Friday, October 21, 2016

Vergil overused superlatives but he was not on the level of Trump

[Originally posted at Slacktivist after people were talking about Trump's excessive use of superlatives.]

Vergil overused superlatives and thus we have other Latin poets mocking that, but it wasn't directed at himself and it wasn't nearly as frequent and he was Vergil so he had some points in his favor.

He didn't write:

Muse, take the day off, I can speak of Arms and the Man better than anyone. I have the greatest knowledge of Arms. Nobody knows weapons like I do. And as for the Man, I am the man. Aeneas and I are like twins, except I'm smarter and better looking. No one can tell the story of Aeneas the way I can tell the story of Aeneas...

And so on.

Someone probably did write that. Someone who got lost to history because they fucking deserved to be forgotten.

Making money by blogging.

The blog started in 2011 (it actually just turned five last month) and I applied to add ads late that year and noticed that they'd finally went active (because I earned a penny) on December 29th.

Today I was informed that I finally had earned enough money for them to pay me (the threshold is 100 USD.)  In fact, I earned more than enough by 49 cents.

This allows us to do some math.  $100.49 per 1759 days equals 5.7 cents per day.  That's actually way better than I would have thought because usually I'm lucky to earn a penny or two, but then again there are some days when the stars align and . . . I'm not totally sure but I think what happens is that someone clicks an add and then browses the site in a way that the site logs as "potential customer" and on those days I've been known to earn as much as a dollar, so days like that have obviously brought the average up.

So, you know, become a blogger and you could earn between five and six cents a day.

It almost goes without saying, but doesn't quite, that being a beggar/busker is way more lucrative.  That's basically what the donations are: they're the money thrown in my open guitar case on the subway while I regale you with my rendition of . . . what's the guitar equivalent of Twilight/Narnia/Left Behind?

That got my boiler fixed, which I still think of as a furnace because that's what we always called it, thus saving me from going homeless in the dead of winter in Maine.  To afford that on my ad revenue would take 288 years, 72 days, 14 hours, 20 minutes, 58 seconds, and one tenth of a second.

Oh, also, programming note: I went back through my disqus log to dig up any things to be posted and came up with four things on Trump, two of which have already gone up.  I'm trying to write some lighter, or at least less Trumpish, posts to break up that string of Trump Trump Trump Trump.

The Bene Gesserit Litany Against Trump

[Originally posted at Slacktivist after Daniel said that Trump is the mind killer, which I've added to the start of the following since Daniel's post isn't reproduced here.]

Tump is the mind killer

Trump is the little yuge death that brings total obliteration.

I will face the Donald.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
Keep it the hell away from me.

And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the Trump has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain.


One might argue that diferent pronouns would be better, i.e.:

Tump is the mind killer

Trump is the little yuge death that brings total obliteration.

I will face the Donald.

I will permit him to pass over me and through me.

Keep him the hell away from me.

And when he has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see his path.

Where the Trump has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain.

* * *

On a programming note, I don't even know what to tag this.  Poetry?  Regular blogging stuff?  Bah?  I probably do need a "Blah" tag.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

I hate everything

Earlier today there was something good.  Something I wanted to make a post about.  Something fun and light.

I don't remember.

Being subjected to my sister talking to someone is Vogon poetry.  She showed up at my house and talked to someone, someone from DHHS (which includes CPS) who is either extremely stupid or was a victim of her superiors trying to pass of their own incompetence as that of the Cape Elizabeth Police Department, on the phone.*

Don't know, don't care.

What I do know is that it's difficult to comprehend physical pain as horrible as having to listen to her side of the conversation.  As soon as that was over she called someone else.

This continued almost all the way to my psychiatrist appointment and believe me I would have rather walked the two fucking hours than ride while my sister was on the phone because that shit hurts.

It's not like I can't walk.  Sure I sprain my ankle every so often, but that's never stopped me from getting where I was going.  My new psychiatrist knew of me (not by name as that would have violated patient confidentiality) because of the local group getting together and taking note and,  "The person who walks in from another city, and then walks back afterward," apparently got mentioned more than once.

