AC is the where I imagine hell would be, except it was already booked out. Literally, every hotel is booked out. I don't understand - no one is here except those who are prevented from leaving. But I got evicted from two hotels already. I've been here a week! All hotels are booked, it's surrealism.
At the awesome hotel which I stupidly(?) appreciated was empty, I got a shock eviction. I hadn't bothered to book as I was planning on saying "Extend" when they called. Easy? Nup. They were booked out. Apparently. An hour later and 15 hotels called by the receptionist, I get a hovel room. I can't move hotels when I'm destroyed.
The hovels get my destroyed "Extend" - repeat - business.
One of these hotels are going to get everything, just by destroying me. It's genius game theory, really. AC is winning, just ask for a booking. No one is here, but all the hotels are full. Your guess is as good as mine in a world of unfathomable incompetency it could be something as simple as they accept bookings by phone so guys just book everywhere and take their pick on the day.
And they don't understand why their 1890's - system - doesn't provide optimality.
There's another theory actually, which is horrifyingly plausible. Omg. To understand how plausible this theory is, you'd have to really understand the Philippines. But they could be doing like "Nah nah nah nah naaah" cause they know you'll want them more if they don't care or need your business?
I heard this prostitute on my way to McDonalds yell to her ex-b/f (who I assumed had just been caught cheating) on speaker phone cheered on by like 10 of her ugly friends. She doesn't have cute friends. I just feel compelled to paint an accurate scene. This ugly prostitute is high-fiving her friends cussing out her b/f, really riding that high horse of revenge. Milking it for all it's 'worth'. She yells, "Me and You? We are Through. There is no You. I couldn't care less about you. You mean nothing to me."
So far so good. Look, I mark on the curve.
Then she threw a 'curve' ball. She yells "If I see you come down here with another girl, I'll kill you hahaha".
Cause that sounds like someone who doesn't care. She could be a lot more convincing? Whatever. I didn't care. I can be convincing. I walked on.
Like I said, they weren't butt-fucking ugly. Hmm, nah. Not even you would be brave enough. Something horrifying is going on here. Come here for a Sex Addiction. Two weeks. Cured.
Like, you can go into a fast food restaurant, like McDonalds as I did yesterday and you will have so many experiences like this, you just laugh at everything. They're not geniuses. They're not retards. They're not anything. They're not human. They're not even - fucking - robots.
Well, they're not pretty ones. Fire the stage hands. Fire the props. Fire the costume designers. Actually, just fire everyone. I walked into McDonalds - and you need to understand this is not isolated - where there are four staff manning the front counter, and I'm the only customer in the restaurant.
I'm standing there, aware that I have just interrupted their fun. How would I know? Maybe someone said a funny fart joke, without saying anything? Maybe they're just giggling. What the fuck do I care? The sooner they serve me, the sooner they can return to farting. But they don't really want to work, you see? Work is a chore. I understand. I worked at McDonalds. It's a zero sum game when the customer is there though. Unless...
I thought, "Do they want me to leave?"
No. Hah. They're not thinking at such advanced levels. There's very little going through their minds. They're all caught in a Russian Roulette game where all four are hoping one of the others takes the responsibility. We stand there, the minutes tick by. I love these situations. I don't want to do anything to disturb them in their natural habitat. I feel lucky to witness their primitive interactions with each other. When I'm quiet sometimes I imagine I can hear them think, so I stay very still and listen carefully...
But no, false alarms. We live in hope though. It's a wonder they breed actually; someone is showing them how to do that. Or maybe, they learn the usual way. Fuck I am dumb. Young. And life sucks for boys. Fucking whores are practicing their wiles (eew) kitted out with Whore Paint (from the Whore, or an older whore-in-training), padded bras (tissue paper), gaudy finery highlighting the features their mothers don't feel threatened by. They're putting their 'best' foot forward at 9 years old I mean; learning to sashay hips that don't exist and likely never will cause what is
child-bearing curves and
heroin chic doing in the same fucking world. The fashion world is intent on forcing this intersection of mutually-exclusive and diametrically-opposed concepts? It's going to be a T-intersection, at best. This is a crossroads that physics won't approve of. How are they creating this contradiction?
Doesn't really matter. They're creating it. They'll just railroad it through your consciousness.
I'm probably the only conscious person alive who even worries about queer shit like...the fashion industry. I like fags but when they get mixed up in embroidery...
I'm a traditionalist. But pragmatic, too.
