Grape Cola Stone-Fruit Wheat
Bright Sweet Caramel Cacao
Cherry Grassy Flannel Lilac
Toasted Bourbon Cream-Soda Lactic
Floral Dish-Soap Anger Panic
It would seem that everyone is adding "Tasting Notes" to each & every otherwise ordinary experience I may have today. This I dare say will only set me up for disappointment.
Wine Store People seem to be retired Blockbuster Video clerks, who in truth were working at Comic Book stores in the 80's, and later graduated to Record Sales (c.1992) -- In each of these hallowed spaces, their vaunted careers issued them carte' blanche to berate clientele for not having refined enough tastes in Graphic Novels, Music, and in Film. So what was obviously going to happen at some point, was (is) that 'they' (my friend Nathan for short) now work at the local liquor store in the wine department, (As In they get to place their name like so): "Nathan's Favorite Pizza-Wine Value" 92 pts". Under which the subtext reads: "If you have only Twelve Dollars, and need something for a friend's Pizza and a Movie Party, you could do far worse than to pick this Nebbiolo". But our boy "Nathan" has far larger plans for your Movie Night... Doesn't he?
Way Back when records were cool the first time around, (an era which lasted nearly half a century) we will recall this same guy, (our archetypal) "Nathan" raising his voice at a supplicant man-child for selecting "the wrong fucking" pressing of, or "the wrong blasted" issue of: Maus, X-Men, Replacements, Metallica, Husker Du, and cetera.
Now I'm pretty sure "Nathan" works at my local Coffee Shop, projecting heirs like he owns the whole Fair-trade roasting cartel, and "Nathan" wants to set us up with Coffee, whilst using the same Bullshit Confusing linguistic circus he'd applied in his last four Big-Top Careers: Comics, Records, Video Cassettes, and Wine. We all know the collective "Nathan" and yet "Nathan" will never learn your name, and so... he'll call you Dude, Bro, and Dude-Man... Or just Man-man, hey!
It was Nathan's Idea anyway, (wasn't it) to highlight his favorite Picks in each genre, whether it be: Amazing Spider-Man #14 (The First Green Goblin mag), or The 1957 Classic "The Throne of Blood". Back then, "Nathan" may have thought Kurosawa was a God, but We, (the lay public), may have thought 'Kurosawa' was a HiFi Stereo brand -- And Nathan a dick.
Thankfully, Today The collective "Nathan" has brought us a whole new linguistic apparatus called "Tasting Notes", and thank god we have them so we know how to feel in advance of every experience.
This week I discovered Nathan meddling in my Bot generated A.I. Movie Pix, e.g. "We think you may like", or Because you Watched..." whereby we would have formerly relied upon a small laminated card below the tattered stack of VHS Cassettes at the Family Video -- Herein Nathan states with a flourish of fine point sharpie, that, "Reservoir Dogs is a decent violent 1992 plagiarism of the Hong Kong Action Flick, "City On Fire", but it's entertaining and has a fun, if loathsome soundtrack, and some wry humor by Stephen Wright. If you'd bothered to ask Nathan, he'd confirm [that], "basically every Tarantino Film is blatant plagiarism."
Today, (meaning actually today), I discovered that the Bot we now Call Netflix, which replaced "Nathan" professionally during the pandemic, (handing him payroll protection funds, and then and sending him packing into a career spiral), is also using succinct if wholly exaggerated single word adjectives such as:
Witty | Irreverent | Dramedy | Parenthood | Danish --
Ominous | Suspenseful | Thriller | Slow-Burn | Ensemble.
Taking queues from 'The Sommelier Nathan' which my Netflix AI is certainly not, (nor is Nathan for than matter)... We should not let it pass without scrutiny that "Dramedy" is NOT a camel Like Mammal with a Hump to store reserve liquids, Nor is that Camel "Danish"... But you may find the need for subtitles, which is basically what this charade is promising, along with some "Slow-Burn", and some other bull shit tasting notes.
