Archive for July, 2017

S.722…Congressional path to strife? What becomes of the master program?

Tuesday, July 25th, 2017

 

How will the world end (as we know it)?

 

Or will society die first? Society, more tenuous, delicate and trivial, like man’s soul.

 

Here.

 

 

 

Russia, but let’s not call it that.

 

 

 

Russia Russia Russia Russia Russia

 

 

 

Subtitle B—Countering Russian Influence In Europe And Eurasia

 

 

 

 

 

The threats

 

 

 

“Policy”

 

 

I misstated my hypothetical at the beginning of this post.

 

The world will not end, and neither will society. They will not end, but they will cease. For the simple laws of nature are forthright. In order for something to end implies that it “started” and existed, at one point in the past.

 

But if the world does not exist, how can it end?
But it will cease.

 

The master program, I’ve long suspected, devolves on an entropic trajectory in which its master code dissembles and loses logical structure over the course of time’s arrow. Entropy consumes, the program’s “hiccups” become noticeable and frequent and the emerging technologies of man only hasten the master program’s incompatibility with persistent computational context.

 

The program is falling to pieces, and every day, every moment (and what is the difference between these two arbitrary and horribly ambiguous measures of temporal sliver?), its deconstruction accelerates, successively, before our eyes.

 

I believe the master program houses a self-protective mechanism (to the master architecture which houses the program) that prevents damage to the “hardware.” As the master program dismantles itself exponentially before our amazement, the frantic molecular chaos threatens to overwhelm the housing host and the parasitic code embedded in the program will simply shut the operation down as self-destruction races in its direction.

 

And the program will <end>;  the master program will come to a halt and us, we, our world, will not merely end.

 

The operation will cease.

 

Our reality, the master program, obliterated from proliferation.

No end for there was no beginning.

 

 

 

 

Hit me one more time.

Tuesday, July 25th, 2017

 

Yesterday morning, as I rushed to work, in my frantic “35-mile-commute-equals-a-lifetime-in-L.A.” routine, I was happily pleased to note that I was a bit ahead of schedule. Running ahead of schedule is not a commonality when taking public transportation in this town, or when taking any method of transportation that involves this grand shithole’s transportation infrastructure. I was happy.

 

As I walked to work from the train station, I mulled over this rare auspiciousness.

 

“If I play my cards right, I might be able to leave a little early,” I thought to myself as I walked to work from the train station.

 

If.

 

I thought there was something awfully presumptuous about such an implied belief structure.

 

If I played my cards right.

 

How about if the cards played me right?
Isn’t that how life is, the true arrow of fate?

 

We don’t really play the cards, do we? We pretend we do because to relinquish all control is a scary feat, indeed, especially to us modern dwellers of the 21st Century who have been so conditioned through the dazzling offerings of science and technology to believe we have a modicum of say in our lives. Ha!

 

The cards play you.  If you insist in this assumption that you have a say in the card game’s outcome, be my guest.  Hit me one more time.

 

 

Next time Juanita Mendez-Medrano insists that her flowers trump the law, she should wear a diaper at least.

Sunday, July 23rd, 2017

 

Now repeat after me, again.

 

How many times do I need to repeat myself?

 

These morons continue to ignore me at their own peril.  They insist on fighting back against the police, (I’m talking to you too, Juanita Mendez-Medrano). You cannot, cannot, I repeat, physically resist a police officer’s orders and expect to come out the other end unscathed. Or in Mendez-Medrano’s case, dry; her petulant encounter with a police officer outside Perris (California) High School during its June 6 graduation ceremony  left her a little…wet.

 

The physical exertion she invited by her lack of cooperation appears to have been more than her bladder could withstand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Those bruises and sore bones undoubtedly smarted, but I doubt they offered nothing like the discomfort and embarrassment of knowing that the entire social media world can watch you wet your pants, again, and again, and again.  Just press repeat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The flower vendor demanded that her flower-selling rights take precedence over all other considerations and thought it would be wise to take it up with an officer of the law. Yes, wise move and one I wouldn’t expect a flower vendor to sagely comprehend.

 

 

The woman who was taken down by a Riverside County Sheriff’s deputy as she was selling flowers outside Perris High School said her experience is not an isolated one.

