Above freezing, scant snow in wet strands, otherwise, wholesome bright  winter sun.  Anticipation preceding my lead water line replacement, I had no idea till I hiked right up  to it.  The water company said they were going to replace the water line leading from my front sidewalk to my basement, where the water meter blinks and rats to the authorities whatever my use of water tells the thought police.   They neglected to say when they were going to do it, so it was a lovely Roald Dahl-like serendipity when I came upon over a dozen workers, myriad large trucks equipped for Himalayan  disaster relief, and several smiling warmly dressed people from the waterworks, there to deal with fucked up people, me too, whose poison heavy metal water conduits  are rotting everyone's weak little brains out.  They needed my permission to enter my house. 

How democratic.   They had already demolished one square yard of  sidewalk and were six feet down it, a fellow in the hole with steel appurtenances oscillating and plunging, and  there was an oblong hole in the street about six by eight feet, ten feet down,  showing wide shitty corroded pipes in several directions, like the Jolly Green Giant's heart after he smoked a carton of unfiltered Lucky Strikes a day for sixty years, like since birth, as is common around the North Side.  There was a person in that hole, working away.   I knew this was coming, but realities deserve a medal for their inventiveness.  It was so different from my mixed anticipations.  

Did you ever read William Faulkner's book As I Lay Dying?  At the end of it, a character, after a novel full of hardship and loss, gains a victrola, or, primitive record player.    I got a free water shut off valve in the basement, and I'm so happy about that I could pleasure the load of people who replaced my water lines, assuming everyone takes a bath, first. It's a good thing that won't happen.   It would not be near as serendipitous if everyone had to blow the water works.   In other news...

The electric company sends me emails reminding me that I am a  little puke for using more energy this week than last.  That don't give a flying fuck about my woodworking project, they know it's my table saw,  only pricks like me run that many amps in what normal customers  use as a spare bedroom for their relatives, and the thought police are aware no one visits my hovel.   Commissars are scratching their heads, wondering why a zero like me would use more watts than a common shit kicker.    I'm trying, trying damn it, to explain, to make their lives easier.  

Experimental music: Old Hyena 1 22 2024

rant 1 21 2024

 Here, like 'eurkea!,'  the Perry South district, was a wonderful place a long time ago.   There is a vacant, mostly disused marble institution for shitheads a few blocks from where my ass is planted, the eleventh floor of a subsidized highrise apartment building.  A great building, that school that taught thousands of stupid children how to be less useless to society.   It's been a long time since great people were anywhere fucking near it.  It's a fossil of an animal that went extinct...the collective talents and morals of people who lived and kicked the bucket in what is now more an occupied territory than a neighborhood.

Across an alley from the school there is a long puritanical brick building built in small, tiny, apartments suitable for housing dirt poor school teachers or nuns.  There are still big stone seminaries and friaries.  I contend the soul went out of here a long time ago.   People are alive and without souls.   

 

Hey, get Milton.   You heard me, pal.   Milton Fucking Friedman.   That short, pudgy late Nobel Prize winning ass motherfucker once popular among  academics and a diverse libertarian fringe.  Unregulated free markets.  Global ones.   Solely domestic ones, too, you know, like for reasons of security, like where you don't want foreign enemies pulling shit.  You wanna'  keep some of the economy and what the fuck ever else safe from outside fuckers.  But we're in a huge bat shit global economy.   Free trade, if we call it that in all fucking reality, with pals of ours like China, for fucking example, is a grubby little entanglement.   Let's bunny hop to the basics.

Essentially, free trade is any and all goods and services exchanged, cash or credit, a cash flow model usually discernable by owlish regulatory agencies and the CIA.   This at once a simple and complex process, we fucking hope, is not being dictated by the government, it's is a system of exchange among privately owned and operated happy manufacturers, retailers, the prostitutes fat assed executives frequent,  all the single malt scotch fat rich piggy men can swill down, and commerce.   That's people, earning money, free of government intrusion or influence.  Commies, damn-it-to-hell, favor complete government control of the economy, usually resulting in manic greed and pervasive peonage.   They have a habit of going genocidal.  People in academics, the Marxist leaning ones, tend to gloss over that unpleasantness when bragging like a cowpoke about what they believe to be both truth and sophistication:  Capitalism is terrible, socialism is a low budget worker's Emerald City, like in the film The Wizard of Oz.

More shit about dynamics of social and private economics, macro, micro, big, grand, shitty, what the fuck ever...   read this fucking blog.  I'm a sage ass mother fucker.   Thanks for reading.

Rant/Lecture/Nonsense 1 19 2024

 

One hundred dip-shitty years of social science, and people are still primitive jerk-offs.  Most of that time cowardly milquetoast academics were blaming everything wrong with people on a blanket causality, fat greedy libertarian economics.  Hail Karl Marx.   That pudgy bearded wonder will solve everything.   

The problem is not capitalism.  Even communists forbid people jerking off in their open cublicle, visible to passersby.   Where have we been as a species?   The sexual revolution of 1960s produced now terminal VD and rounds of hatred among men and women.   Men are killing for pussy.  Women are fucking for dominance.   Then, on a greasy, vile time line,  post-AIDS epidemic, woke culture has pumped gender dysphoria and sex change surgery, with pharmaceuticals for life for everyone.    All that wonderful progress, and people are not allowed to masterbate in front of each other in their corporate work places.  

It’s hostile and  discriminatory, defamatory for fuck sake, to allow this job discrimination against people who need to whack off.   PWNTWO are a highly productive and horny interest group.  Few of us care who is watching when we do it.    I, for one, have a nice cock.  Thanks for reading.