Posts tagged ‘crap’

Crappy Birthday in August 2017

Got that detestable garbage human Hipster scum in your circle of acquaintances?

Their birthday is coming up?

PERFECT!

These revolting socks are the perfect gift, for a perfect asshole. They will surely like it, because it is before they are cool, because they’ll never be cool. And these socks a shining (or screamingly loud) warning beacon. 

Warn others. Gift these socks.

Crappy Birthday.
A.

Crappy Birthday in July

Imagine the “majestic” flamingo, perched on a pedestal of guano, one foot dangling to the ground. 


That wonderful hideousness can be yours to drive relatives and acquaintances over the edge for the lo lo price of 2.95€. Cheese factor is over 9000.

Crappy Birthday, A.

Crappy Birthday in June

Know a smoker? Hate the living crap out of that fucker? Want to gift him/her with the worst curse from Pandora’s box – false hope?


Lucky you! 

This cigarette case, with the hopeful message of survival, whilst containing suicide in small doses, is the perfect gift for this occasion. 
Crappy birthday,

A.

Love?

In the beginning man and woman met outside. While hunting. While foraging.

A clout over the head, drag her to the cave, bang the ever living daylight out of her until your doomseed spawns out of her. 
You know… 
Love.

Later men and women met in the social constructs beset on them by class. Arranged marriage, basically the same as in the beginning, without the clout. 
Later in time, they courted one another, talked, fell in love. Doomseed, yada yada yada.
You know…
Love.

In the mid to late 20th century that entire crap got too time consuming so the local classifieds popped up.
Men and women filled pages of the newspapers in small print, advertising oneself like some overripe fruit on a farmersmarket five minutes before they close for the long weekend. 
You know…
Love.

That was too time consuming too after a while, so some rabbi came up with speed dating. 
Your entire life, your achievements, hopes, dreams, aspirations, character, interests, and what not, distilled into a ten minute conversation with one another, and then go over the entire list – again.
You know…
Love.

Time is money, you don’t have an entire evening for this! 
Pour a condensed vision of that distilled “You” into an online profile and off you go!
You know…
Love.

But even that was inconvenient, since we didn’t have it on the go. So some shit like tinder, really was inevitable. Condensed distilled you, photo, swipe. 
You can do it on an elevator, riding the subway, taking a dump.
You know. 
Conven…err…”Love”…

And what did I read in a newspaper just the other day? 
THAT was too stressful for some New Yorkers! They OUTSOURCED their tinder-ing to someone else who is doing the swipe based fuck selection for them.
You know. 
Love?

It kinda reminds me of the entire Farmville crap. On Facebook, a place for the condensed distilled version of you that you choose to represent, you could play a game. Farmville. 
You know.
Fun.

That wasn’t good enough for people. So they HIRED others to play the game for them. On their Facebook. 
As them.
So some underpaid poor sods in a clickfarm somewhere in southeast Asia played as white middle class Facebook people, for some extra grain or geese. 
You know.
Fun?

This is in no way different. 
Something that should be deeply personal – fun and relaxation in one case, fun and romance in the other – something that is as convenient as fuck, something that can be done on the go, outsourced. 
“I have neither time not nerve for fun, relaxation, games, love, or procreation. Let someone else do it.”
You know.
“Life”.

If your life style (or “work-life-balance”) doesn’t allow for playing a fucking game, or the convenience based swipe partner selection, trust me, you won’t have time for your partner in the unlikely chance you ever even found one. Ultimately losing them again.
Which you probably wouldn’t even notice until they send you on mandatory vacation…
You know.
Shitty life.

Take care.
A.

BTH – ASMR…

Why is this even a thing?

These are people who do not know how to use a microphone: they’re breathing into one as if they wanted to either swallow, or make sweet sweet love to it.
That is NOT how you use a mic, dumbass.

I’m not one to deny others their kink, far from it, but you wankers want the “girlfriend experience” – without the “experience” part.
You see, afaik, some prostitutes offer “the girlfriend experience” (for extra of course), and then you get cuddling, kissing, sweet talk, and what not (I imagine). There you get an actual experience.
With this crap you get no experience.