I know now that IF, I pick-up a bottle of White Bordeaux I can expect, "Freshly Cut lawn-grass, Honey, Minerality, Spice and Butterscotch" -- Just before selecting a film to watch, (Deadpan, Offbeat, Thriller, Addictive, Anthology). In selecting early, let's say round 12:15pm, I may still be sipping from a Pink Bourbon Single Origin, Shade Grown, Fair-Trade, Light-Roasted, 1300m ASL, Washed, and Fermented on raised beds Columbian Pour-over, with a tasting profile as follows: Tangerine, Caramel, Blueberry, Fruity, Acidic, White peach, and Lavender. Or just plain Caramel, Bread Yeast, and Raisin, if it be over-roasted, (frowny face).
Ultimately Nathan is now hard at work again in the shadows of my A.I. lifestyle, to bring me a pre-conscious agenda and the sophomoric tools with which to converse loosely about Coffee, Wine, and Film like a total twat, at any given event.
Nathan, (my personal A.I, formerly my roommate) who never washed dishes nor his clothes; Is now successful in setting me up for both failure, and disappointment.
Almost suddenly, (as in, a moment) after taking a spot in queue to order a simple pastry from this profanely overpriced local take-out Bakery window, I'd realized that this was perhaps the wrong way to waste 18-22 minutes of mid-morning. Masked Gen-ZZZ's sleep-walked forwards, strolling prams, and ill-behaved pandemic puppies, tethered by Burberry leads, muzzled mouths recited news feeds. Our cherished post modern posers posted profanely about their dinner and drinks the evening prior. Personal shopping A.I.'s plague their giant iPhone margins with banners waving suggestions for scandalously banal precious things they'd "for sure need to be buying" today... Murmured masked dialog seemed inescapably blasé, if churchlike. Amateur parents inched the line forward with infantile conversations, about the re-release of some new retro trainers, from a resuscitated brand. Conceit, & consumerism have replaced our ability to choose, and we are lost without banner ads, & the fucking tasting notes. In our digital temple God will deliver us the curated post which tells us how to behave. followers pass the basket whilst buying all the same shit as that other fuck-wit beside you.
Yelp is your north star. Unmoored and inauthentic.
It's not that I'd have made better use of this time, per se', nor made a better breakfast -- But I did know what the fuck I wanted to order in advance of arriving at the head of the line. Today, It would seem that every other person, had no fucking clue, and so the line's pace was how I'd imagine early Scuba Divers walked along the bottom of the sea, in Metal and Tarred Cotton apparatus. So, I kept my money out in my hand, in the chance the next person may say, "Go ahead, we haven't decided yet" .
A smarter me, the one I was now cursing to in my inner dialog, may have at least spared himself the embarrassment of spending (was it) Sixteen dollars, and twice as many minutes, lined up for a slice of quiche. Blissful baby steps like a Tiny Tim Conway moving forward beside people I cannot stand.
Yes, I'd just spent that much on a slice of quiche...? It's Eggs right? Quiche IS EGGS after-all, right?
So the day didn't begin here, but it seems like this day could now stray from comfortably numb -- to wondering what else may piss me off. It wasn't the money thing -- Nor the smug fucking glances through throw-back dorky RayBans. I'd endured far worse, but today it felt raw... like I was being led into a gas chamber where my final moments would be endured beside adult children, who were themselves still nursing pacifiers, but somehow drove Range Rovers the three blocks to disembark with strollers, blankets, leash the dog, and then stand in line for hipster abuse, before reversing the process back home to have a nosh. Today felt like Tailgating sober, waiting for Morrissey to show up, only to find he never boarded his plane at Heathrow. Just before the Gas valves would be opened, I'd have to watch politely while people in full view of all these delicious offerings, "decided" like chess-masters whether to have the Bialy, or the Fucking Brioche. (because they couldn't make this check-mate move until the cashier actually greeted them). Alas we peel away another adult child from the line as prickly venom from a smug-fuck cashier flips the iPad back from it's default opportunity to add 28% to an already scandalous tab.
Tasting Notes... Perhaps this line would move if they'd only had some tasting notes to tell them what emotions were packed into their sticky-buns.
Tongs, waxed paper, and a bag... Exotic Tools which required very little of this staff member's post-baccalaureate, in "Communications". Yet, adoring fans lavish praise, voting "Yes", "Smiley-Face" and "Thumbs-UP" adding gobs of gratuity with their chip cards, Instagramming that shit, while biting into the other CCP mind-suck tik tok charade.