So yes, I think boys can be prostitutes too. As well as, or in addition to the Angelic ones, I mean. Otherwise, they can be useful. Make themselves useful. What do I care. Start practising their suggestive selling of gum and cigarettes and fake Cialis. Or starve to death. What do I care. I can't fight your ability to breed. How did we manage with your Mom?
I failed. I'm going to fail. I killed this urchin last night. Maybe. I gave this tiny kid some chips from a bag of Kettle-like potato chips. Poor kid almost lost his fucking mind. I've think I may have ruined his life.
I did a stupidly impulsive thing. He loved this big chip so much I gave him the whole bag. Acht. I agonised. Something told me baby did a bad bad thing.
I was telling myself to stop being silly when he came up and asked me for more. What? Hang on. I'd seen that face before!
I'm not going to be his Kettle dealer.
Probably a mistake? Win some, lose some. Hah. It's impossible to win. That was wit right there. You probably missed it.
In case you missed it, we are talking about Catholicism. Everyone loses. But then not really; I mean, that's not really accurate. It's not the Truth, is it? The truth is...
Everyone's lost.
---------
I've been a fool. I'm just a freak of ludicrous circumstance. No TV, video, newspaper, magazines, books, marketing - omg no Spam...! I grew up unSpammed. The Bible, sure. Filthy Spam. The worst. But that only ruined my chances of happiness for life. It didn't dull me down as per the design of 14 years of non-stop insulting is designed to make you uniquely stupid. You're very special. Just like billions of others of unique entitled urchins.
Mind the gap!
You're not horrified by the London Underground but they are mocking you. It's emotional Spam. There's no gap in other subways. There's no gaps to mind, except the gap where your brain was sucked clean dry from. But other metros understand what's really going on with you and the gaps you fall through. So they started telling their citizens to mind non-existent gaps as well. Such sweet state caring.
I missed all this. I was enduring
"He's got the whole world, in his hands, he's got the whole world in his hands, he's got the whole world in his Hands, but Jesus loves me so." 1800 or so times in my childhood? I suspect if wrong, it's not by much.
You see? 3 clicks of buffer-write-seal
"Jesus has the whole world in his hands."
Then the zinger. The payload. Device reinitialised.
"But he loves YOU so."
It's subtle. I notice subtlety. It's my thing.
That's what this is all about really. You've lost the ability to gauge horror. You're horrifying. But you're clearly cool with it. Tell me how this works. Presently I figure you're a fairly advanced configuration of a Pinoy data server. Like, you would not confuse "Cheeseburger" with "sandwich". I mean, I'd back you on this for a lot of coin.
I don't mean to blow smoke up your ass.
--------
I think, and this is laughably anti-climatic really, I'm nothing more than a tragic victim of being accidentally inoculated (think
Blue Lagoon without Brooke Shields) from a world simply overrun / overwhelmed. 100% of you are infected with / corrupted by unsolicited Spam AIDS. You like it. It's helpful. Saves you thinking. I get it.
You just wait until their one of their suggestions pops up and connects with the flash card you've stored in your brain of the image. I'm starting to understand you. I watched this process. It was fairly seamless. Human robots interacting. The robot just waited until the item he desired was presented by the other robot for his selection - as it will be, eventually - in rotation. It's kind of impressive yet stupidly retarded at the same time. A great legacy application with 100x redundancy . Slow, but it will get you there. This year. Next year. You - will - get there. I watched. I was impressed. Cash was exchanged. No pleasantries. Functional. Rich. Layered. I was really impressed.
"This is the future," I thought. "This is humanity."
I've been missing out. There's only one of me.
I resolve to try this new
Wait and Select method for selection of products. I know I want a cigarette lighter but why say the words? I can just grunt and wait for the rotation of offered suggestions and then I see my product held up at some point. At which point I imagine I will grunt again, and then a final grunt (or not? - you can probably change this in the default settings) in farewell. Light up. Ah.
"My code says that's good. All the variables are in place. That hit the spot. Now back to the ladies."
This is where the rotisserie actually comes in handy, but then it takes more than a genius suggestive rotational system to impress me.
But this is no good. Something is missing! No one ever listens to me. This is a corrupted gene pool over here. It's truly horrifying.
There are maybe 4000(?) 40000(?) - doesn't really matter does it? NO IT REALLY DOESN'T. You want a wider choice of horror? Come to AC. Don't come for sex. Or do. My point being, you won't have any. They're a) not human b) not fuckable c) fuck off.
Fucking Catholics. Not sure how I'm going to blame the DNA catastrophe here on them but I'll figure out a way somehow and I'll be right even if I'm not. Because it's - all - their fault.
