popescu on Nostr: The onion butt and the bunion twat What a title, huh! Anyway, we spent a pleasant ...
The onion butt and the bunion twat
What a title, huh!
Anyway, we spent a pleasant evening walking about the quarantruins occupying a space previously occupied by a subhuman attempt at making a town out of locally sourced inadequaria, cute if inept as it meaninglessly found itself at some point. I suppose it's "better" after a fashion to cvasi-ruin a never-quite-was town than to truly ruin a genuine city ; or for the same money it's "worse". For "better" or "worse", the same damn thing in any case.
Towards the end of it I decided to throw a little business the way of some threadbare attempt at turning a bubble of urban blight into a cafe. A few months ago, when I first did this, it was completely, stone cold empty ; but as it happens whenever I decide to bless with harem ass the seating anywhere, business picked up for seeing us there, and while not making enough to grow fat I suppose they must've been making enough to not outright starve. It's something, the sort of something you'll soon enough find no way of escaping anymore.
This time some obnoxious fuckwad very much in the Argentine fashion kept importantly parading his jeans-and-only-jacket arrangement back and forth with that Pantalonesque air of entirely insubstantial yet somehow belicose self-infatuation that so markedly caracterises the contempocuck. It irritated me enough to yell at him "Get the fuck lost, loser. What the fuck are you even doing here ?", which he obviously "did not hear" (because, if you've been following along the contemporary narrative fictions, he has to agree it happened in order for it to have "really" happened). Nevertheless (and very much not for that reason, ok ?) he moved a few steps further out, plausibly-deniably derping up and down the sidewalk outside rather than the courtyard inside, so really, nobody could accuse etc, to my acidic jeers of "that's right, fold those shoulders in and get the fuck back to your submissive posture".
After that Hannah's omnistare kept him from returning into the danger zone, until I went to the bathroom. After that, the dorky schmuck went over to pester the server/bartender/barrister/whatever, an inefectually overanxious kid of well over 40. You know these losers, their life just about ready to begin at the ripe age their pubic hair's turning gray ? Anyway, he told me I've to wear a mask to go to the bathroom! Fancy the cheek, seriously now. I've yet to wear the dumb things at all, as in ever. I've made doctor visits, I buy shit regularly enough, I am very much using my deep pockets to pressure the varmints : shops that cater to me get $$$, shops that don't get... whatever it is they think they're getting, not like they stay in business long enough to count it anyways.
I gave him the hand gesture, you know the one, "get the fuck outta here". He actually had the impudence to come unbidden to my table, to tell me that "they've had visits" from whatever government clerks. I told him that he's to tell them exactly where to shove it, I ain't about to care what they say. He told me "they can't do that". This kid that doesn't have enough sense to figure out on his own how to stock San Pellegrino, given that the only account worth the mention in his nickle-and-dime shop's inquiring now and again, this kid somehow nevertheless summons the unmitigated audacity to tell me what's what!
The eagerness and ease with which this spurious generation of redditards replicates contemporary US fascism for the ruin of their non-US homes is nothing short of staggering. Imagine that : this peanuts government has exactly nothing it can do to force me to wear a muzzle, under any circumstances. So they go around talking to businesses they also have exactly nothing they can do to. Because, self-obviously, if the stance is "I ain't paid, and I ain't interested, in enforcing whatever random bullshit you came up with, go do it yourself, it's your fucking job anyways", it'd... end there. But no, this moron has to pick it up, as if the government's paying his salary, and do this half-ass cvasi-enforcing whinefest. He's gonna tell me what he thinks he read on facebook the government (of facebook) wants him to do. 'Cause that's why he's on this world. Not to bring his sister over to suck my cock, who knows, maybe I take her in, no, of course not that. He's there to tell me what's new on facebook!
I told him I'm not about to discuss this with him, and if he keeps pestering me I'm simply not going to come back. To which self-obvious if completely unexpected course of events (wow, how could I not wanna play his version of reddit larping ?!?!) he retorted that "He's sorry to hear that" or somesuch and made himself scarce. I, on the other hand, took to throwing the cashew nuts Hannah set out on a plate before me at the Argentine twat's 1990 Italian fashion eyeglasses hairsprayed upon his 1990 Italian fashion hairchunk. He didn't notice, you realise. I finished the plate, and then once the plate was finished I had the woman walk around the table to the motherload, and reload. The peanut landing pad kept "not noticing", until eventually the kid came back, this time to ask me to please stop throwing nuts. I guess it was noticeable enough from the opposite direction.
