RANDOM THOUGHT: TECH DELUSIONS/ILLUSIONS hollywood tech fantasies and reality, would you ever get on a Boeing plane again? Yes, you get the fancy PR bits … but what is actually down the road?
What do they say in Saudi Arabia:
“My grandfather rode a camel, I drive a Mercedes, my grandson will ride a camel.”
“The US economy isn’t really a ‘free market’: it’s a network of linked and crooked casinos, the games at each casino might be sort of honest, but the linkages are corrupt as hell.” – Dr. Freckles
It’s not that traditional tools for financial analysis don’t work – they do: but if you disregard the crony nature of how things work, you are unlikely to make wise bets.
The TINA/FOMO BTFD folks were right all those years, and the rest of us screaming “bloody murder” were wrong – principles be damned, the death star economy is not about principles.
On the streets, people are forced to walk knee deep in poop water …
On the streets, the old people drown in shark urine and pear wine …
On the streets …
Most people have to hunt blown flesh enchilada sauce and viscera souffle as the AK-47’s wail and hum their song of splendor in the great beyond. Our cow pie selfies permit no new encouragement, and the tourist gliders pick up their kale juice from the barber and his whore.
On the streets:
you fornicate with your landlord so they let you keep your cat despite not paying the pet fee.
you make a knife from some broken glass, and you slit that guy’s throat for a pocket full of rock and some Lucky Strikes … and you have whiskey breath and herpes sores on your anus.
Kester, the neg-ghoul, chases you down the alley with his cadre of FENTOR-GOOBS armed with bicycle chain and rogaine and propane and baseball bats … and you know you are getting tired, and you know no one cares.
there is no salvation for the gutter rat that chews on his own mourning glory and the NEXT HO you find might be your momma and she’s looking good … on the streets.
We haven’t given up on the project, but we both have to make money, to get by, and we don’t have the time to put much more into it …
In order to promote this project, I was asked to build a simple RSS newsreader, operating using JS8 protocol, accessing some of the software’s API and using log files for monitoring. Not a lot of code allowed for a pretty cool experience, where headlines were being sent using CB RADIO, 11M, 27.245 MHZ.
If you squint in the sunlight, or close your eyelids in bright light, you can see them …
If you look closely, they’re there, wriggling, jiggling, feeding on your optical mucous and growing stronger.
Most people that get these die before they reach puberty, the ones that survive carry dread in their hearts their whole lives. They live like the outcasts in some Lovecraftian freak-zone filled with fuck-monkey holy men and old crimson ladies wearing their jizzum skirts at NIGHT. Those eye worms will lay eggs in your brain and those eggs will cross the blood-brain-barrier into your blood, and some of that polluted blood will become seminal fluid, and from that fluid you infect your children with eye worms.
This is something somebody told me …
When I was a kid I’d go to work with my dad sometimes, he owned a small logging business. One time I’m riding up to the woods: me, my dad, and my brother. My dad is talking to us about chainsaws, and then realized that maybe we needed a happy story to perk us up …
My dad told me and my brother about some dude, up in the woods of the North Cascades, that accidentally cut off his arm while operating a chainsaw. Supposedly the dude picked up his arm and placed the arm in a cooler with ice and drove himself, the arm on ice, back to Sedro-Woolley General Hospital where some hooker nurse and a strung out surgeons sewed that guys arm back on, and he was just FINE … and that’s okay.
That’s what dad said …
In 1993 I was working on a boat in the Gulf of Alaska as an ordinary Merchant Marine seaman. One night, in Juneau, I was hanging out with some ex-Navy Seals, and I dared them to shimmy up the mooring rope, the bow mooring rope, on a cruise ship docked there. We were SHIT ASS DRUNK and had no business doing this insane thing … but we did. We made our way through the crews quarters and feigned confusion as guests that “got lost”. We got to the “Lido Deck” and ordered drinks on some random room number or berth or whatever.
Your CABIN … we used fake ass cabin numbers to order drinks, then walked off the ship …
This happened, right?
When I was stationed in S. Korea, there were these places off post or “down range” you’d go to … In Tokuri, not far from Casey/Hovey, there was this midget. You see, the Navy shutdown Subic Bay back in the 1990s, and MILLIONS of Filipino hookers were out of work, what to do? – they moved to South Korea, along with a lot of Russian hookers back then.