-----------
They insult you with Separation of Church and State. As if Power separates from Power? Hah. But I don't care. What about Separation of Church and McDonalds? This is what is vexing me, presently.
After I waited six minutes or so, the fatter one out of the three fat ones (and one skinny boy; yeah look, I was intrigued as well, but they speak English only...
in a fashion). Let me explain. They speak Tagalog the same way. This isn't a 2nd language thing. English is their native language. This is a war zone. German trains would run whole minutes behind schedule here. This isn't your cushy desk job at HQ, Private Cassandra. This is a fucking War.
And in war, things get ugly. So so - so - ugly. I had no idea.
I ask for a Cheeseburger. I actually want two but I'm going to do this one item at a time. Things just get complicated in multiples.
She asks me if I want
a sandwich. I don't know. Do I?
On the store windows, it says "Cheeseburger". This is a fucking McDonalds(TM).
You know, McDonalds specifically spend millions of dollars streamlining the very process she's threatening to destroy single-handedly. She's a covert operative in the employ of Burger King or she's just walking dead. You be the judge.
I say I want a Cheeseburger. Fuck Burger Queen.
She asks me if I want a sandwich.
I take a deep breath and reassess my strategic position. I admit that one shook me a little. Anyone can get a lucky punch in, but the second one? That's when you start to get frightened. If he can land two, he can land them indefinitely. This is the logic of my fear, here. You have no idea.
I know what a sandwich is. She's asking me if I want a burger? I do a half nod half shake of my head, the sort of movement where if I did it 100 times in a minute I could pass for an albino from Madras, but I just do the one spasm and it somehow feels appropriate and so I repeat my order, for a third time. I can do this. I try to psyche myself up. I'm trying to remember Eye of the Tiger but all I see are running Jews. Chariots. Ah fuck this.
I'm over-thinking this. I tend to do this. I take a deep breath. I should be able to do this.
McDonalds have designed this procedure expressly for me. I have faith in me, to make my order and exchange currency for food. But telling myself not to panic (only because those creeps suggested that I shouldn't panic when I probably wouldn't - but now I do, sneaky creeps -
the power of suggestion), I start panicking and I say:
"Yes. I want a Cheese-burger."
I am unsure if my voice broke or if I just imagined it. Probably the latter. She doesn't care. She's not even human. There'd be no blip on any machine that you could hook up to her that would bring a smile to a surgeon's face. She'd be walking around ICU in her vegetative state and he'd be shaking his head at the blips; trying to decide if he can invoice your Hope for more money - risk his career, which he does every day; and what is litigation insurance for anyway - he'll decide against it, and tell you it might be time to start calling the family in from around the world.
Your decision, of course. He might as well draw a knife across his neck or hold his necktie above his head choking (head lolling, tongue out one side would be how I'd do it) to fully communicate the message across to you. It's all the identical thing. All three should generate the same emotional reaction in you or you are exploitable.
When your family arrives, they're not massing to fuck spiders. They're gonna want to see a show. Stand and deliver. But of course, you know all this. This is my fucking point, dipshit. What do you need the insulting innuendo and wordplay for?
Whose feelings? Are you from the Philippines? Let me check your specifications.
She says "sandwich", as she turning to leave the till. She's like 90% certain I don't want a burger soda. She's gonna run with it, ride that cocky initiative home. I'm reading the play well, I think. I have a pretty good idea of what's going on here. But I'm not going to let urine win.
"Yep, a Cheeseburger", I blurt out softly (in a tone of affirmation / compromise - I can be pragmatic; I'm meeting her in the middle - there's another girl waiting to be served, I have all kinds of complexities I'm trying to juggle here).
She turns back to the till, confused. "So a sandwich?"
We're going backwards. I try to stifle my terror.
"Don't panic, don't panic", I'm thinking. So I panic.
Okay give me the knife across my neck from a professional hitman or if we're talking locals maybe best if you give me the rope.
First I had to order this "CheeseSandwich" but you know I didn't want to go there. That's what you'd do. That's how we got in this mess. Fuck your 'compatibility'.
Your Moms pretty compatible. Like Microsoft.
I wasn't sure if I could clean up the junk and dot_files you callously left in this girl's 'brain'. Clean up after yourselves, you animals! I didn't have all night. And like I said, there was a customer next to me doing the deep breathing / sighing passive-aggressive thing. These guys aren't going to respond to 'complexity' of that nature. They go on playing Russian Roulette in their minds. Killing it.
