imperialists fuck and run

Ronald is not ready to be a daddy

( http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/8327185.stm )

a

aa

RSA, Cocks, and Cracks

so secure?

 

so secure

The Chicago Cubs Hit Hegemonic Homers

And in our fair city what better than an inland empire to serve and protect, to boldly go, to go bad?

a new kind of science

long have we awaited such formulations – the tools with which to predict the masses, to know how and when the proletarian revolution can be kickstarted from atop the back of the glorious bourgeoisie warhorse

Trotsky’s Object-Oriented Revolution at Hand

a friend writes:

well, a class struggle is actually an object struggle and
actually, you know that mathematica is a vehicle on which
wolfram spreads to infect all lives and machines switching
them into cellular automatons. all your memories is belong
to him now and the universe is click click you know? it
goes oooooooooooooooooooooooo we are so happy next iteration starts …
now!
blocks and chunks and lunchables and tofu.
nothing has eyes! fit into the cracks we will! fat man in
a wolfram suit! phd’s at caltech for all! bit rate
boogie!

this is no country for one socialism

it can’t happen here

Longtime wreaders have probably noticed a change or two around these parts.  It used to be impossible to swing a cat without hitting at least one disgruntled tumbleweed, bumbling across some sepia Western setpiece and muttering irritably, “Really I’m a people person.  This is the wrong career for me.”

Times have changed.  Now even my alarm clock is the size of an iPod, and my iPod is the size of an otter’s eyelid.  Every night I slide my alarm clock into the toaster that I keep plugged in next to my bed, push down on the arm, and eight hours later it pops up with a ding and I get up and spread jelly on it, gingerly bouncing it from hand to hand and emitting a series of burned-sounding oohs and yips forever destined to be my first words of each newly hatched day.

Why am I not surprised?  I grandfathered myself out of the clauset and into the frying caramazov breeders.  I dedicated the best back of my life to the pursuit of pressed coal laminate designer furniture and daintily carved wooden hats beset with carousel horses and realtime spywave blocking protocols, and for what?  Stockhausen serves, zero to zero…imperialism returns, a quick volley ensues, score now stands at fifteen-love, with imperialism looking the clear favorite, at least to this commentator.  Huge swaths of sod are upturned like the noses of the ruling elite.  The Sity of Shicago is a sinking ship in reverse, each section breaking free as its structural integrity is lost, wrenching unhappily up from street level to expose the cement molars sagging from the undersides of the sidewalks, and letting out a quiet simultaneous hoot as gravity and cohesion get done over by entropy and the whole shitstorm hurtles apart in every direction.  Weblogs are for people with webbed feet primarily, and carnival barkers, and statesmen.

sunrise, sunset

which is which?

(c.f. whorewhisperer)