Richter, as I look around me, that Hideous Truth™ you mentioned yesterday is all too true. This is no century for humans. Those of us lucky enough to have jobs are overloaded by the fact that we all have to wear 5 hats because the company can't afford 4 other people (might piss off the Shareholders, and that won't do).
As a result of this, we have to "enhance" ourselves, to deal with the stress. This enhancement usually involves ingesting chemicals that allow our minds to continue functioning without snapping. And does anyone want to see that? I think not. The prospect of you or I running amok through the offices wearing nothing but boots, a chainsaw, and a silly grin is just to horrible to contemplate.
Of course, our bodies were never designed to run on these additives, so one day we'll all fly to pieces like a stock engine running on nitrous oxide. Our replacements will wonder how the hell we functioned at all, how everything got done, and they'll still be wondering 2 months later when they visit the Spider doctor to talk about these mysterious ailments they have cropping up.
Did James Pierpont ever have days like these?
Those who aren't so fortunate, of course, mostly turn to alcohol and other "illegal" drugs, to forget that they are simply cogs The Machine™ spit out, and that they've been left behind by the entire system...save the parts of the system that want its student loans back. The irony here is incredible. The banks loaned out the money to create more useful cogs, and when those same banks fucked everything up, they are attempting to squeeze blood from turnips in an effort to regain the training money that was wasted due to their own stupidity and greed.
One colollary of Murphy's Law states that when you drop a tool or a part, it will roll into the least accessible part of the work area. In the case of those spat out of The Machine™, those cogs usually wind up under bridges, totally inaccessible for any further use...they get all covered in grime and rust, and their insides are all eaten out by solvents (usually alcohol and/or meth, but anything to help them forget that The Machine™ has forgotten them.). But at least they're quiet, and you don't trip over them (often).
Welcome to the Future, Richter. We've eliminated (overt) racism for the most part, but in exchange, we've added formerly excluded minorities to the parts bin. We have gadgets, we are SWIMMING in gadgets, most of which are designed to make us quiet and productive. Wherever it is we were going, well, we're here. In the future.
And the future isn't done with you, yet.
Or Kill me.
:mittens:
I am either too fucked up or not fucked up enough to respond to this properly. For now you get mittens while I try for a solution to that.
Quote from: Requia ☣ on November 23, 2009, 03:45:05 PM
:mittens:
I am either too fucked up or not fucked up enough to respond to this properly. For now you get mittens while I try for a solution to that.
PILLS HERE!
- Louis
Sigh....send alcohol to this unemployed loser. IE....me
:mittens:
Quote from: -Kel- on November 23, 2009, 03:52:37 PM
Sigh....send alcohol to this unemployed loser. IE....me
:mittens:
When you can no longer afford alcohol, then you have to use the more expensive drugs.
Irony, of course, remains free.
You beat me to the punch, sir.
It's there though, that feeling that a stock human is Obsolete. We have to be better, faster, more efficient. Glad you're a Delta? Hardly, we need MORE BETAS. Stronger stims, better mood suppressants, and the closer you are naturally to savant level processing the more you'll be used. Not like you'll be valued. You'll just be another anonymous section of pipe, judged only be how freely you let the data flow, inevitably cast out and disdained by the Boss who beleives hitting you with a tiny ball pein over and over is a part of the job, and soemthing that should be well within your operational tolerances.
Running hot and Cold are not enough anymore, now we need to be alternately shuttling hot pitch or liquid nitrogen. Take the enema and STILL be able to act right in the break room.
Got a problem with that slappy? Ask HR. They'll fix you up with a hot iron or some quickclot to the wound, a spike of something speedball, and send you back to the races.
We are the age of duct tape and baling wire psychology. Barely held together until we're commitable.
The Rant that Roger Outdrew:
A Public Service Announcement: DRUGS
I hear a lot of noise about the drug use recently. You all need to cut that shit, you're giving it a bad name.
More! Less! Harder! Softer! A little to the right! Oops! They make a pill for that!
These chemical methods of altering our fundamental brain experience are symptoms of how we are working ourselves into a fecal impaction of a self aware species.