Todays Tasting Notes... (sigh)
Somehow this line felt engineered by the same "Childish Consultant" who brought us the toothpaste aisle where every last tube is locked behind a Lexan vault, beside a "press for help" button that simply chimes an alarm sound until pissed-off yawning staff come to douse the fucking racket just before blowing their brains out. ...And please don't get me started with Deodorant.
What if you'd just wanted a bagel, or a slice of Quiche?, Is it mandatory to suffer so?
Then, there is the cost for this ride; Roughly Twenty-Four Bucks for a bagel and such. No foamy hot beverage, just a biscuit in a fucking brown bag. I wonder if the Bagel, and the Bag have their own clever tasting notes, or if the Bagel may actually use the tasting note: "Brown-Bag" as an adjective.
Money is pretend anyway, so why not pay the employees directly for this food and the tasting notes they bring?.., this way the company doesn't have to pay them. My inner dialog with the rational me, recites the job interview: "...Um-like, the tips are pooled, and everybody gets some, Also you get to eat anything that falls, or is broken", "And you get free coffee, and this cool selvage blue apron ...here" -- "Oh, But.., um like, we don't actually pay wages or anything, and so, here is a 1099."
What I'd realized in that line was that whether it be Larry, or Nathan who'd be judging me today at the check-out line, chiding me for not quite getting the most out of what was on offer, It was perhaps their moral duty to assist by being a bit less judgmental, and a bit more authentic. I'm not saying that Tasting Notes should (necessarily) be ascribed to each and every pastry, (Leeky | Cheesy | Flavorful | Fucking Good) but, perhaps if "we" were to exchange the tasting note-card for an authentic interaction, I'd like that.
Today I pull away from a sneering purse-lipped flaming gender-ambivalent person, whom we'd all knew as Larry. Now perhaps pejoratively "Lipstick Larry" or more fondly "Lonna"... But 'they' (Larry) are nevertheless not flattered by crimson lips and purple eyeshadow. It's really still just Larry, so we all go along with the transformation each morning.
And so, I am straddling my bike, awaiting my brown-bag flavored breakfast. Combined in said sack, is a smashed quiche, and basic bagel for ~$24 dollars with tax. It was now 8:04 AM, and the day was well underway.
I'd soon need coffee to come to grips with my reality. This morning's routine flatland half-century took me barely two and a quarter hours, to earn the bonus bagel. Head now cleared by a few hundred thousand breaths, unrelenting runny nose, chapped lips, freezing toes..., and a long humiliating line devoid of tasting notes, I'd head home to grind the beans & make my own fucking coffee. (as if people still did that).
In my fridge were of course some fresh eggs, butter, ham, cheese, shallot, garlic, assorted micro-greens, and even crème-fraiche, but the fridge seemed to lack the motivation to make it's own fucking quiche, so I'd have to warm the oven for this brown-bag breakfast, and it's accompaniment, the bagel.
But why the bagel? Did I even want one? I'd burnt about a billion calories, and grabbed that on Impulse -- like one may grab the Inquirer, chap-stick, condoms. Perhaps never to read nor enjoy. Comfort often arrives through trivial shit, so I'd had it with lines and bought the bagel too. But bagels are all beige and empty, and acting as metaphor for my morning. Bagels are the Dockers of the breakfast world. Maybe there is a balance between the beige inauthenticity of this line I'd escaped from, and the eccentricity of Nathan, or Larry for that matter. They were all just lined up there were they not?. But in spite of the saturation of my own saltiness, Nathan and Even Larry were somewhat authentic, because they had their own opinions. And there is noting beige about glittery teal eyeshadow.
Nobody really pushes the bagel, right? -- And perhaps they are the last to sell out because of their beige nature. Nobody publishes the price for these. (nor anything for that matter) Quick maths, prove the bagel to have cost roughly two-seventy-five. As I recall, the slice of quiche was delicious, The Bagel, completely inauthentic -- but the Beige-Bagel, while disingenuous was as close as I'd come that day to pulling on a pair of dockers, and using those condoms with a long lost "MPLS Friend". Dare I say that the Bagel may just as well have tasted like 'Nathan'.
I’ll bet Vampires and Vampire bats often bite their tongues. I know I do, even when I'm supposed to be resting. But most often when I'm deliberately thinking about chewing on something.
