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Brinesanity – an abide jar, filled with all the fuqs given.

By

One small step…?

It is a small step?

It was a small undertaking, unimportant.

iGus peers from the shadows of “fiction”.

I abide.

Oh, how the truth does set one free.

Cowards need not apply, liars lay in thine grass.

No issue, I own my miles, in my gulch.

The grass is orange.

Fuck you cancer, we win…again.

μάνα, για πάντα στην καρδιά μου.

*abide*

02-16-2013 

By

Misogynistic windows

fetaman, fetaChops, iFeta, brinesanity, brine diaries

Rage. The horror of what you are about to read is real. I am not making any of it up. If you are able to click on this picture, and see the link to the video, you will get a look at what is a symbol of me, the Fetaman. Please note, I take this all very seriously. Sorry for another “frant” (*Fetaman-rant), but I just can not take it anymore, no not going to take it anymore. I just want to be on my bicycle seat.

Fucking windows.

Pretty sick that they can be so outstanding, and so obvious. They are everywhere, and we look right through them, even staring at our reflections. There they sit, the very demise of our culture.

Women hating bullshit, windows.

Not right that they can’t be washed by women.
Women are very good at washing windows.
Like dishes.

Look, I know this may come off as sounding quite strange, after all, I am a man. One made of cheese, and the mind is at times questioning a number of things, but this has got to stop.

If we want equality, we want it now.

This is not some kind of bra burning adventure, or some kind of keep calm and chive on bullshit, glad to see that funny, made my day that much more glorious, and thanks for all of the inspiration and all, but there are serious matters to attend to.

These windows, all over the world, are being washed by men, and that is so fucking sexist, I can not stand to bear it anymore.

I do not know what the cause of this acceptance is – are we bound by some kind of oath we took to the windows, to make sure they were only touched by hands of men after construction people put them in? Breasts can near the making of the windows, can own the company in fact, they can transport and install the windows – but cleaning them, that was part of the “oath”?

Perhaps, it is the window’s that are demanding this, as we all know that all windows are male. They are cold, heartless, transparent shields for all of the glory that Mother (*note, female, duh -smacks head-) Nature has blessed us with, and they want to somehow flip her the bird by insisting only other males are allowed into the locker room in the skies. Is that there play, trying to keep women from the “locker room” – the last bastion of athletes fingertips and Gold Bond laced handled, instruments to wipe the glazed and wet surfaces clean, shiny clean, polishing and attending to that masculine glass?

I am not going to get into the debate of whether a man touching another mans glass is gay or not, some men do not judge their lives by sex alone, the touching of swords for example is not a gateway to anal adventure you know, nor is gun duelling or Sasquatch fisting. If you must know, Sasquatch was a secret nickname all Junior Hockey clubs were required to call at least one of their players, it is required by IIHF code. It was to be given to the hairiest assed male on the team, and it had nothing to do with fisting as most non-hockey-initiated folks would imagine, and everything to do with the anagram.

*Ok, the hint is “sifter“. The act of actually putting something through it is called sifting. What you put through can be something that is liquid or solid, and it might be different for an away game, or a home game. It will also have everything to do with before, or after the game. Nothing else can be revealed at this time, else it may jeopardize my source(s) personal and sensual safety.

I think this has nothing to do with either. I think this have everything to do with the conspiracy that Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is maintained, by society allowing men to get away with this blatant disregard for equality, and it is going to stop now. Security and safety will not play second fiddle to the physical metabolic needs, we will stop breathing until this happens.

No fear in standing up to the Rothschild family owned corporations that allow this to continue. All of you property managers that are being called, look no further for salvation than your fellow man, Fetaman, to bring you the comfort of a friend to fight the politically correct foes, as they claim it is too dangerous, or women are too weak, or even the infamous they are allowed to do anything they want coos.

No.

We will not tolerate this anymore, and this is the reason I took it beyond just writing my local political hack trying to nickel and dime donations for charity at the expense of his Moore’s suites and his high profile image.

I will not sit idly by, and allow the Rothschild families, and all of the rich that worked their way into fortunes using the magic wand of business, that witching stick of bastardly convention that has convinced man that the freedom to sow, care and reap what you will is only limited by the amount of wealth that must be transferred to all, including the crack ridden, the lazy, and the pharma-medicated downtrodden victims, all of them, victims of the torture life has brought to them, to be able to demand that only men are able to walk this line of danger and profit.

The travesty has been so great, and I seldom so ubiquitously announce my conviction for a cause so great and worthy as this one, usually I will just start a trough corporation, to milk all of the unsuspecting sheeple so that I can reproduce more baby Feta’s, fuck it is only right considering all of the mind wasting propaganda that Baby-bel/Baby-belle has inflicted on all of you, wake up people, Zeus, Greece, awesome cheese, makes great snowmen, way better than Sweddy balls etc, yeah…

Make it so clear to the world that we are well aware of this sexist shit, and it is going to stop right now. We are going to not only make it a world thing, and insist that only women get to wash these windows, just like men have and have flaunted in our faces with these signs, and the purported dangers. Get used to corporate cubicle dwellers.

Mother, Juggs and Greed Window Washing LLC, has been incorporated and is offering full, naked, female window washing services for the evolution of mankind effective April 1, 2013.

Our first engagements are booked for Toronto, Dubai, Hong Kong, Kiev, Paris, Phukit and 213 other major cities around the world.

Taking a stand against the norm, and bringing you the truth.

The only way we can right the past, is to make sure those that have been set free are not only free to do as they wish, they can dance and rejoice and sing the praise of true equality.

Ladies, if you are willing to set those puppies free, are fit and confident, and want to make sure that you prove to the world that you are here to abide. Please let me know.

Time to fight the power, and fuck misogynistic windows.

*abide*

By

Society needs YOU to fuck more

Are you getting fucked enough, to remain in the grouping of the expert class, and most satisfied of what the “elite” call the Fountain of Fuck?

Here, the eternal hope and springs are a cool water to the souls that are washed in the abs and the breasts of champion class sex goddesses and gods.

Here, they are gifted with the beauty and attraction, to be able to at least find a mate like that lost soul at the swingers weekend, sitting on the rattan chair ashamed to walk amongst the big dogs and large feline mountains – but there are many, that will always find a mate, a soul, another to just fuck like a champ with.

Just in the bones.

Sure macho man, go ahead make the obligatory there has to be a bone there somewhere, and we can all laugh and make sure we question why you have an affinity for certain events and what not, but let’s stay on track.

What the fuck is the ultimate? How does this compare?

Well, we can take one friend, a married lad who will speak of the married life, and the kids and the family, and the loved ones, and the magic that is all has, but Al Bundy arrives in full effect when we take about shoes and shoe styles.

You can be assured I am not alluding to actual shoes here, as I was not alluding to butter tarts a decade ago as just butter tarts. I am talking about sex, either before or after marriage, the shoe allegory. Sure thing, guess that is why in some of the other posts I may have even touched on it, seems to flow well.