Conversations with The Good Reverend Roger on the horror of the TRUTH and being serious about having a good time have convinced me that we've worked ourselves into a preschooler's cubby hole of a life. We expect to have everyone functioning in exactly the same predictable manner every moment of every day, and compensate chemically when we CAN'T.
Can't relax? Can't perform? Can't get it up, down, or accidentally?
There's a drug for that. Pills for everyone. Every color of the rainbow. Oh, have a coffee or a martini too.
Keep buying them up. This isn't your affable neighborhood shaman dispensing a tea or a shroom to give you a little perspective; this is a monster of industry. They need habits, not solutions. Take the pill, accept the yoke, and accept the fact that you'll be pulling their cart for the rest of your natural life. Feel better?
Wait a second though, before we bog down in technicalities. Let's not frot the surface when we can drive the question right at the heart of this angel dusted vampire. WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS?
Daily you jack yourself up, run yourself ragged, take more to de – jack yourself, can't seem to shit, and you wonder why? Fellating the insatiable idols of performance, efficiency and professionalism in this expectant high falutin excuse for Gomorrah, you are slowly pickling yourself into a pillar of some mighty strange salts and you wonder WHY?
REPENT.
SLACK.
And start using for recreation! Self medicating just so you can cope is working on the pitiful level of a neurotic hamster.
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:04:50 PM
Running hot and Cold are not enough anymore, now we need to be alternately shuttling hot pitch or liquid nitrogen. Take the enema and STILL be able to act right in the break room.
We're beyond that, here at the refinery. The breakroom resembles Arkham Asylum when ALL the baddies are in it at once. We all slam coffee to make our fuzzy heads clear enough to get our job done, but not quite enough to fully wake up...screaming until your throat bleeds is simply
not done, and implies that perhaps it's time for you to "spend more time with your family" (under a bridge).
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:06:43 PM
WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS?
Because it's crowded under than bridge, Richter. It's powerful crowded. And whatever the world might do to my kids, at least I can keep them out from under that bridge, at least til they're adults. Til they've had a childhood.
That's the finish line, Richter.
And that may very well be the most awful thing I've ever said here.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:09:14 PM
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:04:50 PM
Running hot and Cold are not enough anymore, now we need to be alternately shuttling hot pitch or liquid nitrogen. Take the enema and STILL be able to act right in the break room.
We're beyond that, here at the refinery. The breakroom resembles Arkham Asylum when ALL the baddies are in it at once. We all slam coffee to make our fuzzy heads clear enough to get our job done, but not quite enough to fully wake up...screaming until your throat bleeds is simply not done, and implies that perhaps it's time for you to "spend more time with your family" (under a bridge).
Mental illness is still a stigma, and letting out the symptoms still a cardinal sin anywhere. You might not be SOUND, SOLID, or in control of your faculties. I walk a fine line any time I let the WEIRD out at the office.
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:26:39 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:09:14 PM
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:04:50 PM
Running hot and Cold are not enough anymore, now we need to be alternately shuttling hot pitch or liquid nitrogen. Take the enema and STILL be able to act right in the break room.
We're beyond that, here at the refinery. The breakroom resembles Arkham Asylum when ALL the baddies are in it at once. We all slam coffee to make our fuzzy heads clear enough to get our job done, but not quite enough to fully wake up...screaming until your throat bleeds is simply not done, and implies that perhaps it's time for you to "spend more time with your family" (under a bridge).
Mental illness is still a stigma, and letting out the symptoms still a cardinal sin anywhere. You might not be SOUND, SOLID, or in control of your faculties. I walk a fine line any time I let the WEIRD out at the office.
Our weird has gotten loose. It is tolerated only because we are still - for the moment - effective in what we do.
How long we can keep this up is anyone's guess.
Everyone's in the club car, Richter, nobody is driving the train.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:28:11 PM
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:26:39 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:09:14 PM
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:04:50 PM
Running hot and Cold are not enough anymore, now we need to be alternately shuttling hot pitch or liquid nitrogen. Take the enema and STILL be able to act right in the break room.
We're beyond that, here at the refinery. The breakroom resembles Arkham Asylum when ALL the baddies are in it at once. We all slam coffee to make our fuzzy heads clear enough to get our job done, but not quite enough to fully wake up...screaming until your throat bleeds is simply not done, and implies that perhaps it's time for you to "spend more time with your family" (under a bridge).