These guys were Relay Responsibility pros. Stone cold. I bet this sandwich girl loses all the time. These other guys kept throwing responsibility onto the other two. You know how you can take a frog, throw it into boiling water and it will hop out? But if you bring cold water to the boil it will just get cooked? True story. Try it at home, if you don't trust Google. Try it with your hand, if you can't find a frog.
My point being, you could bring one of these guys to the boil, you'd just need to place the keys to the lock securing the escape hatch in a floating buoy in the middle of the four of them. Stand back, light the Bunsen burners and say "Good Luck". They'll boil because they know the other guys will get it. I'm not even joking. They'll boil in both the other methods as well but I wanted to make a point about their thought process, in this instance.
I can say "Yes" to her double-checking with me that I want "a sandwich" but I have made this mistake before, not with "sandwiches" but with something very similar. I regretted it. I'm literally unemotional about McDonalds branding but I don't understand why she has to bring in her pet name for Cheeseburgers. A sandwich is a burger, right? So she's chosen the single most confusing word in the entire English language for her nickname of Cheeseburgers. Or - as I had started to suspect - is that her nickname for all the burgers? Do you see?
She was confirming that I didn't want an order from the liquid section, when I said "Cheesburger". She was just checking that I wanted a <burger>. Does it matter which burger, really?
You get awfully philosophical when you do that. What do I know? I just wanted food and the streets were empty at 7am. It seemed like a no-brainer.
Yeah.
I pointed to the Cheeseburger sign and that "is that a sandwich?" She said "Yes". So, really slowly but not insulting or patronising (think Sydney Poitier in
To Sir, With Love - hold the love, that's what I'm paying your Momma with tonight), I said:
"I want a Cheese-bur-ger".
I'm here for a good time not a long time but if we're pissing all over the place, I'm marking my 'territory' with Chanel no5. You just piss out your beers. It's all the same in the end but mine smells pretty. Almost Jasmin-like.
I do what little I can in this world of urine-drenched horror, and having -
associated -
Cheeseburger with
sandwich in this girl's imbecilic mind, I stroll off mildly chuffed (for like 3 sec, then the world moves on; it's not like I'm going to go home and bask in the glow of my good deeds).
Not every day...
I didn't even get 3 seconds, though. The passive-aggressive girl who'd been waiting like 8 min whilst 3 staff played Retarded Russian Roulette got served, obviously, by my server. These guys were pros. They boil.
I hear her ask for a Cheeseburger and my fries literally froze in my open mouth. Which itself, was frozen open. Literally.
I'm rooting for my student like D'Antoni would have cringed when Lin banked up for that 3 in like Game 4(?) of his streak, half a second on the clock. Unlike D'Antoni's system, I would have had ownership of this Hail Mary. One time, in the clutch.
My heart, and my fries, were frozen in my mouth. I heard the shot.
"So you want a sandwich then?"
I threw the food in the bin and stormed out.
------------------------
"Fucking Pavlov."
I cuss out that guy a lot. I'm just jealous. He had a dog to work with, a partner. It's not that I don't wish him well, but I'm just jealous. It would be nice to have something to work with, is all I'm saying. A dog, but that's just my dream. It's not a deal-breaker. A smart piglet or something. A badger. I'm easy. But I can't work with people. They've been imprinted. They're not going to work, ever. Not in the functional sense.
What do I want a pyramid for? Give me a human that can use it's claws like a dog to be functional. Give me something!
No, I'm not going to imprint your two-year-old. Fuck. Why is Twilight in your fucking house?
Originally Posted by Microsoft
Seamless boot, every time
By leveraging the capabilities of UEFI and working together with the ecosystem, our goal is for the PC to power up to the manufacturer’s logo and stay on that screen all the way from POST to Windows logon UI. The logo should be beautiful and reflect the brand you trust when you purchased your PC. In effect, we are bridging two experiences (firmware + operating system) to deliver one experience, as you see here:
Stare. Drool.
Experience.
IQ point by IQ point, they chip away at everything that could ever make you convincingly human. Have a sandwich. Call me Sir. You know as well as I do that you should start practicing - think how far in front of the others you'll be, when you all start your exciting new futures! I could make you a Russian Roulette Relay Responsibility champion.
You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you? Woof.
Woof?
WOOF WOOF? GRRR.
Who's a good boy?
Come on. Who's a good boy.
You're a good boy! Yes you are.
YES YOU ARE!
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Whatever helps you sleep at night. Or defrag whatever.
Threaded Mode