We all need shoes, and some folks see them more as instruments to allow us to do the things we need them to do, similar to utilitarian shoes and sneakers or boots, to the other end of it, eccentric statements of our core beliefs and who we are, and how we are able to get so fucked with glorious fucks given, cause holy shit those boots are screaming for a comment.

There is no doubt when you look in their eye, similar to the naked truth of an exposed Twitter like truth that cuts to the bone of the truth of the moment, or the reason the humour existed and came to mind in such an odd and funny way, but it is true. They admit to it, with the eye’s that scan the horizon, over the brim of the large pint glass, now clutched upon like a flotilla of glass in an ocean of broken hope for continued fucking in the simple ways it was, and not the instrument of destruction, affecting female and males with sparing cruelty and fallen standards.

But fuck, that is what happens right, we are supposed to be beaten down – no?

So, the laughs begin, when the brine allows the passion of some fine fermented treats to allow the joy to begin. The fermentation was air, the treat was the fire, and the joy came when we got to sit back inside and discuss the math behind the failure of mankind to keep ourselves in the range our forefathers have, that we have failed as men to be able to chop the same amount of wood, and sow the same oats our forefather’s did to grow this nation.

People, we need to fuck more. That is the answer, not because of some kind of human hippie movement, or because I want more women to see the lovely girth souvlaki I am proud to rock (*in case you are wondering, Micky Avalon has asked for an autograph, and I assured him the flattery to my dick resembling Jesus, the inspiration for the lyrics in the song, and yes, they are all monks of Jesii as well, so we can nod and enjoy more of the dick humor…don’t worry ladies, i will be referencing the power of the magic mountains and that wonderful, natural man cave the universe gave you, and whether by God or Mother Nature, I personally remain a humbled man in front of those women that hold multiple PhD’s) – we need to fuck, because humanity needs to come back into balance.

Be more open about this, and see how easy it could be.

Become inspired to be a fuck tutor, and spread the wisdom of the math. It works.

Look, here is the gig. You get married, and to have caused that you want to (a) spend the rest of your life, feeling this great fuckability, this love and lust, and sex is a great big part of that, as a proportion of the “pie” (sic) that you attribute to your rational, to yourself, and your family, friends, associates and society as a whole; and (b) in order to reproduce, and create a family etc. All that other kind of jazz in the second part, and yes, it is important, and all of the importance to mankind.

I want to try to stay on point as it relates to the law of averages. How we can make some kind of sense of it, and try to do even the smallest things, to make the number creep upward in some regard.

You are in a hot as fuck relationship, before marriage that should be in the realm of 3-5 days/week, and this would include multiple occurrences on those occasions. Consider the well “sexed” individual, one who is engaging in 3 double dip days, and 2 standard days. That would be far from the daily multiple sex occurrences I know Ugh Caveman was into between making fire and fucking up t-rex and shit, but let’s just say that you are not the daily multi-beast, you are the person we all want to be right?

You got a 3×2 fuck, and then a 2 single shot, making it an 8 times a week fuck. Or at least, once a day. This is the norm. This is 365 days of the year. So you are gauging yourself against that.

Not going to get into the duration, or the waxing and waning phases of the fuck cycles and all of the coming of spring etc, I am talking about keeping it simple, pub math. There is more to it than that, but we continue the line of questioning with the confirmation that the annual birthday and the annual Christmas BJ, are blended with the 6 times in the last year. About 5 years, so it has come down to about that – yup, eight to twelve fucks, experiences of dick or vagina glory…wow.

The rounding difference is miniscule. You are getting about 2% of the allocated amount, and if that number continues on at that rate, and you even manage to get to the magical interjection from “we are older, so we don’t that much, but twice a month or so, weekly at least…” – well congrats, that 52/365 is a golden 14%.

Please note, as I sip the magical air around me, pupils bursting with the sights and nostrils flared with the delicious crafts of the local pub house chefs and their understanding of bliss, I do not even get them to the real number. We are using the “average” the normal, or some kind of reasonable assumption of it.

How about sex addicts? Or let’s not even delve into the realm of addiction, it has such a tepid reception in many circles, and always demands the most attention in conversations after its utterance, no let’s keep it simple, and say we have people that are hyper-sexual, like at times of their lives, and clearly more so than at other times, but that once they reach adult hood, and enter into a regular relationship – they are often engaging in sexual activity daily, and masturbation is a major part of that, and they are doing it with, or without permission(s) from their partner. Swinging has it’s rules, and some people think it is just some kind of strange place, and it is, but that does not mean the people that participate are not people.

You are having sex every day, and most of the days, twice. There will be at least a half dozen personal “shots”, and you can have one great night of the quasi-sutra, or the 4 legs of Shibumi. 4 days is 8, you have the 6, a nice 4 pounder and now talking about 18-24/weekly. This would be on par with Fred Flinstone and Wilma for sure.

This takes the level to 1,248 experiences a year, for the more “hyper” individual and when you compare to that.

Holy fucking shit – 12. That is less than 1%.

Fuck Wall Street.

Occupy some Cock Avenue, or some Vagina Court.

You are part of the movement that has to make this world a better place.

Do it, but know. You are still going to pay for your own kids.

That is another topic all together.

*abide*

 

By

Shweaty balls promoting dolphin murders.

Want to feel like you are a kid again?  Connect with cool pen pals. The difference these days is syntax, so for brevity think ePals©. Yes, it kind of sounds like a a foot lotion, or some kind of cream for removing deep frostbite at the heights of exploration -which is why this episode of Kilimanjaro Executive, sponsored by Viagara©  and ePals© – helping all men in their mid-life prove they can still get it up, no matter how cold it is. This weeks warrior, now unemployed star of 30 Rock, Pete Schweaty, proves his balls can be enjoyed anywhere, at any temperature.

 

fetaman, iFeta, fetaChops, brinesanity, abide, cerebral anarchism

This story was broken by the Editor at CNN that had won the competition, to select the stories for the evening. But if you click this pick, after the opening click of course above the picture from the sponsors (sic). So thus indeed, begins the story of how we discovered Horace Redgrave, dolphin “puncher”. Sick, sick monkeys out there.

@CNN, good old Anderson Cooper and his crack team of 360°, which can come full circle form such great shows or pieces that question the 3 generations of prison camps in North Korea, and how amazing the human condition is, and then go right to the other spectrum with talking about the gruesome, horrible, incredible questions of the recent increase of several dolphins that have washed on shore in recent months. In fact he states, as he is about to show us this brilliant reporter selected to cover this massive news, global news, that in the last year as many as 10, yes, 10 of these large fish found shot, sliced open, or mutilated.

We hear and see Officer Leo Degeorge, of the Mississippi Department of Marine Resources, tell us how these disturbing boardings of vessels work, actually having to board the pirate boats of the Mississippi, looking for the murderers. Ed Lavandera was looking for answers damn it, and he was looking to find out, how between January-November of 2012, 7 slain dolphins have washed ashore.