Mental illness is still a stigma, and letting out the symptoms still a cardinal sin anywhere. You might not be SOUND, SOLID, or in control of your faculties. I walk a fine line any time I let the WEIRD out at the office.
Our weird has gotten loose. It is tolerated only because we are still - for the moment - effective in what we do.
How long we can keep this up is anyone's guess.
Everyone's in the club car, Richter, nobody is driving the train.
...and in the grand tradition, if that train doesn't hit anything, once it's coasted into the station, they'll never thank you.
They'll just be black shirt with big fucking boots, billy clubs, and policies to get you BACK IN LINE.
The Bureau HATES anything that won't fit in a drawer. The Bureau doesn't stand for Armoire Fati
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:14:06 PM
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:06:43 PM
WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS?
Because it's crowded under than bridge, Richter. It's powerful crowded. And whatever the world might do to my kids, at least I can keep them out from under that bridge, at least til they're adults. Til they've had a childhood.
That's the finish line, Richter.
And that may very well be the most awful thing I've ever said here.
I can only support this motivation.
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:38:00 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:28:11 PM
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:26:39 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:09:14 PM
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:04:50 PM
Running hot and Cold are not enough anymore, now we need to be alternately shuttling hot pitch or liquid nitrogen. Take the enema and STILL be able to act right in the break room.
We're beyond that, here at the refinery. The breakroom resembles Arkham Asylum when ALL the baddies are in it at once. We all slam coffee to make our fuzzy heads clear enough to get our job done, but not quite enough to fully wake up...screaming until your throat bleeds is simply not done, and implies that perhaps it's time for you to "spend more time with your family" (under a bridge).
Mental illness is still a stigma, and letting out the symptoms still a cardinal sin anywhere. You might not be SOUND, SOLID, or in control of your faculties. I walk a fine line any time I let the WEIRD out at the office.
Our weird has gotten loose. It is tolerated only because we are still - for the moment - effective in what we do.
How long we can keep this up is anyone's guess.
Everyone's in the club car, Richter, nobody is driving the train.
...and in the grand tradition, if that train doesn't hit anything, once it's coasted into the station, they'll never thank you.
They'll just be black shirt with big fucking boots, billy clubs, and policies to get you BACK IN LINE.
The Bureau HATES anything that won't fit in a drawer. The Bureau doesn't stand for Armoire Fati
Hey, just to make your morning as much fun as last evening, google "bonus army".
Go ahead, do it. Our heroes are all there, doing what had to be done, for The Machine™.
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:38:32 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:14:06 PM
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:06:43 PM
WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS?
Because it's crowded under than bridge, Richter. It's powerful crowded. And whatever the world might do to my kids, at least I can keep them out from under that bridge, at least til they're adults. Til they've had a childhood.
That's the finish line, Richter.
And that may very well be the most awful thing I've ever said here.
I can only support this motivation.
But isn't it awesome? You literally have to poison yourself for your children to have a childhood.
:lulz:
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:39:37 PM
Hey, just to make your morning as much fun as last evening, google "bonus army".
Go ahead, do it. Our heroes are all there, doing what had to be done, for The Machine™.
oh my god that's fucking insane!
Roosevelt ordered a calvary charge against US vets demanding payment? that really happened??!
jeeeeeeeesus!
Quote from: Cramulus on November 23, 2009, 04:44:10 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:39:37 PM
Hey, just to make your morning as much fun as last evening, google "bonus army".
Go ahead, do it. Our heroes are all there, doing what had to be done, for The Machine™.
oh my god that's fucking insane!
Roosevelt ordered a calvary charge against US vets demanding payment? that really happened??!
jeeeeeeeesus!
Look who led the charge. :lulz:
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:44:37 PM
Quote from: Cramulus on November 23, 2009, 04:44:10 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:39:37 PM
Hey, just to make your morning as much fun as last evening, google "bonus army".
Go ahead, do it. Our heroes are all there, doing what had to be done, for The Machine™.
oh my god that's fucking insane!
Roosevelt ordered a calvary charge against US vets demanding payment? that really happened??!
jeeeeeeeesus!