Did you know Korea was a Russian Empire possession until the Russo-Japanese War?
But buddy … that midget …
And people would say “I did the midget of Tokuri”, and maybe it was true, and maybe it wasn’t.
All I can tell you: there were a LOT of Filipino hookers in S. Korea, many were midgets, back in 1998.
SOUNDS TRUE, OKAY PAL?
There is this place, Skin Walker Ranch, not far from where I live. And according to LORE, there were aliens that made love to Ute Indian women and this resulted in Indian / Alien hybrids that began selling whiskey to the Mormon men who then went home and got frisky with their Mormon wives and this resulted in the whole situation being BULLSHIT … fuck.
Skin Walker Ranch is home to an underground base called SECRET BASE CODE NAMED TANGO … and nobody makes it back from that place to tell the tale. In this base there are BLUE JELL harvesting machines, where Tulian milk-maidans are covered in biscuit wax and the drool of french bulldogs. They are made to exude a gummy substance from their boobies which can be used for faster than light travel and penis pills.
BASED, RIGHT???????
What do you want to believe?
In 2020, despite most of human history and recent lessons with Ireland in the 19th Century, the POWERS THAT BE decided to use germ warfare to kill us, not starvation, not hunger … or to trigger a rube goldberg device that led to people taking a vaccine that kills them … and they did this to gain more “power”, even though they already had the power to turn off the world.
(they had all the power)
BUDDY – these people mainly use FAMINE to kill …
(why germ warfare?)
(germ warfare that is IMPOSSIBLE to control or contain?)
They decided to mind fuck people to madness and illness in the hopes that these diseased freaks will make better slaves … (wait, what?)
Do you believe it?
WHAT ELSE IS THERE:
They say there are Mexican magic men who can drink a shroom shake and fly through the air.
They say there are Masai tribesmen that can stop your heart with a glance.
They say there are dogs that are separated from their owners and will travel thousands of miles home DESPITE all the fast food garbage strewn about?
They say there are ghosts of loved ones that haunt some building some place and lure in teenagers to brutally kill them for kicks … that’s what they say.
They say there are RACISTS EVERYWHERE … and you’re probably racist, and so am I.
They say SATAN is depressed and working at Microsoft.
They say there are ground worms that eat through the heart of the world and are in pursuit of monkey flame paradise and nitro-power sex.
This is what they say … I mean, holy fuck … this is what THEY ARE telling me?
Fewer than 700 people have been to “space” since 1961.
It has been more than 50 years since ANYONE has “landed on the Moon” …
But next year they say they will orbit the Moon with people and such …
The wookie people are coming … they’re tired of our insolence and wrathful deceitfulness and our cocaine breakfast parties …
they grow tired of our FANCY ATTITUDES …
they seek after GREASE WISDOM and the John Travolta “barbarino” happy ending …
Wookies are everywhere …
SHUT UP …
There are mass graves all over Utah … nobody talks about it. Places where hundreds of folks, natives, gypsies, were just buried … no one knows why.
You go to Vernal and say “hey buddy, want to talk about those mass graves under the WALMART” … and it’s just deer in the headlights man … and your the JORGEN NULL beast.
The elderly track down their lost cousins, to some RANCH near T’lib, where the old style Mormons have 30 wives and love is a wet noodle pie. They know about the dead, the humpton flesh, the dregs and crags and lost boys. So many humans from the atomic tests, burnt alive, and then just dumped in the Utah desert …
So shut …. LISTEN … please.
The CAT LADIES of Chicago mean business.
Prices of cat food keep going up, so they pick up some poor sap at the bar and get him home, and kill him. Then, with the Kitchenaid, they turn that poor suitor into FANCY FEAST for their furry kids …
These cat women don’t care about you … they might be sexy and busty, but they will feed you to their cats …
SHUT UP FUCKER … listen.
UNIVERSAL PEST MERCHANTS are setting up shop near PLUTO. They don’t care that it’s not a planet and they don’t give a shit about your IDEAS or DREAMS …
These sleaze flesh dealers are looking for pink-monkeys and they will sell these among the QUIB of REGION-HOTEL. They get gold and diamonds for each hairless atrocity as they dance to the naked duel snakes and live like DUKES on the chamber of dark energy and brown dwarfs …
AND YOU SIT THERE AND ACT LIKE EVERY THING IS OKAY!
Eating your McMuffins and pondering Sklade the Foul?