Now, we are told, two more have washed ashore in the last two months, and amazingly, a third head of one. But now I begin to get confused, does this mean they cannot even claim a third dolphin? Or are they saying they are, because I would have to disagree. When I was young, just a wee curd, we learned real math, and you round down. I mean, either in size, or weight, the head of a dolphin is not 50% of the mass, so yeah, stay with 9 CNN. Seriously, your credibility and all.

We are told, by Ed at this point that the OTIC (the One Thing In Common technique of questioning he had learned at the Bora Bora CNN Forensic Reporting – CSI* Retreat, code named for the cocktail Cyber Smoke) is that all of the dolphins, or parts there of, have washed along the shores of this big chunk of land that water smashes into, around which a fuck load of dolphins swim. But they are being mutilated, all signs point to intentional killing and some kind of perversion, or slaughter.

Investigating all of this, providing feedback to an entire federal commission known as NOAA (the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) is Moby Solangi, Ph.D. of the IMMC (Institute for Marine Mammal Studies) an organization as impressive and powerful as it’s name suggests. I mean look at that website, seriously – this is prime time shit folks. Right there for the masses to suck on the tit of intelligence, come get your milk, daddy is home.

Ok, so let’s stay on focus here, this one guy, Moby right, reports to the public it is “deranged, senseless and repugnant”.

Pictures “too graphic” to show. Big news. Wow. How could one individual, hold on there captain Ouija squid, is a Ouija squid a mammal? Eh? But, ok, you can predict it was one person, let’s use the ubiquitous (for the folks that believe that a value meal has nutrition, that is like an all in one value meal, that is less than $3.29, with taxes in, and will meet all of your nutritional requirements according to the Federal Reserve People’s Drive Thru Information Centre for the Study of Fat Mammals who may or may not Have Bull Balls Dangling on Truck Hitches) he, no woman would do this after all, must be stopped. We can not tolerate this.

The federal investigators, the teams that had examined the other incidents, ruled that it was not some deranged killer, that they were not connected, but somehow the findings may have changed. The findings of the powerful scientific teams, may have cause for suspicion, but they can only report the facts.

But although the dolphins died, could they not have been mercy killings? I am not one to condone cruelty to animals in any regard, and if we had some kind of grainy footage of some kind of global video camera, to make sure this perversion would never occur, I am sure mankind would give up freedom to be able to know that this kind of travesty would never exist.

The dolphins, this glorious fish, that swim around the boat – this beautiful boat on patrol – the friends of all the people on this glorious island that could double as a family get away, or an exclusive jaunt into the wet, hot, well trimmed bushes swaying in the wind moments that two peers may share together…this place where all the islanders are asking about how and what could be happening to all their dolphin friends – it is a mysterious place.

You can barely hear the end of the clip, as it fades into the distance with the murmurs of the olives, speaking and greeting each other for the afternoon tea. Yes, these islands care, and before they have their marTini (yes, they are clever with words, and you will never notice the capital T in their accent, unless you are cultured enough to do so) the barrier island philanthropists ensure their staff have properly trained even the olives for the cordial ritual of gin bukkake.

It is only proper.

This world is fucked.

Humans dying, families hungry – but headless dolphins. Well played CNN, well fucking played – wow, some things just make you say, are you kidding me, it was like a 5 minute story, and some kind of major issue. Why would someone do this, this “predator” – are you fucking serious. Sometimes, you just have to realize that CNN is just as fucked as a good Twitter account. All of your news is like some kind of mad array of tweets, some good, and many bad, with different lengths, but the credibility of one statement, can crush all that you have worked for.

On the other hand, if you have some laughs, and realize that yes, the entire above is a play on an feta-ized type of story, or flash humour, and references how ironic it is that we are watching and caring about this, when the economic fate of the world is wrestled over by large debt clocks, missiles that can now actually cross the sea (*as opposed to the launch in 1969, so grand and never repeated, it happened, I am sure or it…) and man kind is falling to a level where we regard the life of a dolphin, and the mysterious “murders”, so troubling, more important than the 52 killings of humans, back in March, 2012 in Chicago where the violence was more than twice as many as died in the previous March. For the first three months of the year, the number of deaths shot up by 60 percent, raising fears that authorities were losing control of some gang-dominated areas.

So we have 52 people, in one month, die. Killed, not accidents, not some kind of heart attacks, or vicious cigarette harpoons to the fucking lungs – nope. Pure, calculated, knowing, cold blooded murder and of people. Living breathing, people, who were only victims of one crime.

Being born in a crazy fucking place. In some circumstance, and maybe just not even knowing, that they too are like animals. To be killed, like the generals and the masses.

I am not here to make a political statement on the wars, or the killing overseas for the sake of oil and energy, and power. Fuck, I am not some kind of crazy militant that wants to engage in the war that the Coca-cola drinking anarchists quench their rebel yells with, nor am I willing to comment on the validity of a god, one greater than the other.

But I am going to say, that no matter what you believe, and how you feel, and where your priorities lay, disguised, known or not.

No fucking way you can argue dolphins deaths, is anywhere near as important of the other millions, if not billions of other stories that should go into the big power ball/bingo drum in the sky, with a free chance to get the hairdryer as consolation, if you lose, but at least one of those other more important balls has to come out.

Just jingle some shiny keys, and watch them come running.

*abide*

 

Note: for all researchers wishing to further identify, or understand the motives behind a genuine ape, that claims to see no, hear no, and speak no evil, but writes well – you be the judge. Horace Redgrave can be found here.

By

blunt abide

accomplishments are never to be forgotten, and singular acts of passion are just that.  not reflections of a man, so much as a snapshot of a moment, driven by the millions of bulbs that flash in the collided scope of dimensions that surround six degrees of seperation.

don’t call upon another’s walk, unless willing to be bound.

don’t carry attitude, angst and aggression on mahogany fields surrounded by ides of marching phyllum – and not be held at the belly of the blade.

fuck it, and them.

haters gonna hate.

brine gonna brine.

*abide*

By

El Insecto

fetaman, fetaChops, fetaChop, brinesanity, iFeta, fetacabulary, raw, fuck liars

All pictures are a project, and hanging them, has very little to do with shame, and everything to do with how you choose to tie your own room together.

A door sliding open with the tender interest in allowing her to pass the cold steel with the blink of an eye, leaving it in her cloud of confidence, as she framed the single click of her heel seconds before the carpet captured her imprint as a cushion.

It was not possible to forget the red on the balance sheet did not seem so pleased to see, but she was able to begin to feel the sepia yellow that had been created by the silicon and the new lights the corporation had put up. It was almost unbearable on those other days, when she came here to stay, before.

The walk was a tempo, a calm union of a pearled brass circle that hummed with the touch of the brush. Long legs, and beautiful straps that were the call of many to their death at the boardroom table, or at the annual holiday events, assured themselves of the reasons they had been told to carry on.