Look who led the charge. :lulz:
Oh my god. :lulz: :lulz: That's too rich.
Quote from: Cainad on November 23, 2009, 05:04:50 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:44:37 PM
Quote from: Cramulus on November 23, 2009, 04:44:10 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:39:37 PM
Hey, just to make your morning as much fun as last evening, google "bonus army".
Go ahead, do it. Our heroes are all there, doing what had to be done, for The Machine™.
oh my god that's fucking insane!
Roosevelt ordered a calvary charge against US vets demanding payment? that really happened??!
jeeeeeeeesus!
Look who led the charge. :lulz:
Oh my god. :lulz: :lulz: That's too rich.
It's all been one horrible lie, hasn't it?
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:14:06 PM
Quote from: Richter on November 23, 2009, 04:06:43 PM
WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS?
Because it's crowded under than bridge, Richter. It's powerful crowded. And whatever the world might do to my kids, at least I can keep them out from under that bridge, at least til they're adults. Til they've had a childhood.
That's the finish line, Richter.
And that may very well be the most awful thing I've ever said here.
Actually i find it touching. My failing vocabulary cant come up with another adjective.
Quote from: Cramulus on November 23, 2009, 04:44:10 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 04:39:37 PM
Hey, just to make your morning as much fun as last evening, google "bonus army".
Go ahead, do it. Our heroes are all there, doing what had to be done, for The Machine™.
oh my god that's fucking insane!
Roosevelt ordered a calvary charge against US vets demanding payment? that really happened??!
jeeeeeeeesus!
It was Hoover.
Here we go...
QuoteOn 28 July, 1932, Attorney General Mitchell ordered the police evacuation of the Bonus Army veterans, who resisted; the police shot at them, and killed two. When told of the killings, President Hoover ordered the U.S. Army to effect the evacuation of the Bonus Army from Washington, D.C.
At 4:45 p.m., commanded by Gen. Douglas MacArthur, the 12th Infantry Regiment, Fort Howard, Maryland, and the 3rd Cavalry Regiment, supported by six battle tanks commanded by Maj. George S. Patton, Fort Myer, Virginia, formed in Pennsylvania Avenue while thousands of Civil Service employees left work to line the street and watch the U.S. Army attack its own veterans. The Bonus Marchers, believing the display was in their honour, cheered the troops until Maj. Patton charged the cavalry against them — an action which prompted the Civil Service employee spectators to yell, "Shame! Shame!"
After the cavalry charge, infantry, with fixed bayonets and adamsite gas, entered the Bonus Army camps, evicting veterans, families, and camp followers. The veterans fled across the Anacostia River, to their largest camp; President Hoover ordered the Army assault stopped, however, Gen. MacArthur—feeling this free-speech exercise was a Communist attempt at overthrowing the U.S. Government—ignored the President and ordered a new attack. Hundreds of veterans were injured, several were killed — including William Hushka and Eric Carlson; a veteran's wife miscarried; and many other veterans were hurt.
I saw this in a movie once...
"Richter, you were right. You were right about me. Tell your sister, you were right..."
\
(http://kaousuu.net/forgreatjustice/rogerunmasked.jpg)
Edit: Fixed so that those who are blocked Photobucket can see it.
Quote from: Suu on November 23, 2009, 05:29:00 PM
I saw this in a movie once...
"Richter, you were right. You were right about me. Tell your sister, you were right..."
\
(http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb163/wompcabal/rogerunmasked.jpg)
Can't see the pic. :tgrr:
Will look at it at home.
PM me your email. I'm going to make sure you CAN see this immediately.
I liked being a cog. I went home at the end of the night (yes the night, because while there are many kinds of bullshit I can tolerate, rush hour is not one of them) and I knew what I had accomplished. It wasn't glorious, I didn't make money or increase the stock price or any bullshit like that. I just fixed things, gave a little grease to other cogs who didn't know how to do it themselves. And I got *payed* for it. I put up with fifty kinds of bullshit from The Machine for that, to get payed for doing something I'd have done for free.
It didn't last though, The Machine saw to that finally, just up and collapsed the whole pile of cogs in an effort to be more efficient. It was like it wanted to die. The control cogs, they knew exactly what they needed to do to keep things running but The Machine demanded they be more efficient, use less cogs. So pieces didn't get replaced, others didn't get greased, and then the whole thing collapsed when the new work order from The Machine said to double output.