So that meeting went well, but then I was back to the farm and . . . I was the only one fucking working.  I know why.  There's important paperwork to be done when people are trying to take your son away for good and shut down your farm and the neighbors have made not-so-thinly veiled death threats.**

Still hard to work on your own, especially what I was trying to do (prefabricated stiff wire fencing mixes with irregular inclines about as well as water with potassium.)

Anyway, the sweat pours out of me, sometimes onto my glasses (it all depends on the angle of your head.)  Apparently I took them off once and then didn't put them back on.  It's unclear what happened, but the only part that might survive salvage are the lenses.  I have often thanked what gods may be for the fact they use durable plastics now instead of glass.

And I hate everything.

In the car, as I was forced to listen to my sister on the phone, I found myself thinking about how it would doubtless be far less painful to jump out of the car and let the high speed landing mangle me as it would.

That was before.  When I found what was left of my glasses it was more of a mental collapse.  I hate everything.  I'm done for the day.  Fuck it all.

- - -

On a side note.  They're not even the right prescription.  The most recent glasses with the most recent prescription were lost down Lonespark's toilet ages ago.

These were my emergency back up glasses.

I need new glasses.  I'll probably just start using the previous emergency back up.  I need a new prescription, instead I'll be going back to the one before the one before the out of date one.

If I had the money to pay for new glasses . . . well I need that money elsewhere.  I can't even make minimum payments at this point.  Just waiting for the day when no one can pitch in anymore and it all comes apart.  Could even be this month, but if I were making odds I'd say November is more likely.


Fuck this blurry word.


* DHHS, you see, has their own version of events.  Well, they have several.  Four to be exact.

This presents a problem because they're telling my sister that she can't have her son back unless she confesses and demonstrates remorse.  Confess to which version?  Confessing to any version would be denying that the other versions happened which is what DHHS does not want.

Why do they not want it?  No fucking clue.  None of their four versions match what any present party claimed happened.  Apparently they've got a crystal ball that let them know what was happening better than my sister's family, the neighbors family, and the police combined.

So when my sister pointed out that they hadn't even decided what they were actually accusing her of and had presented four mutually exclusive accusations . . . this is where it gets hazy.

Either the people working the case can't tell the difference between themselves and the Cape Elizabeth Police Department or they tried to claim that the four different versions they had were because the police report was revised three times resulting in four versions.

If the first then the person my sister was talking to had called up the Cape Elizabeth Police Department under the mistaken impression that it was an arm of the Department of Health and Human Services.

If the second then the person called up the Cape Elizabeth Police Department because their superiors said, "It's not our fault that the story changed, it's the police departments," and she followed up on that mistakenly believing that her superiors were honest people.

Either way, all that this resulted in was her finding out what everyone else already knew: the police report is not, in fact, allowed to be changed every time the reporting individual is caught in a lie.


** Specifically, after noting that they can see the entire worked area of the property from their house they said that they'd never see my sister's boyfriend again because they had someone coming to "take care of" him.  Shortly thereafter they tricked a cop into rushing onto the property unannounced with his gun drawn, apparently in hopes that my sister's boyfriend would mistake him for a common murderer, try to defend himself, and get shot to death.

If the cop had done his job he wouldn't have been able to be tricked, wouldn't have had his gun out, would have allowed the situation to quickly deescalate when he saw that he'd been lied to and there was no danger, and wouldn't have written his police report in such a way as to imply that he smashed down the door without even touching it.  (He might not be bright, but he can kill you with his mind.  Apparently.)

But it was still the neighbors who tried to get my sister's boyfriend killed and used the police as their weapon.  The rules and regulations that police are supposed to follow should make that impossible, but remember that my sister only didn't get murdered by that cop because she informed him that she was pregnant.

The neighbors, in their generosity, have responded by scheduling a court date for my sister's due date.

Word of the Day

This is the first email I received when I got up this morning:

with Anu Garg



1. Something showy but worthless.
2. Nonsense or rubbish.
3. Deceit; fraud; trickery.

From French tromper (to deceive). Earliest documented use: 1481.


This week’s theme
Words that appear to be coined after someone (but aren’t)
I couldn't have defined it better myself. For someone to do it in 1481? Remarkable in their foresight.


[Random thing that came from thinking about video game training levels, with the one from Hover: Revolt of Gamers being foremost in my mind.]