The medical definition of “Long COVID” is: A post viral "Condition" wherein people would rather reminisce about real or imagined suffering, and other sucky stuff, than getting the fuck on with it.
Symptoms may include malaise, headaches, shortness of breath, anosmia, parosmia, ageusia, muscle weakness, low-grade fever, cognitive dysfunction, and behaving like a total dumbass twat. Estimates of the prevalence of long COVID vary based upon definition, but are somewhere between nil, and everyone in the whole world.
The hard science demonstrates that what ends when you "recover", is different for everyone, but mostly split down party lines. e.g. Those who like to party, and those who still spray Lysol all over the fucking place.
Entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem, which translates as "Entities (like a virus) must not be multiplied beyond necessity" - William of Ockham (not the beer brand, but a monk, beer brewer, and avid beer drinker just the same)
Or better paraphrased: The philosophical razor advocates that when presented with competing hypotheses about the same prediction, one should prefer the one that requires the fewest assumptions. Which of course means that all else being equal, having a cold beer, may be the better plan; Or, when trying to decide why you just can't clear your head long enough to say something clever, it could be the beer. Or... That when looking for people to blame for your incapacity to get free of 24 months of self imposed captivity, it may not be COVID, but you.
Have a beer.
Some feel that the real effects of long COVID are primarily psychological — that it is cognitive in nature. Whilst other experts, (and your dumb-shit friend) estimate that true long COVID symptoms include a whole host of enduring physical maladies, including laying about in dark interiors, weak pupillary dilation from Netflix legal weed, & profusely sweating out spicy takeout under a California-king-size Snuggie, sporting a filthy tracksuit.
And so I suppose "Long Covid" is why so many people still say, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger"
Most experts agree that while definitions of all these medical complications are difficult to pinpoint — Long COVID doesn’t tend to adversely affect otherwise cheerful effective, healthy individuals, who maintain a real social calendar, and who seek treatment in the great outdoors.
In Chicago, where Polish is a native tongue, and Polack is still a venomous pejorative... there is a ready remedy which comes recommended by prudent Polish physicians and philosophers alike, and that is simply a pale lager, called Okacim. Although when people say, "less is more" they are totally mis-quoting William Of Ockham and Okacim, (both beer dynasties). Because we all know that's not a law or anything.
This is not to diminish the true seriousness of medically ascribable symptoms to that ominous bat inspired Chinese lab diamond 💎, which upended our otherwise miserable lives -- But well… if you've got that shit, survived that shit, and pushed past that dreadful shit - wellness should be your next milestone. Should it not.
Or... Perhaps it will elude you, while you wax nostalgic about federal handouts, napkin ass-wipe, mask-acne, and that piquant stench of isopropyl substitutes.
Correcting for the prior chaos, where we were extorted for so many daily use items, like tissues & coffee... should we not desist the habit of exhorting payroll funding from the lay public in an un-subtle touch-screen paywall beginning at 22%. Quick! how much was that coffee? $4., plus default tip = $9.50. Dreadful, and so the Long COVID remains as we are gouged to pay the "Cost of living tax" and even the millennial crowd ponies up for this lunatic tip rate. ??
Sure, I get the whole “critical employee” concept. And we really appreciate those “Essential Workers” who risked life and limb to pour coffee, scan my Funyuns, and pass my crumbling scone through a prison food slot. But while these “essential beings” were postponing their viral baptism and subsequent deliverance, all that masking (which seemed sensible at the time), merely delayed 'our' inexorable exit through the COVID gift shop.
The thing is… as everyone will agree — once you've had that shit, you just didn’t give two shits any longer, and this lead to the greatest amount of contagion.
Once you’d gathered your own precious antibodies like postcards from the kiosk on the way out of that ludicrous exhibit — you’d no longer felt the same urgency, panic, dread, and isolation — Which being a "COVID virgin" had brought. And a great green globular sigh of relief was fully expressed as you tipped everyone something like twenty-eight percent for two years..