That was why we had all those extra cogs for after all, wasn't it? The ones that hadn't been replaced?
So they tossed me, and everyone else, out, and I found out just how lucky i was to have been a repair cog. Nobody else uses those anymore, not locally. They'd rather send parts to Mexico for service. Where instead of a quick service the part will sit for days, then get marked fixed and sent back with no work done.
I think The Machine wants to die. Or else it just has this horrible disease thats killing it. Like an organ transplant rejection. which is really bad, cause they're *all* transplanted now. Our cogs are transplanted from India and out parts are transplants from China, and the bosses are transplants from whatever bizzaro world spawned the idea that next quarters profit's can suffer as long as this quarter's improve.
So the machine is dying, or trying to kill itself, and I'm running out of places to try and fit into, as they collapse one by one.
Quote from: Suu on November 23, 2009, 05:32:10 PM
PM me your email. I'm going to make sure you CAN see this immediately.
Can't. I can't see my personal email here.
Quote from: Requia ☣ on November 23, 2009, 05:38:40 PM
I liked being a cog. I went home at the end of the night (yes the night, because while there are many kinds of bullshit I can tolerate, rush hour is not one of them) and I knew what I had accomplished. It wasn't glorious, I didn't make money or increase the stock price or any bullshit like that. I just fixed things, gave a little grease to other cogs who didn't know how to do it themselves. And I got *payed* for it. I put up with fifty kinds of bullshit from The Machine for that, to get payed for doing something I'd have done for free.
It didn't last though, The Machine saw to that finally, just up and collapsed the whole pile of cogs in an effort to be more efficient. It was like it wanted to die. The control cogs, they knew exactly what they needed to do to keep things running but The Machine demanded they be more efficient, use less cogs. So pieces didn't get replaced, others didn't get greased, and then the whole thing collapsed when the new work order from The Machine said to double output.
That was why we had all those extra cogs for after all, wasn't it? The ones that hadn't been replaced?
So they tossed me, and everyone else, out, and I found out just how lucky i was to have been a repair cog. Nobody else uses those anymore, not locally. They'd rather send parts to Mexico for service. Where instead of a quick service the part will sit for days, then get marked fixed and sent back with no work done.
I think The Machine wants to die. Or else it just has this horrible disease thats killing it. Like an organ transplant rejection. which is really bad, cause they're *all* transplanted now. Our cogs are transplanted from India and out parts are transplants from China, and the bosses are transplants from whatever bizzaro world spawned the idea that next quarters profit's can suffer as long as this quarter's improve.
So the machine is dying, or trying to kill itself, and I'm running out of places to try and fit into, as they collapse one by one.
There are always more cogs. What you are seeing is The Machine™
growing, and assimilating nations where labor is cheap and life is cheaper.
SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!
:thanks:
Shit boy, that's almost portfolio worthy!
Quote from: Suu on November 23, 2009, 05:55:36 PM
:thanks:
Shit boy, that's almost portfolio worthy!
Revenge travels on a slow hosrie, Suu. :jihaad:
Oh it's growing all right. It won't stop doing that till the day it dies, and the whole process starts over again.
What I don't get is why. It makes no sense. The machine eats and eats and eats, it never gets full no matter how much it consumes, it never stops growing no matter how big it gets, and the whole time its busy being efficient, cutting out the fat and hollowing out the bones so that more of what it eats can go to growing and less goes to sustaining.
It's the creation of a madman. An artistic genius that was supposed to be stared at on paper so we could be thankful our machine was so well designed. Except somebody got the plans all mixed up, and we built the madman's machine instead.
Quote from: Requia ☣ on November 23, 2009, 05:59:32 PM
Oh it's growing all right. It won't stop doing that till the day it dies, and the whole process starts over again.
What I don't get is why. It makes no sense. The machine eats and eats and eats, it never gets full no matter how much it consumes, it never stops growing no matter how big it gets, and the whole time its busy being efficient, cutting out the fat and hollowing out the bones so that more of what it eats can go to growing and less goes to sustaining.