The environment was clean, always is. That is why she racked up so many points, being away from the family. Her husband.

What a fucking asshole.

This was just one of the things she had to do, to keep the family together. It was all just part of the game.

There was never a chance of her being seen here. This was her special place, and she was able to freely touch any string she wanted to. Like the days she used to sing her own song, not having to wait for another to catch the same note. The tones were always right, and she was to tune the way she wanted to.

This was her symphony, and she was paid to take charge of mitigating the discomfort, and bringing in its stead, a calming glory that is understood only when the lines are drawn by hand.

She had time, and undressed. She would take a bath, and take advantage of the perks. Olive oil fusion, bringing the branch that would be held, and imagined as such, closer to his truncated fantasies. Scratching the window to an inner soul, hoping the mark is aural.

The rustling of the bushes of the bushes would never be heard over the trees. The forest was a place that was filled with all things natural, and it was natural to feel loved again. To feel wanted. To turn to the words of a stranger, and feel a love, and a closeness, different than any other kind you could even imagine, would mean having to perform, and she ached to perform.

It was her calling, and the audience that she had admitted to her seen, was no longer one that could satisfy her as a woman. A muse, that was capable of enchanting and thrilling.

Duration was always her focal point. Longevity, in life, in love, in lust, holding it to some kind of imaginary light, hoping to understand how long it would last, as she liked it, knowing that it was just like her own bit alias. It was her, who felt somewhat timid in trying to reach out to literal strangers, for direction and advice, but never having been a timid woman, she approached it with some discretion and a scalpel forged of caution.

Any limb catching anything that could cause harm to the body, was a severance gladly paid for a compensated reality, more blessed without it.

Mens. Fucking. Rea.

She sat and looked at the delicate rubber ducky, and thought of her child. This precious being that she had created, her forced smile came naturally. Intelligent conversation, and humor, is never a bother. Again, it is, just what was.

The door had been left open, and he knew it would be. It was nunca saldre de ella, he was in it. That was what made the experience such a dance.

He wanted the full GFE. There was little else there was time for, and somehow, it created the stir. A magic longing, for this creature, so small, so dirty, so indestructible, that you had to both despise and lust for it.

It was just natural.

Keeping it out in that kind of open, them, and watching people just pass by it all – kind of like a Coelhoen way, of being the way, that some write.

Maktub.

It is over, and somehow, never ends.

*abide*

By

How deep is your love?

I know your eyes in the morning mall
I feel you touch me in the pouring sales
And the moment that you wander from the aisle
I wanna feel you at my register again

And you come to me with your summer tee’s
Keep you warm in the winter with Gortex sleeves
And it’s me you need to blow

How deep is your Fed
I really need to learn
Cause you’re living in a world of fools
Breaking you down
When they all should let us be
We long to shop, you and me

I believe in blue
You know the door to a season’s soul
You’re the light in the deepest, darkest tower
You’re my cash when credit falls
And you may not think
I care for you
When you know down inside
That I really don’t
And it’s me you need to grow

How deep is your cred
You really need to learn
The machine tolerates no fools
Breaking you down
When you all should let cogs be
We long to consume, you for me

*Lyrics adapted from: How Deep is Your Love, The Bee Gees

I am a reader, like you, of many different publications, and my taste could be called as eccentric as some of the writing I review and participate in, much like yourselves. Yes, you. The reader that has come here to find something that is going to be considered in a different perspective, and as such, is to be a reward for doing so. We all love being considered unique, and intelligent, and quite frankly would agree, that yes, humans love rewards. They are good things, and they often come with results that revolve around tangible things, and because we are intelligent species, we also know, that these rewards can be benefits that are softer, or can not be touched, except through a sensual realm we would all recognize upon discourse.

So we love the material world, we have heard and seen so much of this, that we could point to the animation series interpretations, or watch 30 Rock, hoping to see vanity affirm that after 6:00 p.m., only animals do not wear tuxedos. We relish in the stories of the Walter White hero, who has to not only fight his cancer, but his urge to have to do whatever he had to do, in order to survive and try to provide for his family. The change to his character is based on ensuring his family lives well, unlike his life until that point, struggling to provide a living, as opposed to super charged, spoiler, cocaine fueled, metallic stallions.

Kenny “fuckin’” Powers becomes a lore that pervades the musings and wanderings of a generation that no longer needs books or lockers, as much as they do the size of the hard drives, and the access to speed and cloud resources, that their elders possess and keep hallowed with the same gyrations of outcomes if they were so blessed as to have been Kenny. Shame, the supporting characters were not as prominent, or we never got a chance to talk to the faceless extra’s on the set – they are the one’s that make up the real story.

No? The characters are “you” right?

You can completely relate to Scarface, and Goodfellas, and of course, Bond? Ladies, amazed at the intelligence and insight from Oprah, or the CSI detective, strong and intelligent, but passionate, bold woman?

My river can run as deep as the pitcher’s of beer, or as long as the papers have glue to stick it all together, but let’s just say for brevity sake (*yeah, sarcasm and self indulgent smirk included at this point in my frant (c), a Feta-rant) at the very least, see “just” about every show, every media report, every thing we ever see, whatever that is – comes with a desire to be seen, for some kind of recognition, or gain. Some kind of material want, we “justly” get it.

The time has come to consider how amazing this new generation could be, and what the difference may be in their approach to life, that will surely be different than the one occupying Main St., USA, today.

There is never going to be another time in history, where we step back from the advancements of what we have now. At the very least, the most incredibly important things, like water, food, electricity, media now…all will be provided, and ensured, because we are not animals. We are not filthy, disgusting animals that lick their own assholes, we may lick another’s for fetish reasons, or in order to actually be able to progress in that job, that gives me another 15 minutes of spare time to stare at a cinderblock wall, floating away on a magical device that stimulates the mental holograms I need like crack to get through the day, but licking my own asshole is not only not possible, it is not even a desire.

I am an intellect. I am worthy of high praise, I am the human specimen – well, I am the Fetaman, really a man made of cheese, and has all of the properties of being human, and has lived as one his whole life not even being understood as such, but he is made of pure feta and brine, and sure as the words you are reading here, I too am not only capable of logic and reason, and laughter, and good masturbation jokes, but I am in your category perhaps, so let’s just say we are all worthy of this high praise.

We deserve all of these goods, and have earned them, and once we have gotten at least the basics undertaken, in this “re-matrix” animation, making sure we do not advance backwards from the first physical needs, we will stay alive, as a human race, prioritizing with the same urgency as a mongrel horde, or the living creation of a blanket of black lesions representing a historic map that nearly wiped out the greatest creation the universe has seen.

