Not A Serious Blogger

Can't get my head together for a whole coherent post, as soon as I start on one, Woosh, I start getting ideas for others and forget to finish the first one.

Here's a random picture:


And another, forgot I did this:



I like it for it's shittiness, it's a perfect marriage between subject and style.

P.S. I can however bring myself together enough to whine about how a black woman once called me a racist in an attempt to get better service from me because she was one of those obnoxious people who treats service industry workers like crap in general.

Thereby proving that POC shouldn't call white people racist, because of something to do with tents (being in a tent, having a tent, something to with the water proof lining of a tent with water proof lining... something like that).

Then I shall feel smug and never engage with a POC again, because the poc I am speaking too will be too polite to notice that I just equated them to that asshole black woman because any particular poc is essentially inistinguishable from any other poc as far as I'm concerned.

And as one POC just accepted my torturous logic, they all did.

P.P.S. I have guzzillions of interracial babies, bought all of them off Ebay from a third world country, therefore I am blacker than thou, and the biggest humanitarian in the world EVR.

P.P.P.S. Ex-() has started blogging again, BFP has stopped, BA is staying angry at a constant rate, NASDAQ is waiting to see how the Frozen OJ markets react before making any moves in response.

P.P.P.P.S. I won't really turn Mr. evol into ringo starr ren, it was a joke. If I could turn peope into ringo starr, I would not waste such an ability on mr. evol.

This was the first post ever at "this" blog, back when it was called "washing down the moutain"

It creeps, gently gently through the reeds and bull rushes near the water's edge, its foul and necrotic breath visible even in the heat of this summer's afternoon.

It lies, waiting, dissembling, patient - ever patient for the dead and the dying to shuffle near the water's edge, into reach, into sight of its ever unblinking and blood shot eyes.

It waits. It's good at waiting.

The wind rustles gently through the reeds, disturbing the water oh so softly with its gentle caress but It stays still, prepared to wait forever if needs be.

Suddenly, Slash! Stab! A child's right to not become an underage parent lies dead at The Snickety Snackt Coulter's cloven feet, a victim of the Snickety Snackt Coulter's remarkable ability to consider a condom on a cucumber "Graphic".

And again! Slash! Stab! The Smithsonian Museum is crippled before a razor sharp hatred of history and reality, and in one smooth motion The Snickety Snackt Coulter's jaw dislocates to accomadate the prey inside its gullet where a toxic bacterial cocktail of symbiotic parasites will slowly digested and devour the silent defenseless victim.
Not that The Snickety Snackt Coutler's hunger is ever sated, can ever be sated.
For it is a hunger, a pure hunger for someone to pay attention to it, to not run from its hideous appearance and stench of ancient biological decay.

Slash! Stab! And the NEA lies dead at its hooves, a victim of the creature's inability to understand things more complex than the straps holding its pleathery codpiece in place.

Oh the Pleather codpiece of the Snickety Snackt Coulter! Its mind will degrade so much one day that even the codpiece's straps will be too complex for it, and this would worry it if it was still capable. For it is the codpiece that hides its only weakness, the pie of its eternal destruction, its hideously gnarled reasoning process! the twisted and many times bifrucated length of which must never be let free and loose to waft in the breeze and meet and interact with others of its kind.

For if that were to ever happen The Snickety Snackt Coulter would cease to be, as it would realise that it doesn't believe in anything, not even itself.

But until that day it waits patiently in the bullrushes by the water's edge, careful not to make the water ripple, going through the motions of eating just to convince itself that it believes, believes in anything it can.

Though its tiny necrotised brain has long forgotten why.

I am seriously scared of the line the twisted and many times bifrucated length of which must never be let free and loose to waft in the breeze and meet and interact with others of its kind., I may have been doing the ol' "coulter has a penis" thing except... "many times bifrucated"!?(![!?]) I guess being insane was the new coded hate speech back in the day...

No wait, it still is.

Gonna go try some of that cold turkey

Okay I'm just gonna admit it: I've lost my commenting mojo in a serious way.

Whatever I used to have that allowed me to be a good commenter has snapped off at somepoint back when I went from a commenter with an empty blog, to a blogger proper.

