Reality Has Become Too Stupid to Fact Check

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If You Are Going to Stir the Shit, You Better Be Ready to Lick the Spoon

The thing about the Apocalypse, or a dietary substitute, is that one cannot imagine it unless one survives it. This is, of course, stupid. You will not survive it.

Therefore all your planning, all your Prepping, was a waste of time. (And I have said before that the Prepper problem is the same as the Colonizer problem, one is of time, the other of space. But that's not what I want to talk about).

I realize I am not the kind of stupendous badass that survives. I own no guns. (I used to, a LOT of them, but no longer, and we don't have time for that story). Guns are irrelevant. I am not martially trained. Again irrelevant, anyone down to 8-year-olds can be battle hardened in 2 weeks. I have courage, because I have actually headed for danger, have put myself in harm's way. Rather than, or unlike our poor juvenile delinquent  Kyle Rittenhouse, I have walked the walk instead of talking the talk. And that is not hero bragging. That is no choice in but doing. That stupid primate instinct to help. If that's courage. It's courage for me. because I have been a coward. I have run away. My brain will remind of this when I wake up at 3am and it says "Hey let's go through ALL your humiliations one more time! It's courage because, having been a coward, is was not. All it takes is once to realize you have courage.

So, why is Johnny not going to survive the Apocalypse, and therefore cannot imagine it?

Well, run the numbers, quite simply. Johnny will run out of luck, even if he was a stupendous badass, and he will buy the farm. Simple as that.

Here's Killer Kyle (not to be confused with Killer Kyle the wrestler from the 80's) with his newest pudge bud, Ryan Balk of West Bend. Ryan is part of the alt-male Boogaloo Bois and is a big big fan of white supremacy and the brave little twinks Richard Spenser, and Miss TV Dinner Heiress Tucker Carlson. (BTW Ryan served in Iraq and Afghanistan so he got his #BPA beat twice).

I have mentioned in earlier posts that there is something very FEY, something very FAGGY about the white supremacist movement and here is still more evidence. These guys are redpilling, and that is the red estrogen pill, as opposed to the blue boner pill. 

So, if I'm not gonna make it, these guys sure as hell won't make it. And that's even before I apply the numbers.

Who is going to make it? Do you care

? Look at any dehumanizing situation, you know who makes it. 

The scumbags. And the more elite, the more scumbaggy. Elite panic is well documented. The best solution was provided by George Carlin, where you put all the rich people in a stadium, load them up on speed and coke and acid and liquor and PCP, and you give them unlimited weapons. The last one standing you pin a medal on and shoot them in the fucking head. Rinse. Repeat annually.

Because us regular folks? We know how to work just fine with AI algorithms started running business. 1973  was the start. That was when we officially became biorobots. 

So, fellow biorobot. Do you feel lucky? Are you ready for blood? Are you ready for radiation sickness? Are you ready for a Hobbseian war of all on all? Forget the cults. You are just a skin cell to be scraped off to them.

I have no desire to return to an 1830s lifestyle. Do you?

Anyway, Johnny is so 20th century stuck in the future. I try to be hip. I work the VR sculpt thing when I can. Here's an attempt at retro scifi. No penis rocket. Ovum sphere. This is, of course, Uranus. Seen from Titania.

Rusty's In The Club!

Question: how do you get from this

to that? Success is 25% luck, but what if luck changes at some threshhold from insulator to conductor? Is luck a property or a resource? If the latter, can it be replenished, or is there a limited time offer?

This is not a whiny victim complaint how some get all the breaks. It's true, the right side of the bell curve is represented well in the power law curve of success. Also, grit, perseverance, sheer labor, practice and recovery.. But that luck, it's a thorn in the side of bootstrappers everywhere.

(Luck is a property, same as gravity, and it is why you have Chance and Community Chest in Monopoly)

.

The inflection point is when your money makes more money than you do.

Never Build A Hotel on Kamchatka

Gotta be a word, tokenology? The study of game pieces? Study of representations of ANYTHING though honestly. Technically, it's all a game. I will bet you right now I lose this game at the age of 72.

When I was a kid, we got the game of Risk. The tokens for the armies were singles and tens. Or maybe fives. The pieces were extruded plastic triangles and taller pentagons.  I found out later these token shapes were called Castle Risk pieces. Older version of the game used colored wooden blocks. And now they are something else.

We made up our own rules for Risk because it was boring and interminable.

One really fun thing we did was to incorporate Monopoly into the game of Risk

Risk, but with money, a Bank, houses and hotels. Hotels were obviously fortresses. And over time the houses went from forts to fort/factories. We revamped the whole army replenishment system with money.