In light of the bullyism which surrounded being chastised for masking incorrectly, coughing into one's hand, and touching the grab-bar on public transit, IS still rather fucked-up. But today, having just recovered from what is best described as a "Good Ol' Fashioned Head-Cold" -- (the lunatic long covid v.2.0 version of me) enjoys thinking back to the precise moment when "that one fucker" coughed directly upon me, and my unwitting mucous membranes. Of course I don't know his name, Let's Call patient zero, "Typhoid Jerry" and as random strangers go, Jerry, (not his real name) deserves my full affection, and rage. Of course It's not a Bronson Film, where I get to drive long nails through a baseball bat, and seek revenge. It is an elegant study in 2.0 humility to recollect my thoughts at the moment, with Jerry that went something like this, "Oh Fucking Great Man!, you fucking child... What tha?!" ...And so the clock began to chime the hours and days until my nose and eyes would become as crimson, and tattered as this Jerry guy. And for what it's worth, the entire incubation period for the latest strain of 'C-dat1FkR' virus to become fully vested, and mess up my month is about 3 full days. Then the fun begins.
Once again it goes without saying that I'm no medical professional, nor an "Essential Cafe-Worker" but I do know that I'd have preferred a third blast of "COVID19" Formerly known as "The Wuhan Virus" to "C-dat1FKR".
Anyway, cheers to all those woke fuckers, who's names I'm forgetting in my thank you speech, (perhaps because they no longer exist), who'd chastised people for not properly wearing a mask, or for berating barbarians believing a bandana was adequate, or those half-moon sniffly fuckers who needed to be reminded to wear them things over their "NOSE AND MOUTH". Today, everyone is just sneezing, coughing and spitting on every fucking surface, ...and so I suppose we are back in the wild west of cave bats and loose mask protocol.
Now would be a great time to peel up all those "Stand Here" foot prints, scrape off all those "Mask Required" signs, and roll back that digital tip-jar to something reasonable, such as 5, 10, 15, 20%. Or better still, round up to the next dollar. It's Coffee after-all. It has gotten to the point where finding the text line called "Custom Tip" behind the back pressure of a line of coffee-crazed zombies, is almost as difficult as finding the micro-font to opt out of an email.
Oh, hey! and While we are at it... could we not make a sign which states clearly what Occam so cleverly intended by the mis-quoted "less is more" anachronism:
"Kindly Stop Coughing Into that Guys Face".
Long COVID is real, and I know because I have these spells when I write the stupidest of trash, and even say things which are medically unfounded, morally unbridled, and wholly irreverent -- All of which are (of course) attributable to "Long COVID". And while I try to receive federal money to offset my "illness", I also have not been able to smell in earnest since Mid-May 2020, which certainly helps on public transit. I understand that others may not appreciate the lark of laughing at "Long COVID" nor it's sustaining effects or upside accomplishments. In deference of anyone grieving a loss, and I know it's raw, and too soon to say, but, Perhaps we could make a list of all the fuckwits, whom we'd wished would have been euthanized by COVID, and lament those sucky persons who are still with us.
And then get on with the fun.
"First, we kill all the lawyers"... -Shakespeare
If we Killed all the old Politicians would Wars end?
What may come, is the end of aging dogmatic war fetishists. Oh, and you'd have to apply a little common sense pre-cog shake-down for would-be dictators too, like lil' Elon. He is after all, seemingly unhinged. If one madman merely combined his broken auto-pilot, his corrupted A.I., with a few of his erstwhile Rockets... fuel that with a twitter-tirade — well, you can see where that may land. Thinking outside the box here, really... anyone over 63 cannot really represent e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y right? So maybe we nip that bud early with a fresh law against old fellas running shit? Let's just start with a 26-58 range, and see where it gets us, no?
Surely a $BB$-Bitcoin hit out on warmongering daddy-o would do the trick, right?
It's fact that true leaders are generally chosen for wisdom — (one may envision a noble 'Village Elder', settling disputes) But Politicians are not ipso-facto leaders, even if popularly chosen. This is because of what it takes to be ordained. You begin with helicopter parents, and never being told "No", perhaps you were told NO, but you did it anyway. Apply some "Hard Knocks", but more likely a school where everyone passes, lectured by a pedigree of bad and ancient ideology and then starve them of any meaningful friendships, (the peers who would tell them they are being stupid) Douse them in bad faith and whack religion such that they choose to napoleon-up towards political aspirations "just to show them"..., and then course correct them by letting them off for a few minor offenses which would land a peaceable person of color in prison — Then stir this mixture until you get the penultimate petulant prick man-child— what you end up with is Well... Putin, Ping, Trump, Jong Un...