We fail to really focus on the importance of clothing, in the realm of survival, we take it for granted, we are entitled to have all of these items, it is what makes us better than the wolves or the lions, or the donkeys. Exposed privates, and that whole natural survival thing, no, we can save that for the National Geographic shows, or those of us that really like the outdoors, and they can do their Mountain Equipment Co-op thing, or use their down filled parka’s in the desert to catch a new sand tic that may reveal the location of the Ark, or some tablets – we have the technology to read this tic’s DNA, and it will be plugged into the same computer than can calculate an estimate of something not humanly possible, based on the roll of the random number generated outputs, and their collective intelligence, so we should use it.

But clothing – never.

It is a basic necessity, and as such, helps us define what the place of ourselves is, relative to our friends, peers, and the unionized collective. I know, you may be thinking I am being a little harsh here, with the whole “union” reference, but it kind of works right? We have a communist leader example we can use here, that is the solution according to so many of the anarchists, and the intelligent ones who have now figured out the importance of keeping pubis trimmed to close, and looking good. (*hint: the answer is webcams, and the spatial ratio of projection relative to light sources and intoxicant combinations during certain phases of media transfer as recognized by alpha bio nutrient fueled Intelligence Gel (c) as provided in standard new born birthing, post 1984.) so why not run with it. The lead communist leader has the best uniforms, and the top members also have nice badges, and medals and things that you sew on to the traditional garb, and voila, we now have a visual class system.

It allows us to not only be seen differently, it can also be a measure of how the economy is doing. This is the basic thought behind much of the media today, not necessarily specifically only about clothing, but hard goods, spending, the acquisition of the more important things in life, like a fine sound system, and killer useful Christmas presents. Badass speed, NASCAR speed spending – you got a sticker, we got a place to put it. So let’s measure some stickers, according to a piece I noticed on BusinessInsider.com titled “The 10 Cities Where Americans Spend The Most” that was written by Mike Dang, based on Bundle information, amongst other sources.

I had been fascinated by the original article I had seen (*this truly an intelligent piece, and is food for thought for those of you willing to reap what you sowThe State of the Internet.), and just closed it planning on commenting, or writing about some of the thoughts going through my head, maybe simplify it, break it down to a 140 character context. Look for 20 word outputs that may be “flashes of brilliance” that the masses to know, I mean, I like you need to be heard, and I am so damn important, I should not even have to work or pay taxes, that way I could contribute with my amazing and brilliant ideas, and make the world a better place…*headscratch*

The top 100 cities of America were randomly surveyed, according to a wandering dalliance, and yes, so unique, what do the 18 million American “shopaholics look like”? Fascinating stuff, yes, we will be able to tell so much about the world with this data, it has never been considered before. But we shall be tricky say the survey takers, we will outsmart them, with the simple questions, asking them about vague memories or very firm ones, that range will be great amongst the union classes from office to conveyor belt, that revolve around household expenditure on shoes, clothing and other wear. The authors gathered the findings, which include input from the wonderful machine known as Citi, and voila, I had some good chuckles at the manipulated and telling tale, of the truth that was chosen to be shared, but why it was shared, and why you react the way you do, hell, I am no fucking Kreskin (*remember, a man made of feta “headscratch*).

Simply, the article lists the 10 cities. Quick, easy to read format as you see, based on a quick set of virtual slides, on the proprietary software. All you have to do is click the arrow, and another surprise city announcement comes to you. If you are one of the people in the city that look at those numbers and smirk, is that a weekly average? Well, you are one special human, right? Maybe you can email me, and we can become friends, and share Instagram shots of the items we just had to have.

*mouthing the words “email me” as I type this, just not sure if the webcam caught it, or you were multitasking, so yeah, email me*

I summarized the general findings, in this first picture. Consider it a simplified info-graphic that uses that old-fashioned translator, math. I know, out there. Here we see a couple of interesting things, in one snapshot that takes the mental calculations out of it. Wanted to keep it easy, or perhaps guide you on the journey of the information, in a form that makes my message seem both relevant, and validated.

How Deep is Your Love - Part I

Go ahead, I am sure you are nodding at how simple this all appears right?

At the numbers that were used, the annual spends look to be a little on the high side, but this is acceptable, we are talking about the top 10 cities from the spending side, and 5 of those cities are in California, and Texas. Makes sense, with the large population centers, and the corporate developments. This is pretty good stuff. The other cities, seem to fit, sure, some retirement oriented, older, well established family stuff. Nothing to see here, or be surprised at, it is like the telephone number on the bathroom stall. Good for a quick dip into the imagination, or filed into the memory bank, and off you go to wash your hands at the sink. On to the next one…

Not so fast.

I did not pass over the information so fast. I have my own reservations, and thoughts on a number of things, and like many began this conscious stream of thought, that had me starting off with assuming the questioning and the professionalism of the survey, and the data was prepared properly. That is was handled by an intern, that was managed by a boss, that was managed by a Board, that reported to the shareholders, about the shit that they sold them on and off the books.

I am going to remain “real” on what my thoughts on this are, and I have stated it before, the numbers will tell you whatever you want them to, so asking them to tell you what you want, is an art. Let’s assume we can appreciate this form of “art”. Consider it like a logo, or a brand – that is art, and that is another topic.

I copied the cities into a workbook, and used the data to project, or assume a couple of straight line valuations, that were logical. If we took the monthly average, and simply multiplied by 12, we would have an annual spend. So taking the simple average of all the cities, voila, we have a magical average that can be multiplied to show us about $2,749 in actual spending, and about $3,573 of gross earnings, at a 30% tax rate assumption.

I know, nothing too surprising here, hopefully there are more of us that do that, then don’t, but I do not think that is the case based on the numbers of people that are capable, willing, and time enabled to consider more than the 30 seconds of city pictures, and a number that ranges from $200-260/month.

Who cares about the sixty dollars a month difference, that is not that much. But I disagree, that is $15/week, and for some, that is the difference between eating, or not, being able to get the medical attention or medication they need, or not. I am not going to get into my theory on what my role is in that, or yours. I am a proponent of the gulch, and I abide. I own my miles, and I expect anyone else that can, to do just that. Own them yourself. I am going to confirm however, that you will know the wealth, or the respect one has for it, when they are aware of these small things, for it will be them, that will amount to great returns.

This is something most barber’s know, but keep it a secret so you can keep paying them in cash, and in kind.

Now consider the “other side” of that, in the growing sense, that equals about $720/year difference. That is net spending, and gross income, or the spin off economic benefits not included or required here, to illustrate the difference that this amount of money could make in someone’s life, over a decade. Sure, you are not going to want to have another $28,000 plus compound returns over 4 decades. You would rather light your candles with a scented match at least you can eat the memories when the pension promised by the machine is no longer available, adequate or palatable.

Is the machine the state? A corporation?

People?

How Deep is Your Fed - Part II

With less than a couple of weeks to blow any holiday budget, and love to prove with the shopping still left, shoppers will be in a mad rush to snatch up last-minute gifts for friends and family, at debt levels never seen before. But, alas, tis the season to chant prosperity again, for all no doubt.

*this is that moment live, where I literally will either smirk/smile/laugh, or outright get up and walk away in order to not cause your ego to falter, or worse, be slaughtered in the name of the fodder needed for the Brine Diaries.*

I then included a couple of categories, and thought, yes, indeed this works.

This is the way that I think now that I am older, and past my desire to drop the $3,000 on the suits, and material goods. In fact, pretty glad I am one of these next door neighbor types that you have no clue about, just an eccentric in a robe, sipping milk all day, smoking bohemian tobacco, and they can still do what they want, but we have another subset of the population that needs to be considered, and that is going to hold a surprise revelation for some, and a chuckle for others.

These categories include the number of pairs of shoes one would typically buy in a year (*do I have to buy some, I have some I want to give away – but maybe will box, and store and use when these ones blow out, thankfully I do not have the nacho cheese feet my cousin Jesus Raul Tacropolis complains his wife has, and fellow country folk possess), the number of t-shirt/golf shirts (*I do not golf so much anymore, well never did, cause cheese is not permitted to actually play golf, only on the course for consumption or male entertainment when some of us are cut as a buddy is about to tee off, but I am a devout purchaser of 1970/80’s black and white concert t-shirts), the number of casual shirts (*most of these include the Olive on Horseback logo of Ralph Lathitovrathi, and come in all kinds of colors and shades, but I am a sucker for putting on a fine bunch of oil, at night, and hoping for a sweet salad tossing), the number of dress shirts (*as most of my time is consumed by trying to do anything that revolves around bowling, my shirts are dressy, when Fetaman is on the left chest, mine are all orange mostly, but I do have a few decades worth that are still in fine form, and circulations) and finally, various or other (*the feta-string thongs, boxer chongs, silk socks and comfortably hand pulled, organic cotton from the poppy fields of Afghanistan, etc.)

I assumed a certain cost to these items, based on the classical separation of low (*which is much different than poverty line), middle and high. I think they are not indicative of the “real” numbers when we look at the whole range, but remember, we are talking about the human calculator consideration here, and how quickly this occurs, would be scary to some of you still reading this. For others it is as simple to understand, as drinking water. It is the way you drink water.

Now, I think that 4 pairs of shoes a year is pretty “outlandish”. Not sure who you are, or what you do that you need this many, but it may be a fair number considering we are talking about households here, and this number is for the average alone. Do not try to compound this thinking, or this argument with how many people live in the house, and what they do, or what their upbringing was and how it relates – just keep this simple, be who you are – the selfish, self-absorbed, narcissistic, example of someone that must have all of these things, to define who you are. Like the playlist on your iPod defines exactly what you would express to the world, if you could – you so deserve to sing your song, sweet butterfly, so lovely and willing to mingle with the moths that come from the meadow, a gulch over there, so bland and dreary, and negative.

Yes, you are right. Bland, dreary, negative gulch.

I did keep the numbers simple, because that is how they come. The two I had a burp with, a little burp ok, not a belch, or some kind of rancid wrestling match, were the number of the various items that one would use (I mean this would include the socks and shit) and the cost of these items, as mentioned above, what makes them “real” or what could become a standard number according to news, and various other sources and reflections. So that is what you get.

What is interesting, is the second picture seen above. Here I have added a number of things that become glaringly incompetent to me, in the presentation of the information. In fact, I am so offended by how brash this is to attempt to pull off, that it is only upon reflection, that I am able to catch myself in the Maxwell Smart moment, where the shoe is held to my ear, and I am listening to the special instructions. Of course, the information is meant to be only indicative, just a news tidbit, or sound bite, that is all.

Sure, like the small pieces of stone that fell from the grate, when Frank Morris taught us how raincoats and dimes could translate into freedom, and he deserved it, he had a tough sentence, he deserves some pathos, we understand the story, and it is a good one.

He was a criminal that did bad things, that was locked away for life. He was bad, but we feel good, in knowing he was able to get away from the machine, from the system, from the man that would be so cruel as to take paint and crush flowers?

The picture I paint is one that asks, what the distribution of the population looks like? How this is impacted by the disparity in income, as well as along a geographic segmentation? What do the worst cities look like, is there any spending there? Are people killing each other every day to eat, and be able to survive – is there tension in Chicago, or in DC? How about Los Angeles, the city of angels?

I take the averages used for the year, break it down into a month, and then see that the lowest of earners, will be far less than the top cities spend, but that is to be expected. They still however need to eat, and that too, will have a different standard disparity. They will all pay for the water and the power, but the quality of the service, and the measurement of it, will be different for a small business and the larger corporation, just as it is for a low income family and the better off, for lack of needing to diminish any more worth’s. Media, that is absolute – entertainment is seen to be the luxury CUV.

The Cerebral Utility Vehicle *duh*

All of this, so you could frant about the material world, and what it means.

No, all of this so I could laugh at one thing, that I seem to think is so fucking obvious to me, and I am amazed at how ridiculous of a concept it is to have to point out. Bean by bean the sack gets full. Seconds flow into years, and then your life is filled with what you have made of it.

Right?

Well after 30 years, assuming you spend the first 15 learning the right things about what money means, and what it takes to earn it. You then are able to trade your earned money for the things you want, thanks to a common currency or exchange methodology, and live a happy life. The rich people, realize that to be rich, you need the first two as a solid foundation combined with the abilities and desires, the purpose, you have, which is to make more money, by having other people make it for you. Regardless of the later, which you may discover sooner or later in life, everyone in this scenario will then have had 15 years of living.

That is 60 pairs of shoes, and jeans, and even more if the illustrated numbers are not reflective of your consumption pattern, and I can assure you, those numbers are not really me. Fuck, I have jeans I have been wearing for a decade now, and they may not be the kind I want to attend a formal dinner in, but then again, I decide what I want to wear, and why, especially if the invite uses the term “formal.”

In my gulch, that has an entirely different meaning. Swingers of a different money sort, with claws and fangs, according to those who are entitled to more, and not less – nature is not fair, is it?

You have all of these things, that somehow matter, that somehow are more important than making sure the life you lead, utilizes the most important things to you…after the basics are covered. After the necessities have become no longer bare coverage, but reasonable and just coverage. No home is to be without water, power and cable TV. All internet is to be faster than the collective bounding of a steam fired locomotive, and clothing is just as important?

The state of the infrastructure market, has been something that I have been involved in for decades, it facilitated where I am today, and provides for what I want to do. I was blessed to be so fortunate to get into it, coming from the family of hardship, and wooden spoons. It was something that was a passion, and that I worked at.

Of course, as mentioned on the site, and in my writing, I have been along the way of the $300 ties, and $700 cufflinks. I no longer am there, by choice.

By the choices I made, when I considered the impact, on my life in the future, if I continued to not respect wealth for what it really is. If I continued to recklessly throw the money I had earned, and now was becoming desensitized to, around in the same way I had begun my post-graduate ways, I was going to have to spend the rest of my life, as a slave to the machine, and in order to merely ensure I could buy the things I want to impress other’s with, even if they did not really matter to the quality of my life so much, as long as they were important enough to have me recognized. Rewarded with the smile at the light, when my 500 AMG purred next to the Rabbit.