Beginning of your turn, you get money from the Bank, less maintenance fee, interest payment (yes, loans from the Bank evolved early) and penalties to buy armies, factories and Hotels.

After some games ending in acrimony with every last dollar spent, the question arose, can the Bank create money?

It was decided yes.

Only a certain amount of Debt, before Planetary Destruction, with every last future tree cut down, fish caught, shit burned. Done. Doom. Congrats. (Honestly, we knew the planet was gonna be fine. It was the human part of the planet got destroyed. And the Earth got plastic).

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The Carlin Hypothesis is that Mother Earth wanted plastic. That's it.

Since this is already teleological as hell, note that the making of plastics kills off the plastic makers, or shrinks their dick or whatever to get them to die out, just at the point where it got all plastic it wants.

So, the Carboniferous, the Permian? Seeds planted. Mother Earth tries all sorts of living systems to get to plastics, and some of them are quite fun. Latex is hugely fun. Spiderweb, delightful. But plastics, damnit. Long chain bitch molecules. Hard tough things, if kept away from the mean old Sun.

Where is the Sun's penis? Tucked away. 

Earth finds ape-shaped distillery bees to do the job of making plastic. Shoot anything at us, and we will purity of essence. Maybe we are some alien's beehive, but I'm sticking with the Carlin Hypothesis for now.

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Item: From the Inland Seas Sector file. Lattice confinement fusion. They say its not cold fusion, but.  they say they get neutrons. Okay so, this all looks like the same problem mathematically: BECs, BCS superconductors, "magic angle" sheets of graphene, highly deuterated metals, intertial confinement, this all stinks of new electronics. Maybe, neutronics. Manipulating neutrons is even better than fusion.

If so, for your consideration: every lithium metal battery is a mini-h-bomb with the right chips.

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Item: Because it has attracted my attention, this hot trend is already 10 years old. Magic mushrooms. More specifically, the open source recipe for synthetic psyllocibin. I'm trying to convince my brother, with his enormous basement, to go Breaking Bad with me, chem lab.or mushroom farm I do not care. 

Also, Grandpa weed and Grandma's opium. Surely the 2020s must give us this at least.

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Sturgis 2020. I think them all fool hardy but also gotta smile at them spitting into the Abyss with a middle finger, God damn that is America finally in the end,

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I realize the universe is a living universe, and yet I remain an atheist. I know animals have souls, and yet I am aspritus (anti-lemur?). Ain't afraid of no ghosts. Am afraid of non-ghosts.

So why would you want me as your shaman?

Because I am your best advocate before Death. As your attorney, I would advise surrendering on the best terms. I can help you with that. 

Scary Quote of the Day

"Nothing in the dark that wasn't there in the light"

I am under limitations on social media and a lot of that is being a troll. I think I'm being funny, but I'm just being mean. Well, some was mean against bigots which got me kicked of Twitter and limited on Instagram a division of Facebook. But a lot was funny. And comedy is violence.

Isn't it? 

Nothing in the dark that wasn't  there in the light. Daylight Horror. Well, action movies are Venn diagrammed into horror. And delight. 

Because eventually the universe is horror and delight and life is at the intersection. Or maybe not. Again, Daylight horror? War movies. Action movies sure but... 

Jaws. There you go. The ocean and a pursuit predator. The ocean by itself is a world of horror. Forget the monsters of the deep. Also Zombie movies.  Again, pursuit predators like sharks.

Tremors. Not just a gem, a smarter funnier Jaws.

Anyway, I am a silverback. If you are over 50, you are too. The amazing thing about silverback is that you will never be more powerful in your life. So it's frustrating because I don't know where to direct this power to help others. I am Bizarro Superman.

Item: The accretion disk of shit surrounding me which you would call a life as set the Wayback machine to three years ago.

This flower pipe has been my best yet. Ergonomically designed for average size mouth, the chamber can be filled without inhalation and sucked down smoothly with the big opening as the carburetor. This pipe design may be the only historical reference for me. I cranked these out the summer of 2017. This is also when people started dying and divorcing until my world was flipped on its axis when mom passed this past year. I'm only now realizing how big the hole, the crater is.

But the cool thing is, I am catching up on things. I'm only 50 years behind now.

Two years ago my nephew requested drawings from me. I was embarrassed. So bad. Sixth grade. Later, after I got the VR sculpting shit. I revisited the drawing. Sent this to him.

Dibs on the Misshapen Skull of Roger Stone

Seriously weird noggin on Roger Stone, like he'd had his head bound as a baby. Google Roger Stone weird head if you don't believe me. Anyway I don't need the skull right away but at some point I'm gonna need it.

So dibs on that.