The mental imprinting does give you a general idea of how to use your body, but it's pretty generic, mostly it makes sure you know how the body you have works as opposed to a body belonging to a different species, so--

Worth noting that given the number of species the labs can still produce and the amount of data that can be stored on the surviving imprinters, we really didn't have the option of giving you more detail.

The point is that you're going to have to get to know how your body works and you're probably interested in that suit you're in.

The labs may be falling apart, but there have been some improvements.  Back when I was created you were dumped out of your pod-thingy completely naked.

I'm sure that having one of our new compatriot's earliest memories be hearing you sharing that anecdote will ensure a life on the right track where everything is ice cream and lollipops.

I do what I can.

Anyway, back to what I was saying: to help you get adjusted to your body and your suit we've set up a training course.

We have not.

We have most definitely set up a training course that will help you to familiarize--

We have in no way set up a training course.

Could you stop?

What my colleague is trying to say is that we were too lazy to make it so you can just walk out of there and have therefore done the bare minimum work required to make it possible to escape and --as a result-- by the time you actually do get out you should be familiar with all of the basics of the way your body and your suit operate because you're going to need to make use of more or less everything both can do to get yourself out of there.

But don't worry because we'll walk you through it every step of the way.

And it's not that hard anyway, mostly you'll just need to be told about the capabilities you have that the imprinting didn't cover.


Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Skewed Slightly to the Left: Nicolae's speech to Americans

[Originally posted at Slacktivist.]
[Canonically after giving a rousing speech to the UN general assembly that consists of listing the countries of the UN in alphabetical order Nicolae then gives a press conference where he tries to ingratiate himself with people from the US by talking about how as a little boy in Romania he always looked up to us.  Except it's written so badly that people would be more likely to go, "Wha?" than "'Merica: Fuck Yeah!"]

This was a press conference for Americans, so naturally it began with Nicolae saying what an honor it was to be in America. "Especially at this historic site," he added. "It may seem strange, but I have dreamed of coming here since I was a small boy in Cluj. A dream that only intensified as I grew older.

"This place was built on blood soaked land, for it was in the slaughterhouse district. To turn blood to peace was such a potent symbol. As a child in the so-called 'Second World' it so often seemed like there was little hope. Ceaușescu's rule became more oppressive as time went on, basic necessities were kept from us. Many starved while he built an opulent palace, and to even tell a joke risked harsh punishment. Criticism was impossible.

"So I dreamed of this country, one that lacked a brutal and ubiquitous secret police. One where you could speak your mind freely. One where you could trust people --at home one in three people had been bribed, blackmailed, or intimidated into informing on their friends and neighbors.

"Then everything changed. The 'Second World' started to collapse as freedom spread from country to country. By the time the Cold War ended in 1991 and your President Bush spoke of a 'New World Order' I had finally breathed free and the words made my heart sing.

"A new world order free from oppression. A new world order where we would fight poverty rather than create it. A new world order were the blood of revolutions past would water future peace.

"Standing here so soon after the catastrophe that has shattered the world we knew before, I think back to my dreams as a child. To see peace, freedom, and cooperation rise from the bloody ground.

"When this site was given to the United Nations it was changed from a place of blood and death to a place of hope and life. The entire world has been struck by blood and death, and worse still the bloodless disappearances of the children and a handful of others, but we must pull together and change our world from a place of blood to a place of life, from a place of chaos to a place of order, from a place of conflict to one of cooperation.

"We must not allow the recent crisis to be exploited by the worst among us, we must not allow the pain and hurt we have all felt to multiply. We must come together.

"And that is why I am so honored to be standing here. America is a diverse country. A place with fifty states, no two alike, that is able to serve as a shining beacon of cooperation.

"In order to deal with a global crisis we will need a global solution, and America will lead the way. The United Nations will need to be rebuilt. Larger, stronger, able to deal with the problems that now plague the world. To this end I will look to you, America, and build the new United Nations on the model of the United States of America.

"Long have you led by example, as leader of the United Nations I intend to follow that example like never before. By following your example I will allow your greatness to shine over the entire world more brightly than ever before."

Pandering to the crowd always worked, and so there his speech was followed by applause.