In fact the reason that everyone wants to open their homes, wallets, and minds up to Ukraine is because their humble leader isn't a total D-bag, and their people are not represented by a dickhead. Now think back to travelling internationally under Trump's Reign. Canada Flag patches were out of stock, and I couldn't cop a believable New Zealand Accent. Whoa, Just woe.
"When Two Tribes go to war, one is all that you can score" -Frankie
The choice between two entitled douche-bags with bad-money fueled agendas, always leads to the lay-public being squeezed, and the clash of their single ideology "To Win at any cost" is the same B.S. dogma that wrapped us all in that stinking wet blanket we called the Cold War.
Actual Leaders in fact, are most often those who rail against the system which is clogged like a fiery bowel with sand and bile
History Lesson A ' La Wiki: Ketchup or catsup is a table condiment with a sweet and sour flavor. The unmodified term ("ketchup") now typically refers to tomato ketchup, although early recipes used egg whites, mushrooms, oysters, grapes, mussels, or walnuts, among other ingredients.
Main article: Mushroom ketchup
In the United Kingdom, ketchup was historically prepared with mushrooms as a primary ingredient, rather than tomatoes. Ketchup recipes began to appear in British and then American cookbooks in the 18th century. The term ketchup first appeared in 1682. In the United States, mushroom ketchup dates back to at least 1770, and was prepared by British colonists in the Thirteen Colonies. Excerpt c.o. -Wikipedia
So you see that Ketchup was basically invented by imperialist white conquerors, and needs to be put down alongside dad, as precisely what it is... A vegetable with a penchant toward bloodshed (fake blood anyways) and diabetes.
The idea of sitting through yet another real-life Cold War fire-drill, is asinine. I Mean Reagan, and Ketchup, and School Lunch, and Under the desk drills, and all this could end, if we only put our heads together and found something else to do with Dad.
And now we have Roger Waters (the geezer) hanging out with Vlad (the Impaler) Putin?
Regardless of one's political POV, it would seem that we are heading for a collision of one to one headstrong ideology, again....
The fallout shelter will most assuredly stock plenty of tomato ketchup (the vegetable and the condiment) -- Alas, the red stuff spewing from peoples eyes and shrapnel wounds isn't the tomato version. ...And yet, it is so simple to imagine a Billion Dollar Bitcoin ransom wired to anyone who "takes care of" any aging fellas who look not unlike my dad, and are still in office.
Ding! Ding! What does it really take to oust a dictator, such as Dad?
Ping, Putin, DeSantis, all have been in the game too long. agreed?
Find me a young fresh idealistic (if ineffectually nubile, and inexperienced) College grad and I'll Give you good odds on your future.
The trouble with rich zealots and their inseparable kinfolk — (world leaders) is not (necessarily) their differences, it's their fucking age, and their affinity for the red sticky stuff. (are we talking ketchup?)
Factoring for the entire age skew of the world population is it not fair to say that a leader closer to say 28, is more aligned with the interests of the whole?
We dwell in a patently different world than any of these old fucks comes from, so tell me why we are all walking in their Orthopedic inserts.
Instead of proposing term limits, should we not simply call a spade a spade and impose an ageist limit for who can serve as leaders? The ransom by the way would be far cheaper albeit less sexy than another 300 Tom Cruise Missiles.
Squabbles about bitcoin, being bad, and Daddy's Dollars being good, or Mayo vs Ketchup on your fries, are fair arguments within a sub-set of this broad age pool, but for many reasons, I don't want to swim in that adult pool with Putin nor Biden nor Xi. So it's fundamental that while they don't understand "our" snacking future -- We can find another task for them.
Being Old and privileged doesn't make you wise, nor a good leader, just like mum and dad answering the question "Why do we do it this way?" (Ketchup on our Meatloaf?)
Comes an answer like, "Because we always do it this way" ..." This way" is fucked!
Ketchup anyone? Reagan said Ketchup was a vegetable when served for school lunch, and this explains a lot about his foreign policy. And Reagan basically hosted MTV and the Cold War for the Martha Quinn years right?
I'm no anarchist, nor a historian but I can find a bit of space in my heart for a new condiment currency, (cheese fries) even a new sauce to dip my french-fries in, but I can't help but think that if we don't gather up every old fart who hasn't had an original thought since they learned to ride a bike, and remove them from office..., then we will of course be talking War Games for another generation.
