere once that of all European countries, Germany has the most trees per capita. Think about that. If Europe was a house, Germany would be a guest toilet in it–and it still has the most trees of all other countries–per capita. And speaking of guest toilets. Get this. I have never been anywhere in the world where so many people have alergies, the sniffles, soar throats, etc., day-in, day-out–all fcuking year ’round. Trees, grass, …shit in the air NOT from cars–and people are as sick as three legged dogs that eat too much icecream. And I often go to these people–many, many people–with their über coughing and über sneezing, snot running down their allergy faces, and say: why don’t you get rid of some of this fcuking green? Do you have any idear how f’n polluted your air is with all the dust and pollen and spores that all this green sprews out? Of course, as usual, they just look at me dumbfounded. Indeed. German government do get itself some green! Trump and his ilk hate that.

  • Order, timing and efficiency are all lies not worthing revealing and always garner a smile or three but if you book a train early enough to your destination it’s also really, really mega cheap–and they serve real beer on it.

Everytime I fly internationally, I get to FRA using a train. When I visit family in the north, I use a train. When I go to Paris… Why anyone would fly to France from Germany is a mystery to me. Anywho. When I was a kid and first started traveling to Germania, people back home would always mention, in passing, and based on their knowledge of The Old Country–The Huns–that the trains all run on-time. Now. Let’s get something straight. Although the DB (Deutsche Bahn) is pretty good compared to other European and American train systems, it is far from an efficient or on-time. In fact, when using it, I can’t remember the last time a train was on-time or without some major outage–as in the train has to stop and let out all passangers at a trainstation prior to its original destination. I would still rather take a train in Germany than drive a car, though, that’s for sure. Oh. And by-the-buy. The entire train system here is paid for by government. Trump and his ilk hate that.

  • Health Care and my gold teeth.

No. Seriously. I don’t go to the doctor. Don’t go to a dentist either. Or do I? My philosophy is: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. My German wife’s philosophy is different. That said, I’ve had minor surgery (ten years ago), all of my teeth fillings and caps are in gold, I’ve had very large German fingers check my prostate (twice!), I’ve had my eyes examined, my ears poached, my knees bumped (with one of the rubber hammers) and my tongue checked by a nurse that looked just like Pamela Anderson–at least the part of her that I could see looked like Pam A as she leaned over me and begged that I say “Ah”. And you know what, dear worst-reader? After all of that, I have yet to see a doctor bill. “Whaaaaaa,” you say. Seriously. I have never seen a doctor f’n bill in the over two decades that I’ve been an expat. Now ask me if I laugh at my brethren in #americant as they bitch & maon about healthcare. Ha. Ha. Ha. Suckers. And. Trump and his ilk hate that.

  • Germans are pro business without being anti-social.

This is a bit of complicated issue. So let me address it from the other side. The thing that’s obvious about my beloved #americant today is that it’s lost its ability to be creative in business. Probably since the 1970s, the US has been riding on the industrial laurels of the past. This in part is due to generational issues–as baby-boomers secure their retirements–but it also has to do with a skewed sense of what the American Way is all about. Indeed.  The generational issue, i.e. baby-boomer greed mongering galore, cannot be underestimated here. The simple truth is, while Americans jockey around in their inability to self diagnose and/or think independently–thanks to faux newz–they also find themselves swimming in a cesspool of political lies and untruths–all to their own personal detriment. Hence, to worst-moi, the fact that faux newz is even on the air says everything about where Americans are politically and mentally. But let me come back to this side of things. Germany has yet to idealise their politics like Americans have with faux news. What is said politically in America cannot be said in Germany. And that’s not because it’s not allowed to be said. Put another way, it’s not that the bull$hit of right-wing propaganda can’t be said as much as it can’t be heard because there is no one to listen to it over here. Oh yeah… The German government is very pro-business without being anti-social. Everybody and every business has to pay its share to make things work/function here and they all seem to do it willingly. Trump and his ilk hate that.

  • All bankers are a$$holes but German bankers aren’t a$$holes and suckers.

Alright. Here’s an open can of worms for ya. As I’ve tried to post here and maybe here, my best-worst-guess (as an arm-chair pseudo economist) is that one of the reasons Trump and his ilk are pissed at the Germans is because the Germans saw through the bull$hit of the real-estate bubble that was being promoted by the US Federal Reserve and US Treasury after 9/11, 2001. The Germans, especially Deutsche Bank, literally bet against the bubble and won. (Two other German banks lost.) I mean, even though it all kind of sounds complicated with the bull$hit that comes out of Wall Street, you know, financial engineering, CDOs, sub-prime mortgages, etc., it’s really not. It’s all more akin to being a casino. Within the casino there are different “games” being played. The difference to a real casino, though, is that after years of playing these games, all the participants, being used to one another, resort to other means to get ahead. You know, lying, cheating, manipulating, coercion, etc. Therefore the roulette table has its hidden buttons, the blackjack dealer has his price, the slot machine maintenance staff tighten the levers this way or that way, etc. The only problem is, what to do if a player decides not to play on the terms of The House. In the film The Big Short, the bank that bet against the US real estate market was Deutsche Bank. Oh, I said that already. Trump and his ilk hate that.

  • Education is practically free.

I guess I have to use the word “practically” because there is some cost involved in getting an education in good ole Germania. The difference to my beloved #americant education, though, is that here schooling isn’t treated as a business–as neo-liberal economic idealogy dictates it be treated back home. In other words, you can’t turn student loans into an industry here. Trump and his ilk hate that.

  • Technology can’t be monopolised.

This could be another can of worms–but I’ll go with it. The thing is, compared to my mom’s house on the eastern shore of Maryland (that I miss so much), I have the choice of at least three ISPs for my internet connection where I live in Germany. Not only that, but if I want to have a landline phone, which I don’t, I could chose from various services for that, too. As far as net-neutrality goes, it’s not much of an issue here because, well, media streaming is already offered through a variety of delivery systems. Then there is the issue of free speech, which German only has as long as that speech does not promote hate. Trump and his ilk hate that.

That’s about it for now. Will keep it all in the back of my worst-mind and update as required.

Rant on.

-t

Links that might have something to do with this post: