The Whinge: “In georgia we had anty communist, anty russian goverment in 2003-2012. they remooved EVERY communist celebration day, to destroy affiliation with kremlin culture. They also reformed 1-5 note systems in scool. Even changed amount of classes in scools. It sounds weird, but if you have border with russia, you should cut every tie with them, or kremlin will use your own people against you! Russia is danger as long it leader is KGB thug from sovjet union.”
The Video:
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Left: Wenher Von Braun – American | Right: Nazi Scum
Every once in a while I stumble across some comment calling Putin a: “KGB Thug!”. Today, a thought I feel worth sharing occurred to me as I once again stumbled across this fragrantly ‘woke’ turd.
Pray tell, o ye butthurtformer Soviet sattelites, McCarthyists, and shitlibs:
Where the hell do you expect countries to get their leaders from?
Isn’t America and the world at large filled with former intelligence and military people at every level?
Didn’t Wernher Von Braun actually operate a concentration camp? (Not entirely sure but it’s not outside the realm of possibility.)
So you can’t even demand that leaders have no former affiliation with troublesome entities.
Are we supposed to pluck people from the ground like turnips. Or is there some ether, where we can pull folks experienced in statecraft and military operations, that are wholly unaffected by the dominant political forces in their region for the past century?
Fuck off.
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One event that has sustained emotional resonance is that evening on the outskirts of Moscow. I was a kid of six or so. It was 1995ish and my mother and I were ferried to some bestial monument to Brutalism in a creme colored Soviet Era drandulet.
As we approached the long low apartment complex shrouded in trees and twilight I noted an eerie passage to some inky basement.
My mother mentioned something about the spirit of death lingering there. And we scurried past the monstrosity into a green tinted hallway and up a flight of stairs.
At the time I was often surprised that not evervyone lived eleven stories high.
We’d arrived for tea. As with all such memories of early life I can’t for the life of me recall if we were the guests of friends or family.
Anyhow the sixtyish woman and her husband were hospitable as all great Russians are. Offering the best of a meager stock of crackers and aromatic Chai.
Though the reminiseces the adults had seemed pleasant there was notheless a certain pensiveness. And then the conversation turned to hunger.
So, I suppose my mother was right. The spirit of death did linger there.
It was the spectre of famine, the monster of want.
Though he was gone he lingered.
Here some twenty five years later in the post industrial land of endless buffets such a beast seems less likely than unicorns.
But, perhaps this is an illusion.
As I said, the emotional resonance of that night, the tension in the air, has been sustained throughout my life.
So, I am keenly aware of the precarious balance of agriculture and transport that makes our plenty so commonplace.
Unfortunately, this balance may be skewing towards a dangerous direction.
Alarm is the enemy of wisdom.
But, when Tyson big wigs warn of food shortages, eyebrows should be raised.
Yes, of course there is corporate interest there in spinning things towards favorable legislation but that doesn’t change the fact that our infrastructure is a miracle hanging on a thread.
Here is Ron Paul’s excellent video on this troubling development:
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MMM. Just shelled out eight hundred dollars for some plumbing work and found out that there’s another significant portion of my house that’s water damaged. To those of you who have been here a while, you may recall that I recently dwelt in hotels for the span of about four months while the guest bathroom was entirely rebuilt.
This time it seems that my kitchen and perhaps my master bedroom will have to be rebuilt. The tile in the kitchen masked the problem…only tip off was the wee bit of wetness where the tile met the hallway carpet.
The former plumbers hadn’t mentioned any of this (aside general warnings about pinholes) and the fellas I had out here who are kinda a big deal in the area almost gave up the search for the leak. Apparently, my crawlspace is sheer noneucledian mysticism and full of daft HVAC ductwork.
Plumbing CIRCA 1977
Uncertain as to whether or not my insurance company will cover another large claim. But, I’m a positive Scotch infused fella and even if they don’t I’m sorta looking forward to learn how to do this shit myself.
I was raised by a senior citizen and never taught shit. So if I have to rebuild a major part of my home that gives me ample lisence to swing my dick around. I like to swing my dick around.
Pictured: Swinging Dick
Anywho, I haven’t the time or more honestly the inclination to create anything resembling worth so I leave you with links to some pretty badass articles I was going to try to fashion a ramble out of:
Computer Nerd Teaches You How To Live Brilliantly Without The Cliche Melodramas of The Absent Minded Professor
So, I’m currently holding the wee bit of left bollock that hasn’t retreated up my abdomen with the rest of the kit. A feat courtesy of hearing that my shift starts at 4:15 AM. As such I can’t bring you the regularly scheduled joy of disjointed rambles that would make a a schizophrenic shaman on a peyote bender seem like a card carrying Presbyterian freemason. (Yes, I stole that last bit from Billy Connoly.)
Therefore I share with you my gleeful joy in confirming that FATTIES ARE MOST AFFECTED. If you’re a jolly person of size. No beef with you. If you have a glandular problem. I’ve no donut with you. If you just don’t give a fuck. I’ve no quarter pounder with you. Yes, this is the shittiest joke of all time. Welcome to history cunts.
No, the thing I have a problem with is moralizing fatasses wagging wingers (lol that was a typo but imagonnakeepit) at folk exercising because of a HEALTH CRISIS.
Ugh, can’t get a handle on Premiere Pro. Not only is it mono again…but the graphics look like shite. (Been using Kdenlive thus far. And will use both in future.)
Today I take on: ‘the skeptic’s perspective’ on David Paulides‘ investigations of mysterious disappearances in our National Parks.
Since, I got my ass handed to me at UPS today and didn’t wake up till four fucking PM here’s some thoughts that I guess qualify as content:
Hah. Yeah, but who eggs em on. Who whispers in their ear that Bruno over there gave em a pat on the ass?
If Helen’s face launched a thousand ships couldn’t her mouth have stopped it?
Do women go for poets with an English garden or are they jumping labia first into the beds of thugs no matter if it’s Patton or El Chapo. So long as they’re sufficiently ‘decisive.’
Most men want adventure not war. It just so happens that war is one of the ultimate adventures. And it comes with the most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
Let’s you n him fight!
Note: Fred has provided me with countless hours of joy and insight so I’ll forgive the shallowness of this polemic.
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If Helen’s face launched a thousand ships couldn’t her mouth have stopped it?
Do women go for poets with an English garden or are they jumping labia first into the beds of thugs no matter if it’s Patton or El Chapo. So long as they’re sufficiently ‘decisive.’
Most men want adventure not war. It just so happens that war is one of the ultimate adventures. And it comes with the most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
Let’s you n him fight!
Note:
Fred has provided me with countless hours of joy and insight so I’ll forgive the shallowness of this polemic.
Support the Journal
Make a donation via PayPal to help zazz things up.
$1.00
Not Just Zazz…but Pizzazz
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$5.00