I eventually got to a point, where I had to remember from where I had come, and knowing from the experiences in my life, that the 48 jeans, or the 200 t-shirts, or the hundreds of socks, are not going to be there for me to eat, or live with, if, and when, a tragedy might come.

Bankruptcy – it was a bad decision, but if you learned from it, then you will recover, and until then, no problem, look at your pretty jeans. You realize you can’t eat them, and you know you will be lucky to get $5 at the second hand clothes store, I mean, you wore them only twice, and they cost you $300…good investment, in fact, fuck investment, great life planning. Guess no one ever told you about this, or you are the victim, because it was the machine, the evil wars, the corporations that did this to you – terrible, I know.

Cancer – well, this is something I can speak of, easily. Whether the doctor’s tell you the cancer is new, or back, or terminal, do not worry if you are one of these clothing, material spending types. Good food? Fuck it, have to look good. How? The solution is easy, and can be found in the third episode, of Season 1 of “Sex in the City”, and like the BusinessInsider.com article references, these shopaholics have it all figured out (*hint – the cure involves good shoes, casual sex as a result of good pharma coupons and fabulous, well priced fashion selections and accessories)

Criminal charges – no worry, if you fall into this category because you were framed, or you got caught having to do what you needed to do, to live? Not going to be an issue, you clothes will make you a hipster upon your release, and the gymnastics training undergone in the watering steam caves, or deep in the bowels of the lower bunk, will surely provide some lean, mean, tax free income upon your release, and the releases of your newest “friends”. Society has deemed you to be a criminal, forever.

I could likely move into the next phase of the math, do some more pictures, and fill in the cells on the workbook. But I don’t want to talk about how $500 a month, makes a huge difference in your life. Most people should be able to see that by now, you would think. The fiscal cliff talks should have more people aware of where they are, and the impacts they are going to see, and feel, when the trough begins to slam shut and the free meals are proven to not be free.

If you saved that $6,000 a year, flat line, for 40 years, and invested it, what amounted to literally less than $20/day, that figure is straight lined at $240,000. Compounded at whatever you want it to be. But if over that period of time, you spent $2,000,000, and have a negative net worth, on paper?

Maybe, not so much.

There is no fucking growth, in any capacity, if it has all been financed by debt. If you made $100, and owe $1,000 – you made nothing, other than a life of misery for yourself.

If you continue to do that, to owe the man, or the Shylock, or the pimp on the street, or the mobster the money you earn, to pay back more and more of the money you used, to get things that don’t matter, or maybe have not remained as important in life as you think they do?

You are one smart cookie. <looks around for stick to throw>

But, running faster towards death, with more debt, means when you die, you will at least have enjoyed some lovely clothes that you never even had to fully pay for.

You win. Your life has had great meaning, cool.

See you in hell.

I will be there on the tour bus passing through. What? No, it’s not really a bus, so much as a motor home, I saved for it in this life, knowing I would want to roll like that in the afterlife. It’s kind of like the same reason I remained frugal here in order to get my diamond bowling ball set, Saint Karabatsos has got a wicked team together, and there is no way I am letting him beat me, especially if it means not having to buy any more shoes. Fucking hate shoes, they just cramp my toes, and make my feet smell like nachos.

Oh sorry, did not notice.

Yes, of course, your shoes look so wonderful and pretty.

I wish I could afford the wealth you possess.

*abide*

By

Jesuit angry raccoon.

“If you’re going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you’re going to be locked up.”

Hunter S. Thompson

By

Tuesday two steppin’

Photobucket

I think this whole thing is a joke, and no one wants to speak out about it…why to avoid hurting poker? No the only way we are going to accept what the truth is with what has happened, is to be able to accept that what happened has happened, but do not try to fucking make me be an absolute asshole and believe that you did not know about separate accounts, or the need to keep your business, separate from the bitch you sleep beside? Really, so you are married – I was not speaking about your wife in the first place, so that folks do not think I was being cryptic, or evasive, really.

Fuck, and you sat on a board, that had all of this “common sense” – you are fucking poker player’s man, no one wants to compare you to a fucking CEO dude, you are a poker player, with some smart friends, that managed to make sure that the ultimate uber-level, this fantastic “usual suspects” (*does this strike a nerve, am I going to get some kind of ninja assassin to come back over to my place and just simply kill me?)

Holy shit, I can not believe I am watching this shit transpire, and I am at the 29:14 mark of the second video, and I had to do this, and then somehow tie it back to my site, the same kind of shit happened, with the wrong one’s getting the lime light, and somehow, the one’s that did all the work got fucked – sounds like some kind of bad WSOP tournament outcome…fucking jiving me?

Fucking joke, but then again, so is society, it is some bastard child that came out of the ass of Mary herself after she got pegged by Satan’s sister with a strap-on, a crucifix, a dead child hanging off her necklace, and laughing tax-man taking more than your soul to pay these bills.

Wow – this can be a real fucking gig, but there will be ZERO tolerance. The fucking liars, the cheats, the fucking pricks that do not simply stand there and say, yeah, it was a fucking gruesome bullshit taco – but someone needed to eat it, and I did not want to, nor do I – what do you want me to do? Wear a fucking carrot suit? I will, just make Annie the fucking broccoli.

I am guilty by association if I lay in a den of crack addicts, and this man can have stood at the alter of licking the cheat salt of the choda of Christ, well Jesus, and we now get to watch some half-assed attempt at a fucking Nixon tapes twat “asking the hard questions” – wow, I can’t believe I had to sign up here to do it, and I can assure you, TG the reason, not that fucking pussy licking the balls of the real dog now.

Say it like you mean it, and be true to it.

lmao  *e-thug sign inserted here*

fucking bullshit.

I really wonder if he will look that fucking good in prison – please, just stop this bullshit about giving folks the goods, when they provide some goods back to the right department – this is law? This is common sense? This is the reason that we get to advance a society and hope that we can make a real difference?

Yeah, funk and games.

What a fucking well orchestrated script eh? I mean, a genuine re-re-re-re-re-re-re – fuck, exponent, unreal dimension raise.

Who else could convince him to come back to actually do this sitting with the right ‘reporter’?

Really, you can not stand in front of a jury of respected peers, or minds and answer this question?

It will be too hard?

Like the nights you left the other’s sleepless wondering how the followed down this road of learned wisdom and followings from other’s only to come to the same realization that Locke did? I would think that is my Locke of the day right now in fact, thank you very much. As I sit here and listen to some of the shit that you are spewing, as the corner of the screen hinders my vision from your eye’s time to time, fret not, I will come back and watch this again, and again – how many times?

I am not sure, does it matter? You are going to always be the same, the words, are always going to mean what you want them to, and when you try to seek the mighty banhammer, the God’s will surely find a quick hand to lay down on your breath, and shush you back to sleep.