Your time is coming RUBE and the glow of amber lightning shall envelop your tasteless heart and a cat named PHIL will relieve you of your LIFE …
DO YOU HEAR ME MOTHER FUCKER?!?
Listen …
In the not too distant future:
Turg Nurdlers from the inner Earth.
TANTRIC HYPERINFLATION (Jerome is great)
Bone math for the kids.
Roach paste riots …
Love pastures near Sklabe Ville …
Signature miniature Mama Celeste pizzas made from depleted uranium and blood sausage.
Kelly fast cars and the death rattle …
“Nothing will be found, nothing will be discovered, the universe is a METH MONKEY and you are its bitch.” – Dr. Freckles
Heralded as the savior, the ONE that would come to release the great POWER and soothe the world, TEEVUSS made his way to S’compton to meet with the town elders.
For 400 years the people of GRINKEN TOWN and S’COMPTON had been at war over the hooker choices and gold teeth piled high by the Jesuits. There were abattoirs scattered throughout the realm, working 24/7, to liberate old “billy boys” from their own cast away sin. TEEVUSS knew these were the scored ones, set aside by JOOB for sacrifice and fury.
In the realm there were cantor-apes looking for applejack and corn cider. They had the women from WOOKIE-VILLE on their side, and were armed with MAC-10 SMGs and shoulder fired pulse cannons. Kennedy skeebs were still milling about near Boston and the old hag was still in charge. TEEVUSS understood the risks, but he was the schism hero, and his juice would free the world.
The town elders were gathered near the SQUELL PITS on the edge of S’compton. Tarkey-miners were given the day off, and relentless squirrel herders brought the meat paste in for the day. They drank fermented scrub goo and consumed frell-sausage and yulu-scallops.
You sat down next to those old freaks, and you felt the power of the 10,000 year alliance that ended the 48th War of Retribution between the SKLAG-RULE and the DORGUS FREAKS. Each one of them had lived to be over 100 years old, and had liver sores and pastry eyes and scrinkle skin … they were carried about on beds, and their fluids were replaced daily.
TEEVUSS presented his case:
We gotta shut down the hooker palaces ...
We gotta build factories so that our people can make shoes ...
We need a laser grid to destroy the FROGLON-MEEGS of Grinken Town, and to provide for them an existentially holistic anal frag experience ...
Sure, we could wait until the vampire knights of sector-CHARLIE return with fruit-canon and old mold wine. But now is NOT the time to think of festivals and weddings and indoor plumbing ...
It would be nice to have a bathroom, where you could privately sit down and pop a squat and shoot out the brown dragon and unleash copper eyed joe. The times when you have a large, girthy, scrapy poop, easy its impacted way out of the anal scrunctous zone, equally poop baby status as it reaches full term. But I digress ...
If the TRAG HORDE reaches Grinken Town and joins forces with the FROGLON turds then we're DONE ... we can forget about our busty women and our tacos and our craft beer.
So let's get to those canon, m'kay ...
Teevuss finished his presentation, and awaited the elder’s response.
Teevuss went to the wench cabins off of Toops Street, and ate sidewalk oyster, and lived high on the hog from toothpaste whiskey and kelley’s squire sauce.
After 3 days of review, the elders returned a response:
Your presentation was adequate, as that you're 2nd Level Minctus Type, and likely your brain is inflamed with syphilis ...
However ...
We cannot authorize the building of laser canons right now, we can barely feed the old-breeders in grid-8 ... and there's already roving cannibal hordes in grid-12.
We cannot authorize the forming of GRUG TEAMS, because the babies need medicine and the women need clothes ... It's all squalor and low rent sex problems and prostitution and so much more ... a sweaty, moist, creamy space for kline-spice dreamers, and nasty hoods with dirty hands.
We cannot talk of pulse canons and figger-mines and shoulder fired neutron pipe bombs - all of these are great, but there's no money, no cash ...
We raised the "debt ceiling", but it turns out hanging rich people from a greater height makes no difference with the change in their pockets ...
So go forth TEEVUSS, and unleash your rod among the pleasure palaces and enjoy the wines of S'compton, but then go home ...
You are no longer welcome.
Teevuss left the elders, and returned to Helga, the furst-maiden and oil gatherer. He insuckulated her boovula and squeezed her titties …
And he forgot the armies forming in Grinken Town …