Composite blog consisting of notes, reflections, weird jokes, trip reports and amusing stories from the death row; some personal, some told and some fabricated, I have to reckon!

BEWARE!! This is neither a porno nor a politically correct site... more probably is a highly misanthropic and overtly cynical terminal account

Ridendo castigat mores, that I freely translate as ”humor improves behavior” , not that I believe, but it sounds nice!


The Exit


Biased attitudes, genuine lies, fair sarcasm, and dogmatic insanity will be vigorously at work here any time that some unpleasant truths, most of them are, will have to be ruthlessly and cautiously dished. For sure, with some restraint,because I am aware that good-thinking people could be extremely dangerous, both socially and physically, for those (me) who do not share the despicable J.J. not Cale (he too) but Rousseau paradigm that the human being is born good and kind and that THE INSTITUTIONS – state, justice, universities, fans’ clubs, syndicates, whatever, are those which corrupted him. Quasi secretly, I avow that I am an establishment fan feeling very grateful to all those who take care of the garbage, schools, collective brainwashing, farmer markets, street urinals, roads, money printing, hospital super intensive care, Philippine servants for CONFUSED old boys and girls and sewers correct functioning. My ambivalence is great and I have to recognize that concomitantly I follow with enormous sympathy the anti-mundialization riots not so much for their causality if there is some (I am so little informed) but for the amount of petty material damage, huge adrenaline download, and beneficial ritual exercise (I mean violent) accompanying the insufficiently frequent outbursts. Often I dream, daydream I know, to have them in power, running the world affairs. An apocalypse here and there can lead to an exciting change even to a nice total collapse. Will the politically correct permit it? I doubt! They pulled their kids out of the integrated schools and packed them under heavy protection in plush out-of-town performing education saloons. Not that I care. There is a long time ago that I resigned from the human race. Race? Ex-race? I don’t know what this cursed noun, at the origin of recurrent genocide, is called now.  We have so many substitutes since we live in a time of bland language and forbidden ejaculations, I mean verbal ones. The language is vigorously purged. The use of denominations like the fair sex or the weaker sex is banned! Women should be called today the equal sex I guess. As far as I am concerned I wouldn’t mind having them called the super sex.

I always preferred them by far. You can judge by yourself and simply compare the ugliness of the above illustrated violent male-dominated crowd (anti-mundialization again, I cannot make up my mind), with the gorgeous inspiring beauty of two of the most famous sex symbols ever: Raquel the ancient, Rihanna the actual. Do you note the progress, the peace, the poise, the temptation, and even the promise? I rarely have seen the concept of nakedness

better displayed, let’s face it! But to go back to the race, I quit. Even if I was nourishing some well-concealed expectations for a new matriarchate, I quit. It is too little, too late for me.

Whatever, to end this meaningless argument I announce to all those who care that I enrolled the nation of Psittacines from the order of Psittaciformes, the super-family of Psittacoidea, very well known as TRUE PARROTS.

I adore parrots. Their silky feathers, curved authoritarian beak, colorful outlook, sharp claws, and especially unpredictable often hysterical behavior directly appeal to me in a sound metempsychosic manner and mode. As you can see in spite of some dysmorphia the acceptance was mutual and total.

I expect the government of the United States to recognize me as a distinct tribe after that they lavishly distributed land, money, and recognition to various minuscule Amerindian groups, composed mostly of faked tribesmen (and women), claiming 1/4, 1/8/, 1/200, 1/2000 of Indian DNA. I may have 1/1017 Indian DNA too or some parrot DNA for sure. The togetherness of the American Native is much more determined by being on the same social security roll, generous adiposity, hereditary alcoholism, and mutual involvement in those bizarre, symbiotic institutions, casino-brothel style, rather than being the real descendants of the great scalper-raiders of the past: Apache, Navaho, Comanche, Cheyenne, etc. (Allez Geronimo!). We are not going to check who is guilty about that! Discreetly I inform you that they are exactly the parents and the grandparents of people who are playing meekly and nicely today! Me too I do not look exactly like a parrot! So what? The today’s pathetic formula, there is one human family is wrong! There is one being’s family that is the real thing. Do not hesitate to feel worm-empathic! I hope that you see the link!

That’s all. To mark my allegiance to the PARROT NATION I am not going to use any instrumental polystyrene implants, in spite of their popularity, hormonal treatment, lavish tattooing, sexual reshaping, or eccentric feather dress. Mental choice and emotional linkage may justify everything and should amply suffice. The time is ripe to get out of this rant and to turn our attention to the real matter of this site, which desperately seeks an answer to the most important and morbid problem of life: that being DEATH. And there isn’t any. So what to do? TO PLAY IT COOL, I WILL GIVE YOU A CLUE!

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