Fuck.

Making me puke, but then again, the idiot’s, the fool’s, the lemmings – they all grow, the move down the stream, do they remember the readings from mr. t. caum? Do they recall they scandals of the last spawn?

Do they remember the rubbing of sticks to create fire, as they heat the knife of Mac, who ran off with cheese to create a fortune, a fraction of a noodle and dehydrated curd at a time?

Woe is me fine sir, I have sat there, did not know that at 2:14 of the third episode, this douchebag could actually say, we “were never shown” that, or for that matter “no shareholder, was ever shown that…” – oh the mystery of the fine silk

So are you claiming here that you never saw “that particular” one, or something like it in fact? That you never even inquired about how that state of affairs might be – that as Rome was fucking burning, somehow, you sat there pretending your ass and thumb could create another great “iron-tard” competition to see how man tards would lift the weight of time, and health, and sleep, and effort, and study, and play – to become an IronTard © for FTP VPP’s…yes, you can become a Zeus Factor Player, simply keep passing us cash, and we will keep selling you gas, as we grope your wife’s ass, and then look around the life you lead for more sass…Jordan, one fine river, no?

Are you for fucking real Howard? I mean, please at least wear some kind of skull and crossbones fucking flag across your forehead to declare you are a dickhead, a major fucking mark of wtf on the IQ of the intelligent one’s, but don’t put me in that category…do you really think that somehow I would fall for it, and do something that may make me regret my last breath – like deposit on FTP after this?

I love the fucking game, it is fun, but it is not my life, and I will not let my life get taken by it – I will be entertained, I will win by luck or by crooked fate falling on the fucking cunts that try to bypass Abide Blvd.

The truth is, you can get to your Boulevard of Broken Dreams, with passing Abide.

You fight it, and it – well, it eats you only if you are lucky enough to have eaten the bar in the first place, sarsaparilla in hand or not…

I know this is jumping and I will go back and fill in some more of the review on the second go, but is he saying around 4:50 (3) that he is “offended” as a BOD, that he was “never made aware of this” – are you fucking kidding me – you KNOW it went into a 9-digit range, and then sit back and state, oh yeah, well, we should have seen some paper come across the desk, or at least the Bat signal go off…

You are a genuine con man dude. A fucking pos, that happened to hit some money with poker, and ran like a fucking con-man running well and now, I really do hope, not for the sake of poer, or letting many lemmings, as well as some real, innocent and genuine people – no I hope for the sake of humanity, pieces of shit like you are fed to wolves. For entertainment, the same way you can laugh with the champagne and the cars as you pass that poor bastard with the shopping cart heading into the caverns of the sewage you spew.

That way.
That same contempt, but mutated into my own malfeasance, covered with the icing of being able to know what a real fucking waste of space life has become.

Speaking of wasted space, I love the professional duckface leading up to 7:30 where he brushes off the “backlog” as well, would not have been an issue if we had money (insert slipper slope, or a slippery slope fallacy reference here for those that might appreciate the humor, and like a dog moving from side to side via it’s own tale) – yeah, we know we had small anecdotal stories about missing buy-ins, or couple days late with a syntax issue or digit issue from someone, no big woop – yes, that is a great place to draw a parallel – please, connect the 9 digits of backlog, with a “handful” of issues each day? Is that fair Howard?

Fuck you are good – did you do nothing but practice this off of the shit that Phil did post-UB? Look at him now, skating through it all, being so grand – is he not so pretty?

You can be too, just figure out what the old lady in the shoe was looking to do, and then move from there.

(*insert waterphone, or acid reference here, some kind of youtube video may be too long and ISP issue – go with quicker feta/fuck you asshole bullet…)

Oh yes, the 10th commandment was to use the world “clearly, they were hiding something in Dublin” – so let’s NOT go over there and ask questions, or fuck, based on the madness, even knock on the crack dealer’s door and inquire about any peculiar noises they may have heard – shit, you folks are crushing the DOJ, the State, the people – you can stare into those eyes, and repeat “well, what did YOU see?”

Say it enough times, and begins to sound like, well, what did you pee – no actually, it sounds like that almost right off the bat – I like turtles.

Same kind of logic, no?

We are far, there is an issue – bake cake, sing, dance – it is all good, see/hear/speak evil is so under-the-radar.

Pardon, how?

Easy, the amount of bullshit just piled so high, they had to move the radar higher, grown swell effect.

(*insert picture of ferris wheel, circus, some kind of funny show time/vaudeville bullshit – inject some laugh, this is getting pretty hardcore) – so onward, and I guess, supposed to be looking odd for using diff syntax, omg – like – totally…karma man – fucking chinks bombed us – sell them – steal fire – survive.

Where on the fucking scale are you, how do you think you are that much different than the rest of the world, and all it brought to this table.

Oh wait, yeah, you invented poker and how to scam.

Were you part of the original “star chamber”, or just the MLM off-shoot of it you got dragged into thanks to those negatives with you and Lee Jones, yeah a whole slew of pure pos-lemonade who know just how lovely, delightful, magnificent the blessing and parting are.

Salt atop a sardine, swim on top of swine. Toast with the most jam and the last butter on the block, and I do not mean the marlmelade or anything else like it.

Can you hear the words that are going to be coming fro your mouth, or have you closed you eyes and tried to at least type the last paragraph as yu prepare for you life in blindness.

Then they ask why so angry – because I am going blind, because I have the cancer, or the bad jeans, and somehow assholes like this fucking cunt, are allowed to walk.

LOL *head smack*

With a mess like this at 10:20, how was there still distributions? He is claiming innocence, post April 15 – “of course we need to find an investor, or fix this problem – if only we knew in Decemer or January…it was not us, it was HIM!”

Beware the drowing man selling you his shirt. He does not want to sell you the shirt.

I was never shown a balance sheet, or financial document that would have suggested we were in trouble, because if I had, my immediate finance senses, so keen and honed like the landing strips on our families genitalia, I would have been able to see that, to detect, like an investment banker the discrepancies…”

Um, you know how to catch bluff’s, if they are important, and you are in the game – how the fuck did you manage to not only miss the bluff, but the game in it’s entirety?

*shakes head*

SMACKS HEAD HARD – POV HST FUNERAL ROCKET

Brilliant – it was the game, a new game, more of a challenge, with 52 cards, played in sequence, in 13 separate universes…those will provide tangets we can cross over by blowing flour and honey dust over the beams…just don’t leave the memory stick behind…whatever you do.

*abide*

(fragment of the whole document…lol…message for complete version…maybe…)

By

Acid in brine

What @fuqtarded gig this is, all I was looking for was a ride, to get the rug man.

Fuqqin’ ties the room together dude.

Fucks Given Count:

#TeamFuqtarded 3,536,806,398,327,763,927,182,285 – Fetaman 0

(check mate?)

*abide*