If I were one to go on business trips around the globe, so when I lay my weary CEO head down to cry on a cushion stuffed with stacks of cash while I pleasure myself to sleep, my beloved trophy wife is not able to lull me through it on the phone thanks to timezones, I’d have her breathe into a mic for half an hour, nude, and then play that video back to me.
I am not.
These people are not near and dear to me.
On the polar opposite.
They are complete and utter fraking strangers!
Making all of this a little creepy…

I would almost understand this, if it were porn [porn-porn. Not this brain-porn crap that someone equated this bullshit to]:
A naked chick (or guy, what have you), giving an imaginary protagonist (the camera) a POV girlfriend experience.
With sweet talk, breathing into a microphone, sensual descriptive talk about what they ‘are doing’ with you, complete with ‘noise’.

But this is people breathe-talking in the most annoying fashion possible [not whispered, not spoken, but the dimwitted bastard offspring of the two, that’s too loud and pronounced to be soothing or comfortable, but too low and hushed to be easily intelligible], making noise too close to the microphone [if I for example were to crave the sound of a girl brushing her long long hair, I want to hear it like normal people hear it, not the way a mic taped to the back of the brush picks it up!], and saying the most ridiculously mundane crap ever [if you have no one in your life you can talk about bowel movements with, stop the ASMR, quit your busy job and get friends and/or a spouse, because that is what you NEED]!

Get outta here!

But note, after this election I understand everyone who needs to get relaxed in any way shape or form.

Crappy Birthday in July

​24.99€ each and this can be YOURS!
I tried all three, albeit somewhat involuntarily at first.

Jedi and Empire are essentially the same smell, although Jedi is far less intense.

Imagine a sweet smell as if something was rotting, only far less unpleasant. Add some musky and bitter tones, and you have these two.
As for the only “female” stenchsmell in this menage a catastrophé, this is a smell that is (both descriptively and figuratively), as if cottoncandy and burned almonds, are wrapped around some stiff sausage that is already spoiled and smelling, but not yet rotten, before your nostrils are brutally, but lovingly, violated with it.

In all honesty, if ArmadilloAmidala really stank like this perfume, Anakin would’ve turned darkside in Episode 1, Luke and Leia would’ve never been conceived because Anakin would have murdered the shit out of everyone, especially Amidala.

So this is the perfect gift for Star Wars Geeks and Nerdettes to piss them off (and out of your life and future gift obligations), as well as for people who dislike, or outright hate, Star Wars, giving them another reason to hate the saga. This obnoxious stench.

Crappy Birthday, take care,
A.

PS: There is Jedi and Empire for men, but only Amidala for women. Why?

Symbol of hope?

First off, so you know where I come from:
I am socially incompetent.
I am bad with people.

Talking, especially outside groups of flamboyant extroverts and lunatic introverts, is not my thing.
Even online.

Talking about my minor accomplishments is not my thing. Praising my own work as if it’s the next best thing to sliced bread (or the great pyramids, since sliced bread is mundane shit), not my cup of tea.
Small talk about absolutely mundane crap without consequence to me, others, or the world, is beyond my abilities, beyond my understanding.

So, this morning, just like last week a few times, I see the symbol of hope pop up on my Tablet’s task bar:
The all familiar WordPress ‘W’.

A like?
A new follower?
(With dread in my mind) A comment?

No.
“Your scheduled post has been published! Spread the word!” Frak you!

I made the connections to my social media outlets so I wont have to spread the word about my posts myself.
That’s your job now.
Because I can’t praise my stuff, because I can’t do people stuff.
This made me anxious.
No like, no follower, not even a comment.
Just this crap that would send me out doing the social stuff, that I can’t do and outsourced to automated bots.

Where’s my “Triggor worning!!”?

Speaking of senseless trigger shit. Or stuff that the special snowflakes should (and surely are already) cry about having a trigger warning.
Facebook memories.

Oh yeah sure, another Fecesbook rant, how original…

Let me elaborate a bit, a dear friend of mine died. FB-Memories drudged up a post said friend commented on. Made me feel a bit blue that this friend will never again comment on something I post.
Trigger warning?

I’m the last person calling for trigger warnings, I hate that shit. Life does not come with trigger warnings.
Suppose your dad hanged himself on an Oak tree? Do you expect/demand trigger warnings at each oak tree? Of course not.
That’d be lunacy.
So why should anything else contain that shit then?
It shouldn’t.
Period.

On that note, trigger warning, this post ends now,
Take care, A.