It's the creation of a madman. An artistic genius that was supposed to be stared at on paper so we could be thankful our machine was so well designed. Except somebody got the plans all mixed up, and we built the madman's machine instead.
If they lied about MacArthur and Patton, maybe they lied about Jefferson, Madison, and Jay, too.
For the record, you are a very saturated man. I had to suck more color out of your face than you would BELIEVE to get you to match Sebastian Shaw's burny ashiness. You should be impressed with my work, not threatening me.
In other news, I am now really trying hard to not want to WOMP Richter and Leln as Luke and Leia. They live a lot closer than you do.
Quote from: Suu on November 23, 2009, 06:00:45 PM
For the record, you are a very saturated man. I had to suck more color out of your face than you would BELIEVE to get you to match Sebastian Shaw's burny ashiness. You should be impressed with my work, not threatening me.
In other news, I am now really trying hard to not want to WOMP Richter and Leln as Luke and Leia. They live a lot closer than you do.
Threatening? :lulz:
And I am very saturated. All that hate leaves me a very florid man.
Well, it has to go SOMEWHERE. Otherwise you'd probably just get hemorrhoids.
Quote from: Suu on November 23, 2009, 06:07:08 PM
Well, it has to go SOMEWHERE. Otherwise you'd probably just get hemorrhoids.
Again?
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 06:12:02 PM
Quote from: Suu on November 23, 2009, 06:07:08 PM
Well, it has to go SOMEWHERE. Otherwise you'd probably just get hemorrhoids.
Again?
It's like a fermentation lock. A little bit of hate has to escape on a regular basis, otherwise you'd probably just shatter, scattering bits of glass and partially-drinkable booze.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 06:00:28 PM
Quote from: Requia ☣ on November 23, 2009, 05:59:32 PM
Oh it's growing all right. It won't stop doing that till the day it dies, and the whole process starts over again.
What I don't get is why. It makes no sense. The machine eats and eats and eats, it never gets full no matter how much it consumes, it never stops growing no matter how big it gets, and the whole time its busy being efficient, cutting out the fat and hollowing out the bones so that more of what it eats can go to growing and less goes to sustaining.
It's the creation of a madman. An artistic genius that was supposed to be stared at on paper so we could be thankful our machine was so well designed. Except somebody got the plans all mixed up, and we built the madman's machine instead.
If they lied about MacArthur and Patton, maybe they lied about Jefferson, Madison, and Jay, too.
I know they lied about Jefferson. I probably don't know half the things I'm not supposed to about him, but yeah they lied. they made them out to be heroes, but they were men. Great men, but that's the catch, people are fucked up, they do good things and bad things, and being great men made them do truly wonderful and truly fucked up things.
People don't want great men though, they want heroes. So they covered up the filth and shined the clean bits. Sometimes they do them at the same time.
So yes, I know damned well what Lincoln did to save the country, and I know what Jefferson did when he though he was saving Virginia from perverts. And now I know what MacArthur did when he thought he was saving us from communists.
But they did the good things too. And sometimes those were bigger than the parts they covered up. Worth the price of having great men in charge instead of spineless politicians. So I try to look at all of it, and not let the good blind me to the bad, or the bad blind me to the good.
At least until I find the truth about Ben. That will probably break me.
Quote from: Suu on November 23, 2009, 06:18:38 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 23, 2009, 06:12:02 PM
Quote from: Suu on November 23, 2009, 06:07:08 PM
Well, it has to go SOMEWHERE. Otherwise you'd probably just get hemorrhoids.
Again?
It's like a fermentation lock. A little bit of hate has to escape on a regular basis, otherwise you'd probably just shatter, scattering bits of glass and partially-drinkable booze.
Um, yeah, but what comes out of my ass is NOT "partially drinkable". In fact, it tends to melt the wax rings out of toilets, and I have to file an environmental impact form every time I shit. Not even Tom DeLay would defend me shitting in the woods.
The glass part, though, is all too true.
Quote from: Requia ☣ on November 23, 2009, 06:20:59 PM
At least until I find the truth about Ben. That will probably break me.
The only rotten thing about Ben is that he wasn't the pervert he was made out to be. That was mostly propaganda by those who felt he and Patrick Henry were bad influences on the masses.