I don't like doing the "right on!" or "me too!" type commments because they seem like too vapid to really bother, and any sort of comment that has depth I tend to try to spin into a full post for dis blog.

So why do I keep pretending I can comment like I used to? Because I feel I should spread my URL about like a squid in mating season trying to spread it's spermies around? Meh, unwanted but still obligated actions lead to a loss of quality. Because I have somehting substantial to say at other people's blogs? Meh, if I have something substantial to say I say it here, and not neccesarily even then. SO why why why...

Meh, Gonna stop being the crazy OT goblin of thread death all over the place, I know it's great to have a skill i'm good at, but is being the personifications for the death of threads really something to be proud of? It's an annoying and guilt aquiring action and I'm sick to death of it.

However I do love a good flame war, mainly because it's the one sort of internet interaction where I A) have reason to stay at someone else's blog and B) it's what I really started hanging around pandagon (which led eventually to this sorry mess via punkass) because they had trolls, and troll psych is fascinating, as is this weird hyper-privelaged side of amanda that keeps showing itself.

Though for the harcore racists who occasionally post comments here: I think you mean "wop", not "wap", which as far as I'm aware means "wireless access protocol", and unless SkyNet is up and running, I sincerely doubt you mean to imply that Wireless Access Protocols are taking over America and stealing people's jobs.

I'm also not sure that you mean "wop" really, as the muslims are wogs, and the mexicans are wetbacks - I hate to nitpick about racist terminology but it does bug me on some deep down pedantic level, if you must be racist, please do so accurately with the proper insults towards the proper ethnic groups, I don't really want to be known as the blogger who's racist asshat commenters couldn't tell their spik from their kike with an ethnological atlas, come on people, if I let your comments stand for long people'd start to think bad of me, they'd say "that R. Mildred, her racist asshate commenters can't even get their racial slurs straight, what a loser!"

Admittedly I'll still delete your comments, but it's the thought that counts.

In which R. Mildred give ups serious blogging and finally gives into the natural womanly urge to become a crackpot psuedo-physicist

...One of the big irreconcilable problems physicists are having with quantum gravity is that QCD (Quantum Chroma Dynamics) provides solutions that allow text message breakups, whereas Einsteinian relativitiy was totally, like, "nuh uh!"

To put it in layman's terms, the method used to break up is relative to either the emotional or the physical distance between the people breaking up, and according to relativist physics, text based breakups require such a gross emotional distance that the two people breaking up would have to have already broken up and ogtten completely over each other prior to the break up declaration, or the physical distance would have to be greater than the diameter of the universe itself, which is of course, impossible.

QCD on the other hand, posits the potential for "non-baryonic relationships", which end prior to their start and have been observed occurring inside Dawn Eden's underwear. However the notion of such events occuring at super-plank scales completely breaks the notion of causality, messes up certain aplication of Schroedinger's equation which describes how a quantum system develops over time, and just plain makes no sense whatsoever. This all eventually led to Schroedinger locking himself inside a lead box with a randomised suicide device at the craziness of Quantum physics, where he promptly may or may not have died and caused the total destruction of the cities of sodom and gamorra after an impromptu rain of several million time travelling lawyers buried the cities in a bid to escape the Schroedinger estate's unresolvable suit to get Schroedinger's worldly goods passed on to his relatives*.

Unfortunately the lawyers' ploy would have worked had not the potential prospect of the infamous People of Sodom Vs. THE LORD and His Host Rape Case warped the lawyer's wormhole and caused it to open up several miles above the cities, resulting in an intense amount of splash, the total destruction of the city and all those in it apart from Lot and his family, and the invention of the phenomenon known as "not quite getting it"...

* He had cleverly put a clause in his will that left all his worldly goods (which included a remarkably sizable amount of money and the cure for whatever the hell is wrong with Michael Jackson) to his family as long as it could be proven that he had in fact died without anyone first opening the box.

At some point I will either give up on this fucking bloaty evil transphobia post, or finish the post detailing why "pornstitution makes no sense and hurts feminist analysii of the patriarchal aspects to the sex industry", in which I won't try to slut shame prostitutes into no longer being prostitutes for reasons of the bad case of ironic brain thrush I got last time I tried that.

Note this space, watch it, be surprised if I post anything interesting on it, meh.