Forward thinking the world's next existential condiment threat, Some hearty ideas which you could throw the kitchen sink at, (even if the aioli is merely mayonnaise), help to lubricate the mechanism for change. Railing against the establishment of old fucks, and the ketchup they invented is only natural.
Poutine is that deep-learning Lycée Français pool I'd dive my progressive French-Fry into, and the other Putin is that foggy circular thinking which keeps us at ketchup. Some generic off-label catsup with a shared spoon. ... Or worse still the British mushroom version in a tub.
Kiddie Pool anyone?
Perhaps, We really do need to kill all the lawyers for defending these ancients.
Then we need to oust the aged from pretending to "lead", and put them out in the garden with a basket and a spade.
Fuck Man, what do we do with dad? "Kiddie Pool indeed"
A shimmering silver pool-floatie passes overhead and by dumb chance two in two hundred and fifty million children happened to be looking up, as its shadow darkens a patch of grass and then over a garage. There is never enough time in the day to look up from one's glowing screen, and who the fuck cares really if a higher intelligence from a far away galaxy were to pay a lunch visit whilst you were thumbing ranch-dressing on your display. Who the fuck gives a shit, if this was really an angel? -- Or if angels and aliens were both made by god. Then, well -- they would look sexy as shit, and not have bulbous heads, and elongated hands and such. If Aliens & the CCP were smart, they'd send some glowing round-yon-virgin angel shit over the Midwest, then over Montana & Nevada, where all them crazy fuckers live, and and perhaps be on its way down to Brazil where the Pope still calls the shots..., and then really get to inspiring people with some grace, and awe. Nothing gets people in line like religious expletives, such as "Holy Fucking Shit" "Did you see that?" "Fucking Miracle Man!"
I suppose that actual angels come in many forms, from thin and sexy to John Travolta. They say that we all need a bit more "AWE" in our lives, to humble us, to center us, and to inspire. They, also say that cathedrals were built to blow the average Bronze-age minds. This is why there are so fucking many Christians, So goes the same with the Mosques, and with the Mormons. It turns out that fancy fables of romantic encounters with sacred stones, housed under big tall domes, (also made of stone) have a way of awakening our stoner imaginations. We all get stoned far more than we'd intended. Just like Meeting space aliens in Brazil, these "close encounters" are the perfect opportunity for tiny earthling brains to have their spongy untapped mind's blown... But, sadly we all happened to be looking down at snap-chat the very moment of inspiration.
What do they call this 'Close Encounter' of divine inspiration? Epiphany?
So it comes as no surprise that the Extra-terrestrials and the Angels (or whatever) -- Come and go freely now and again, and NORAD don't seem to care much whether it be Santa or research Inflatables, (pronounced: Weather balloon) -- lest we miss another episode of "Survivor".
In 1999 Avon, (a pyramid beauty distributor with a waning grip on the middle-class feminine beauty market) Introduced a 'limited edition' angelic Barbie complete with a white dove boomerang. Whether this slender vapid alien-esque figure could toss her dove companion like a scimitar and make magic happen, is anyone's guess -- But her sliding grasp on a core market of insecure Christian zealots sold a crapload of idyllic beauty queens to inspire the next gen house-wife to be subservient to a male mono-culture whose invention hoped to keep her in check for another millennia or so. Much like beauty conventions and most other organized religions.
If you woke up in your AirBnB, and saw this Angelic Barbie on the nightstand, would you do a double take?
So it doesn't surprise me that the "Angels" we occasionally do encounter, whether they appear as Bobble-headed aliens, with impossibly pale and frail features, or vapid coke fueled fashion models, resembling these aliens -- is of little importance.
So we spot yet another UFO floating in our stratosphere, all shimmery and silky, and say something like, "Holy Fucking Shit!" "Is that a UFO?"..., "Or an angel?" No, sorry it's not Space-Alien Nicole Kidman, the holy virgin huntress -- It's just another Chinese Spy Balloon taking some pix of Mormon Tabernacles, Baptist Churches, and oh... Military Missile Bases. Aliens, Like the Chinese Communist Party Elite seem to be asking, "What do we do with all the white people when alas we take over the planet? and do we even want to take over this shit? Do we keep the NBA?, the NFL?, and Hollywood? -- And what about Jay Z?