I smiled sweetly at him and asked for the check, strictly to bring the relationship back in its normal pattern : he's a fucking servant, and very much not some kinda master of ceremonies at the wedding of a future cuck with a future whale. He left to fetch, but three steps in found whatever he misrepresents as his dignity, I guess. He stumbled back, to tell me the order's on the house. Fancy that! What, you think they have the thing open to make a profit offa overpriced cups of coffee ? To hell with all that, the cafe's open to let people know what the government thinks on things and matters! That's its true raison d'etre, everything else is frosting & peanuts. They're not in business, they're just tryna please Mommy is all.
So we stood (me fetching the remainder cashews off the plate) and walked over to the dweeb. I said into his happy smile "Here, have some cashews", threw the load in his face, and walked off, a "Schmuck!" over my shoulder summing up his life better, or in any case closer to actual reality, than any epitaph ever will manage in actual practice.
On the way back to Castle Popescustein we saw the lulziest of scenes : a kid walking a dog. The kid had a muzzle on his kid mug. The dog didn't have a muzzle on its dog snout. The bimbo inquired if the dogs are gonna start walking the redditards anytime soon. I have my doubts, though the reversal's out and out hysterical, what can I tell you.
Anyways, this is how I entertain myself these days. Twenty-some years ago the place'd be firebombed right about now, leaving the schmucks involved to spend the next few weeks walking up and down the street sandwiched within their apologies plaintively spelled out in 20cm font (for fear of being shot) ; but then again twenty-some years ago I cared a lot deeper about the place I found myself in, and cashew nuts are way the fuck cheaper anyways. In fact, cashew nuts are almost cheap enough to match the utter worthlessness of the contemporary schmuck (though the way things are going I might be stuck moving down to actual peanuts soon enough).
« The Re(al)-Pimp, Last Chapter.
The Time of Your Life »
Category: Zsilnic
Wednesday, 10 March, Year 13 d.Tr.
What a title, huh!
Anyway, we spent a pleasant evening walking about the quarantruins occupying a space previously occupied by a subhuman attempt at making a town out of locally sourced inadequaria, cute if inept as it meaninglessly found itself at some point. I suppose it's "better" after a fashion to cvasi-ruin a never-quite-was town than to truly ruin a genuine city ; or for the same money it's "worse". For "better" or "worse", the same damn thing in any case.
Towards the end of it I decided to throw a little business the way of some threadbare attempt at turning a bubble of urban blight into a cafe. A few months ago, when I first did this, it was completely, stone cold empty ; but as it happens whenever I decide to bless with harem ass the seating anywhere, business picked up for seeing us there, and while not making enough to grow fat I suppose they must've been making enough to not outright starve. It's something, the sort of something you'll soon enough find no way of escaping anymore.
This time some obnoxious fuckwad very much in the Argentine fashion kept importantly parading his jeans-and-only-jacket arrangement back and forth with that Pantalonesque air of entirely insubstantial yet somehow belicose self-infatuation that so markedly caracterises the contempocuck. It irritated me enough to yell at him "Get the fuck lost, loser. What the fuck are you even doing here ?", which he obviously "did not hear" (because, if you've been following along the contemporary narrative fictions, he has to agree it happened in order for it to have "really" happened). Nevertheless (and very much not for that reason, ok ?) he moved a few steps further out, plausibly-deniably derping up and down the sidewalk outside rather than the courtyard inside, so really, nobody could accuse etc, to my acidic jeers of "that's right, fold those shoulders in and get the fuck back to your submissive posture".
After that Hannah's omnistare kept him from returning into the danger zone, until I went to the bathroom. After that, the dorky schmuck went over to pester the server/bartender/barrister/whatever, an inefectually overanxious kid of well over 40. You know these losers, their life just about ready to begin at the ripe age their pubic hair's turning gray ? Anyway, he told me I've to wear a mask to go to the bathroom! Fancy the cheek, seriously now. I've yet to wear the dumb things at all, as in ever. I've made doctor visits, I buy shit regularly enough, I am very much using my deep pockets to pressure the varmints : shops that cater to me get $$$, shops that don't get... whatever it is they think they're getting, not like they stay in business long enough to count it anyways.