 

“My case is not unique, but it is now enough,” she said in a video posted on Facebook just before midnight July 17.

 

“This racism has to stop,” she added. “Please don’t stay quiet. Raise your voice. We have to defend our rights.”

 

People are expected to protest the arrest beginning at noon Saturday, July 22, at the Riverside County sheriff’s station in Perris.

 

Social media websites are referring to the flower seller as Joaquina. The Riverside County Sheriff’s Department identified her as Juanita Mendez-Medrano of Fontana.

 

 

The Sheriff’s Department said deputies warned and cited 15 people that day for vending without the necessary city permits.

 

 

Mendez-Medrano refused to cooperate and attempted to walk away, the Sheriff’s Department said in the release, which also said she gave fake names and pushed the deputy away. He held her arm to prevent her from fleeing, the statement said.

 

 

 

First of all, Medrano’s “quote” that appeared on Facebook on July 17 was obviously penned by a “ghost writer.” She cannot speak a word of English.  She is obviously the political puppet of a group of moral SJW crusaders who similarly lack the common sense that dictates the structure of police interactions. Police are trained to escalate and if you submit to their commands immediately, there will be no escalation and you will not wet your pants. It’s the simplest law of the land and there’s no need to complicate matters with the putative “rights” of people who disobey city ordinances because of da reccism.

 

When will these people who cry about extreme shows of police force (that incidentally do not happen in a vacuum) realize that not everything is personal?

 

Sometimes cops are simply doing their job, and if insist on being unruly and disobedient, you will pay the price when you refute the legally-granted rights of police to physically maintain order.

 

This civilized order called the United States subsists on Law;  this is what allows you to have “rights” even when you idiotically choose to abuse them.

 

**archive**

 

 

Ray Donovan’s testicles are officially excised and another pop culture masculine role model takes a tumble.

Sunday, July 23rd, 2017

 

I haven’t watched the show for a couple of seasons, but “Ray Donovan,” a Showtime drama about a brooding, hyper-Alpha fixer from the Irish hinterlands of Boston, is a very enjoyable and satisfying portrayal of one of those rare manly figures to be found on television. A stern man of few words and minimal flighty fancies, Donovan represents much of what we (red-pilled men) “want” to see men be.  Not flustered by the shrieking, nagging antics of his wife and resolute in his actions, the unforgiving robot Donovan is a man’s man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The actor behind the Donovan role, Liev Shreiber, is decidedly not a pretty boy and this only serves to enhance his utilitarian masculine imagery. He is married to the very hot Naomi Watts, and together, the couple has 2 sons, 9-year-old Sasha, and 8-year-old Kai.

 

And as the annual Comic-Con show in San Diego is wont to do, it tirelessly extinguishes all my romanticized notions about people, and in this case, about a person.

 

Shreiber, the man’s man on screen, allowed his younger son, Kai, to don a costume in their visit to the show  this weekend.  But not just any costume.

 

 

 

 

 

 

While other sons might choose “masculine” masquerade action figures with Comic-Con-friendly tie-ins, Donovan and Watts allowed their 8-year-old child to play the role of Suicide DC It-bad girl, Harley Quinn.

 

Gulp.

 

 

 

 

 

I’ll tell you one thing: Ray Donovan would never allow such a thing to happen.

 

Alas, the nature of the world today is such that if we seek a remembrance of gender roles past, we must live in fantasy.

 

 

**archive**

 

 

Just another Black-Asian encounter in Any Shithole, America.

Sunday, July 23rd, 2017

 

I have absolutely no idea where this quirky encounter took place.

 

 

 

 

My guess is the San Francisco area since that is the American city you’re most likely to see unruly ghetto Blacks and bike-riding Asians in shorts crossing paths. But it could be anywhere. Even here, in L.A., though doubtful. The ghetto Blacks here, though occasionally unruly, don’t generally harass non-Blacks. But in Oakland and environs, yes…Blacks are very outwardly focused.

 

It doesn’t really matter, I guess. Let’s just call this Any Shithole, United States. The kind of place that hardens you and sharpens your survival skills and makes you carry quasi-weapons around on your person at all times, and which you must be willing to flash aggressively at a moment’s notice.

 

 

 

 

And when you live in Any Shithole, a “moment’s notice” happens with dismaying regularity.