Waaaay back in 2018 China tested a spy balloon with Hypersonic Glide Missiles that floated on a similar lazy (Oops, My bad!) 'weather balloon trajectory', and then dropped some warheads, like candybars.
Rapture?, please! I mean... What more could the Chinese need to learn about us. don't they ship us all our personal surveillance devices anyway? We are emphatically cool as Fonzie, as a cultural meme, True! -- But "Americans" (besides R Kelly, and our former racist-in-chief who we offer as an olive branch) offer what?, in terms of intel?
It seems like 'Knowing' too much about another person or culture is what leads to envy or resentment, and both tend to be deleterious to the marriage when one becomes tired with what the other has become. So what could an Angelic Barbie, a shimmering Inflatable Pool-floatie, and the Rapture do to juice the agenda of a foreign state actor / actress?
OK, so everything tends to appear similar, (if alien) beyond 40,000 feet, and dirigibles floating over ones enemies is so 1640; but can we all agree that being able to criticize our dickhead leaders (here in the US), is a birthright? Aren't we all silver tongued children playing with beach-toys in full awe of nothing whatsoever anyway? So, pretend you are 80 years old, and I showed you a real alien at a distance of say two blocks away, Could you identify it correctly?, or would you think it was an angel, or a fucking "weather balloon". No pressure man!
Any given 20-something stands a 1 and 4 chance of answering a yes or no question correctly, and when wrong, a 1% chance of accepting they're wrong. Fairy-Tales, and Foreign Actors, may all be disguised Angels delivering a message, but imagination is often blind. This confirms that, just because you can imagine it, or "think you saw something", doesn't make it real.
Oh, and by the way, there is no such thing as French Vanilla, because the French don't give a shit about tasteless crap, and a bit less about the Barbie affair.
Anyway, espionage is such a loaded term, and in the end gathering intel about the weather is cool, right? So why worry about a hovering pool-toy? What is there to gather about Americans?
What we have to offer is rather cool music, crappy TV dramas, shittier take-out food, two kinds of diabetes, and first person shooter drills. Oh, And lame-ass twerking stripper fashion, falling beltless hip-hop pants, sexy Halloween tropes... and Racist Cops. But in truth the majority of our list comes from China, so could they not cut to the chase, and start dropping our Amazon blimp orders from 68,000 feet? And what of the trail that went cold as I tried to track my package somewhere off the Carolinas?
You're right Marjorie... Shame on Biden for shooting down my Jordan's.
"On February 17th 2023, high above Canada’s Yukon territory, the pilot of a $150 million U.S. Air Force F-22 Raptor, acting on orders from the leaders of both Canada and the U.S., fired a $472,000 AIM-9X Sidewinder missile at a small unidentified cylindrical object flying at an altitude of 40,000 feet, resulting in a confirmed air-to-air “kill.” What NORAD still hasn’t been able to confirm, almost a week later, is what exactly was blown out of the sky on February 11.
Since then, members of the Northern Illinois Bottlecap Balloon Brigade, a club of high-altitude-balloon hobbyists, have been waiting to hear from K9YO-15, the group’s $100 silver mylar “pico” balloon.
Pico balloons are small antenna-and-tracker-equipped circumnavigational balloons that typically cost less than $200 to build. K9YO-15, which had been airborne nearly 124 days and was in the middle of its seventh circumnavigation of the globe, sent its last signal on February 10, just southwest of Alaska, as Aviation Week reports:
The club’s silver-coated, party-style “pico balloon” reported its last position on Feb. 10 at 38,910 ft. off the west coast of Alaska, and a popular forecasting tool — the HYSPLIT model provided by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) — projected the cylindrically shaped object would be floating high over the central part of the Yukon Territory on Feb. 11."
NIBBB said in a blog post that, as of Tuesday, K9YO-15 was officially “missing in action.”
Full News Credit for this Excerpt comes from the brilliant Chas Danner of the Intelligencer:
Titled, SPY BALLOONS UPDATED FEB. 17, 2023 Did an F-22 Blow Up an Illinois Club’s Hobby Balloon? https://nymag.com/intelligencer
Age and Treachery will overcome youth and skill.