I gave him the hand gesture, you know the one, "get the fuck outta here". He actually had the impudence to come unbidden to my table, to tell me that "they've had visits" from whatever government clerks. I told him that he's to tell them exactly where to shove it, I ain't about to care what they say. He told me "they can't do that". This kid that doesn't have enough sense to figure out on his own how to stock San Pellegrino, given that the only account worth the mention in his nickle-and-dime shop's inquiring now and again, this kid somehow nevertheless summons the unmitigated audacity to tell me what's what!
The eagerness and ease with which this spurious generation of redditards replicates contemporary US fascism for the ruin of their non-US homes is nothing short of staggering. Imagine that : this peanuts government has exactly nothing it can do to force me to wear a muzzle, under any circumstances. So they go around talking to businesses they also have exactly nothing they can do to. Because, self-obviously, if the stance is "I ain't paid, and I ain't interested, in enforcing whatever random bullshit you came up with, go do it yourself, it's your fucking job anyways", it'd... end there. But no, this moron has to pick it up, as if the government's paying his salary, and do this half-ass cvasi-enforcing whinefest. He's gonna tell me what he thinks he read on facebook the government (of facebook) wants him to do. 'Cause that's why he's on this world. Not to bring his sister over to suck my cock, who knows, maybe I take her in, no, of course not that. He's there to tell me what's new on facebook!
I told him I'm not about to discuss this with him, and if he keeps pestering me I'm simply not going to come back. To which self-obvious if completely unexpected course of events (wow, how could I not wanna play his version of reddit larping ?!?!) he retorted that "He's sorry to hear that" or somesuch and made himself scarce. I, on the other hand, took to throwing the cashew nuts Hannah set out on a plate before me at the Argentine twat's 1990 Italian fashion eyeglasses hairsprayed upon his 1990 Italian fashion hairchunk. He didn't notice, you realise. I finished the plate, and then once the plate was finished I had the woman walk around the table to the motherload, and reload. The peanut landing pad kept "not noticing", until eventually the kid came back, this time to ask me to please stop throwing nuts. I guess it was noticeable enough from the opposite direction.
I smiled sweetly at him and asked for the check, strictly to bring the relationship back in its normal pattern : he's a fucking servant, and very much not some kinda master of ceremonies at the wedding of a future cuck with a future whale. He left to fetch, but three steps in found whatever he misrepresents as his dignity, I guess. He stumbled back, to tell me the order's on the house. Fancy that! What, you think they have the thing open to make a profit offa overpriced cups of coffee ? To hell with all that, the cafe's open to let people know what the government thinks on things and matters! That's its true raison d'etre, everything else is frosting & peanuts. They're not in business, they're just tryna please Mommy is all.
So we stood (me fetching the remainder cashews off the plate) and walked over to the dweeb. I said into his happy smile "Here, have some cashews", threw the load in his face, and walked off, a "Schmuck!" over my shoulder summing up his life better, or in any case closer to actual reality, than any epitaph ever will manage in actual practice.
On the way back to Castle Popescustein we saw the lulziest of scenes : a kid walking a dog. The kid had a muzzle on his kid mug. The dog didn't have a muzzle on its dog snout. The bimbo inquired if the dogs are gonna start walking the redditards anytime soon. I have my doubts, though the reversal's out and out hysterical, what can I tell you.
Anyways, this is how I entertain myself these days. Twenty-some years ago the place'd be firebombed right about now, leaving the schmucks involved to spend the next few weeks walking up and down the street sandwiched within their apologies plaintively spelled out in 20cm font (for fear of being shot) ; but then again twenty-some years ago I cared a lot deeper about the place I found myself in, and cashew nuts are way the fuck cheaper anyways. In fact, cashew nuts are almost cheap enough to match the utter worthlessness of the contemporary schmuck (though the way things are going I might be stuck moving down to actual peanuts soon enough).
« The Re(al)-Pimp, Last Chapter.
The Time of Your Life »
Category: Zsilnic
Wednesday, 10 March, Year 13 d.Tr.