easy diet

americans are fat lazy bastards.

if you're american and take offense, sorry, but it's true.

the signs of this laziness are evident in their falling back in almost any leadership position of the world - r&d, universities, jobs, technology, economy. they're sinking and sinking fast (dang it they were on the top for less than a century!) but that doesn't matter. it's a tough task to find engineers, scientists and doctors in america now (except if you count all the ones who've been there for less than a decade who at one point were chinese or indian). so they (americans) are content to work in business, marketing and other bullshit positions and leave the real jobs of innovation to other nations. lazy. and fat.

it's a fact that they're the fattest nation on earth. but what are they doing about it? they're looking for easy diets, where one doesn't feel hungry, or eats as much as one pleases, or takes pills. wtf is wrong with them? you've been over-eating for twenty years, BE HUNGRY FOR A YEAR YOU GLUTTONOUS BASTARD. i know it sounds scary and lonely, being hungry, but it happens all over the world all the time, and people actually feel better after it. so tough it up you sorry, lazy bastard.

and why do i feel the need to call americans bastards? well, this is the internet and i can say whatever i want, but the fact that they bully their way into whatever they want makes them bastards in my book.

speech and intelligence

why is it that the more people talk, the less intelligent they seem? or perhaps i have the cause and effect reversed here: why are less intelligent people prone to hours of meaningless rambling? it is my misfortune that i have to work with people who like to talk. blah blah yada yada. and it's all useless, usually consisting of a summary of previous achievements and glories. i mean, i really don't give a fuck if you were julius ceasar one day - i find nothing interesting or impressive about you. in fact, i'm here against my wishes. and the cherry on top? "why are you so quiet? everything ok?" no it's not, i'm suffering. if you'd just shut your yap and turn up the music and let me sulk in peace. if you're the talkative type it's ok, just stay away from me.

holy water

evian. i have a previous entry about people who can actually tell the difference between evian and other water. what the marketing geniuses have done to feed on gullible females (which pretty much covers the entire species when it comes to beauty products) is put it in a spray can and sell it as a beauty product. the fucking water, water, fucking water with minerals in it, put in a spray can (pardon, brumisateur) and sold as a beauty product. users swear by it, saying that it "moisturizes" without "ruining the makeup" and "protects the skin from dryness". again, fucking marketing geniuses.

habby new year

habby new year boys and girls!

dentists don't know jack

and not because they drill holes into our teeth and cause us pain. i mean they reduce the pain when it's severe, but otherwise, they're just a sorry lot. i've had the misfortune of using several dentists, because the first one just couldn't solve my problem. neither could the second one, but i remember him pointing out all the wrong things the first one did. of course i lived in recurring molar pain and decided to visit another dentist a year later. shockingly, he said that the work that was done was not good, and redid it. he also proclaimed my dental hygiene to be one paralleled only by gods of dentistry themselves. drill drill fill fill polish polish and i was on my way. the molar filling was too high so i promptly (the next day) visited another dentist to get it fixed (it hurt like hell). again, i listened with complete rapture as she explained how whoever fixed my molar missed a cavity (see that dark one, that one needs fixing) and how my gums were inflamed and needed a clean up. i was devastated - i had such high opinion of my oral hygiene.

sbeak jordanian blease

why work?

to make enough money to buy this

answers.com

this won't make sense to my constant reader. to answers.com, you know what i'm talking about.

i didn't know this was my last trip, on this broken, rugged excuse for a road, in the back of the rumbling truck. not the rumbling truck, but a rumbling truck, one of hundreds i've used in the tens of (semi-successful) border crosses i've performed before. i sure wished it was my last trip, not without guilt, but without regrets. except one: packing more food. it was cold, i hadn't eaten for two days (unless one had the audacity of counting a dried semilunar crumb of bread and gulp of milk food, in which case the beginning of my fast was lunch of yesterday), and i had at least two more days to go before i got to safety. six days to travel four kilometers. i sat here in my misery, watching a piece of halva discarded in the truck's bed with a mixture of disgust and gluttony. i wondered if it were any more sapid than the bread i had yesterday. the only warmth i had was in the crate of contraband i was sitting on. the epitome of smuggler praxis: we cared more about the stuff than ourselves. at least i wasn't doing it for money, for i believe the cargo is mantic and will deliver us from injustice. well its application will, at least, because, you know, having almost been killed a few times and watching your family killed in front of you adds a certain measure of cynicism and pragmatism which can only be appreciated by those who truly have nothing to lose. or maybe that's my lick and a promise excuse for not taking part more directly in our war, but in the zeitgeist, any resistance is better than no resistance. what serendipity it would be to the enemy that a random shell should kill this divine warrior, and rid them of his evil, and what serendipity it would be to him, to bring him ataraxia. in the meantime, this warrior is eying the halva again, wondering how long halva would keep in this cold.

the facebook pose

i believe one of the most important aspects of the social change facebook has brought about is the facebook pose. i'm not talking about people posing for pictures specifically for facebook, regardless of how creepy the idea is, i'm talking about the pictures people use for their profiles. there are several variants of the pose.

the most popular is the product of haphazard crops on photoshop. you can recognize these by the usual lack of the body one side of the face (where the posers friends once stood/sat/hugged/etc).

the second variant is the "am i being photographed? do i seem completely blase? is this a picture of me but you can't recognize it's me?" picture. these are meant to take the edge off of the egotistical premise fb pics usually generate, but usually end up being silly.

the third variant is the non-me pictures. also some of these are interesting, the most would be better spared some of the rest. examples include flags, cars, babies or some other cheezy item

crow road

She turned to me, during that night, and said, 'Prentice?'
'Mm-hmm?
'Do you think Rory's ... away the crow road? Do you think he's dead?'
I turned on my side, stroked her flank, smoothing my had from thigh to shoulder, then back, 'I really don't know,' I admitted.
She took my hand, kissed it. 'I used to think, sometimes, that he must be dead, because otherwise he'd have been in touch. But I don't know.' There was just enough light seeping in past the curtains to let me see her head shaking. 'I don't know, because people sometimes do things you'd never thought they would ever do.' Her voice broke, and her head turned suddenly; she pushed her face into the bedclothes; I moved over to hold her, just to comfort her; but she kissed, hard, and climbed on top of me.
I had, up until that point, been performing an agonizing reappraisal of the indignant signals of total, quivering, painful exhaustion flooding in from every major muscle I possessed. My body's equivalent of the Chief of Engineering was screaming down the intercom that the system just wouldn't take any more punishment, Jim, and there was no doubt that I really should have been pulling out and powering down just then ...
But, on the other hand, what the heck.
the crow road - iain banks