I don't want anyone to murder Roger Stone so I get my skull. Heaven forbid I would hire some Ernest T Bass jump like a monkey on his head and break his neck. Why Ernest T Bass would cost a lot anyway if he wasn't dead and fictional.

But you gotta figure Ernest T Bass and of them in the Piney Dark are good at the skilled killing, and Roger Stone is no pushover.

Ernest T Bass examines Roger Stone's rippling muscles and quickly settles on windpipe. 

"T'ain't no muscle will help there so's I figger I will bust that up right quick!"

Ernest T Bass bashes Roger Stone with a brick from a rag sling. Stone chokes, coughs up a little blood, and goes down. Sorry to disappoint but the real psychotic fictional Ernest T Bass is a Tasmanian Devil. It's not going to work out for Stone. Only the wiles of a woman chile can defeat Mr. Bass.

I think Roger Stone is a scumbag. A smart rat, an archetype next to Roy Cohn and Charlie Kelly from It's Always Sunny. A wily coyote, but I detest his actions. I understand that ratfucking and gas lighting are available social tools, but mother of god dude. Psychosis. 

This is the thing about us the Vulcans don't understand.

How we can hate and love and fear and embrace at the same time. Admire, loathe, disgust, rage at our worthy and sometimes not so worthy enemies/rivals/fellow inhabitants of this particular Hell-verse

The thing I'm disappointed with is they (TPTB) always play the short dick game. Which is, they do see the big picture and they figure get it now,be a short dick. you wont'; get it again so go for it short dick. It's the marshmallow test which is equivalent to the short dick game.

Well that went off the rails. 

My current psychosis is still another Kurman Solution to the Fermi Paradox: TAFAO!

Things Are Fucked All Over 

I'm gonna whine, I'm gonna beer, I'm gonna vodka

What? are there people less fortunate than me? only 98% of the world

But hey my Mom died! be nice to me.

plus all the other horrible things that, yes I share with you

I think my biggest complaint is I'm a slob. I don't know what to do about that. I blame it on getting old and stupid, but that doesn't hide the fact I've always been so fucking lazy. Now I think its been a medical condition. Plus I'm convinced I got covided. Covideded.

And we're finding out the covid is like herpes. Or slow polio. Or a thousand other viruses that shove their DNA in mine. DNA rapist motherfuckers. Which gets us to game theory.

That still doesn't explain what a slob I am. Even if I'm all covideded up.

So my other bitch is I figured out to do art from my nightmares, and now I don't have them anymore.

If you have a good nightmare, send it my way.

I heard about this dream device. Maybe lucid dreaming device. Dormio

I'm too lazy to build it.

I will pay someone to build it.

The Bee Louse

Braulidae, or the bee louse, is actually a small fly (about 1.5mm long). They have the superficial appearance of lice, no doubt an adaptation for living upon bees, grasping the hairs of the head and thorax.

Bees have a lot of enemies. Predators, disturbers, commensals, and parasites. For some reason, the bee louse is considered a commensal rather than a parasite, despite the fact that the little fuckers steal food from the mouths of bees. They are considered 'guests' within a hive, but I would call them kleptoparasites. 

They prefer living on the queen as the queen gets all the best stuff like honey and royal jelly fom the nurse bees.

(Interestingly, a brief exposure to tobacco smoke narcotizes the bee louse, and it can be collected on sticky wax paper placed under the hive and disposed of, a practice going back to 1740).

There is speculation that it uses chemical camouflage, not unlike varroa mites. So, and there hangs the tale. Is it a form of mimicry, pretending to be a bee? Is it a form of invisibility, so that the bee ignores the parasite? Or is it a behavioral pheromone, meaning the bees notice but are not alarmed or don't care? I'm betting the last as typically the social pheromones in honeybee colonies are long lasting hydrocarbons easy to produce. 

And is there an analog to the bee louse in our monkey hives? What if there are invisible weird little fuckers living with us? I had a weird feeling about that. I thought of brownies, elves, fairies, but all of them have good connotations in folklore of helping people, right? Before I went and started marking the level of my milk bottles and counting how many beers were left, could there be some other form of kleptoparasite that was not magically invisible? Something that was not necessarily a different species from us? Something, or someone, we notice and shrug off?

Because it seems to me that humanity is riddled with kleptoparasites.

Any ideas, aside from the usual suspects at the top of the monkey hive? Typicaly prejudice is tilted towards the poor, like gypsies and hoboes stealing cooling pies from window sills..Or snatching small children and replacing them with straw dolls. But what if it's all the banksters and white collar criminals that the equivalent of the bee louse? Clearly a brief exposure to tobacco smoke and sticky wax paper is an inadequate response.