Quote from: Suu on November 23, 2009, 05:29:00 PM
I saw this in a movie once...
"Richter, you were right. You were right about me. Tell your sister, you were right..."
\
(http://kaousuu.net/forgreatjustice/rogerunmasked.jpg)
Edit: Fixed so that those who are blocked Photobucket can see it.
I CAN'T FUCKING BREATH :lulz:
My work here is done.
Good times, good times.
Damn, now how am I supposed to sleep tonight?
Quote from: Requia ☣ on November 23, 2009, 05:59:32 PM
Oh it's growing all right. It won't stop doing that till the day it dies, and the whole process starts over again.
What I don't get is why. It makes no sense. The machine eats and eats and eats, it never gets full no matter how much it consumes, it never stops growing no matter how big it gets, and the whole time its busy being efficient, cutting out the fat and hollowing out the bones so that more of what it eats can go to growing and less goes to sustaining.
It's the creation of a madman. An artistic genius that was supposed to be stared at on paper so we could be thankful our machine was so well designed. Except somebody got the plans all mixed up, and we built the madman's machine instead.
It's our biological imperative. It's every biological imperative, hell it's THE biological imperative - REPLICATE! That's all the machine does. It does so as quickly as possible. All other considerations are secondary. If fact, truth be told, all other considerations aren't even considered, save in passing. Replicate replicate REPLICATE. That's it!
There used to be mechanisms in place. So many foxes to so many rabbits. Too many foxes? They fucking die until the balance is restored but we've knocked that shit totally into touch. Not enough rabbits? No worries, just plant more, inject them full of shit that makes them grow to maturity in weeks instead of months and who really gives a fuck if their bones are too brittle to support their bulk, this is a consideration and, as such, is not worthy of attention. REPLI-fucking-CATE!
I used to work in manufacturing. Back when we had manufacturing in this country. A factory full of machines, some of which needed soldered from time to time and others which took sick days and soldered themselves. The latter were expensive, tho. We heard of a country full of similar spec machines which didn't require as much fuel and, at the same time, so did our customers, who offered half what they were paying the week before for the stuff we were selling them.
So we bought a factory abroad, full of these machines and times were good until we heard of another country with even cheaper machines. These ones were painted yellow and kept on battery farms. Downtime was virtually non-existent and, as far as we could tell, they didn't even seem to use fuel, maybe they ran on solar power or some shit. About this time we just gave the hell up. The machines we had in this country were long gone and fuck knows what happened to the ones abroad.
Still, everything is so much cheaper now, so you can get on with what really matters.
REPLICATE!
When there's enough of you, and you're starving and desperate enough to break your backs for less than the machinery next door, they'll pick you up and pump you full of just about enough hope to keep you going. Sooner or later, tho, we'll run out of rabbits, our host planet will die and everything on it, along with it. That's the nature of DNA, once ecological restrictions are circumvented. That's why those restrictions were imposed in the first place but, hey, those restrictions were interfering with the primary objective. They had to go.
Anyone with half a brain can see where we're headed but no one gives a fuck for secondary considerations. We need more. Not plans for the future, not common sense approaches to sustainability. Just more. More more more ...
It would helpo if we were dealing with simple mechanics. Someone once told me that at the end of the 1800's, anyone with an equivalent high school diploma could understand any of the technology of the time.
Compelling, but bullshit. While they may have had the THEORY to handle any steam or clockwork, the complexity of application requires specialized training and experience. Not even multiple doctorates can pick apart what we have now.
I know I've said it; the "Machine" isn't a will, it isn't a malicious thing, it isn't even mechanical! It's jsut the blind idiot flailings of a multi headed beast. A beast of nothing BUT heads. As it writhes and bleats in the darkness, we tell ourselves stories of our own importance ad pretend it has some directed purpose in keeping people "down". So much more horrible to think it doesn't even NOTICE you, isn't it? That it can't? You could feel OK if you were being laid low by a giant intelligent and complex combined will of the entire race, something that might actually have the authority to tell you to stop, but what you fancy is your personal Jesus-like nemesis is in fact nothing more than the surpluss activity of a wailing sheep on steroids run through a teleporter the wrong way.