NACF
~ => . . . => Topic started by: sam on December 13, 2019
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(https://prettygoodbritain.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/slaughtered700.jpg)
Open for business
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Is this the pub at the end of the universe? Yes? I've come to the right place.
A round for the house, it's my birthday.
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And now it's mine! Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow I have a fiddle recital.
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Give me a bath gin. (https://www.telegraph.co.uk/food-and-drink/gin/bath-gin-and-other-british-spirits-jane-austen-would-give-a-wink/) Nero's paying.
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'Tis chaos theory which brings us all here. Make mine a Bloody Mary.
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I mingle with my peers or no one, and since I have no peers, I mingle with no one.
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[finds somewhere else to sit]
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Would you mind changing the channel?
That video is giving me a headache.
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I'll have a hair of the dog that bit me.
Or maybe the whole head.
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Are you talking to me?
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I'm here researching my role for Snakes in a Pub.
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Me too!
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...based on what I think it may be my best book yet.
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Let us hope the nuance isn't lost in translation.
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Did somebody mention snakes? (https://twitter.com/carolvorders/status/807312390324912128)
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I gave up drinking once. It was the worst afternoon of my entire life.
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All I've got is one of these. Will it buy anything?
(https://prettygoodbritain.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/RBSnote.jpg)
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I'll write you a poem if you pay my tab.
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Little old lady got mutilated late last night
it wasn’t Jack Russell that gave her a bite,
but a wolfman, and sadly, there is no vaccine
except a silver bullet from the vending machine
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What did the proton say to the electron?
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"Why do you have to be so negative all the time?"
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Beats the hell out of me. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVG1YGdoCWo)
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It's a marvelous night for a moondance
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Patti had a little horse
Its mane was white as snow
And everywhere that Patti went
The horse was sure to go;
It followed her to t'pub one night
A thirsty beast was he...
Still waiting for my pisco sour over here. Is this what you call service?
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(https://prettygoodbritain.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/westworld.jpg)
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Waxing nostalgic is an occupational hazard.
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Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.
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If it’s a day which will live in infamy, it must be Monday.
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I knew a man Bojangles and he danced for you.
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Inscrutable to the last.
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I'm Spartacus.
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Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute
With conjugal caresses: from his lip
Not words alone pleased her.
My mind has gone unaccountably blank.
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Is that a slide rule in your pocket, or are you just happy with your sums?
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We meet again. (https://www.notanothercyclingforum.net/index.php?topic=2008.msg11229#msg11229)
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Tell the truth but tell it slant
I know you can – don't say you can't
a story told too literally
is not likely to interest me
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OK, I make no pretenses of knowing what life is all about. But I have spent a enough time on this spinning blue ball to tell you what it is not:
Life is not Cake or Death. (https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2020/12/links-12-13-2020.html#comment-3483027)
There are nuances, shades of gray, degrees of risk, sides of a story, and more than one way to skin a cat.
But try to talk to people about politics, and it always gets resolved to either “Cake or Death”.
Try to talk to a politician about policy, and it always gets resolved to either “Cake or Death”.
Try to talk to a Preacher about religion and our place in the Cosmos, and it always, as sure as Buddha rose on the third day and saw his shadow, gets resolved to either “Cake or Death”.
And God help you if you ever have to talk money with a bean counter, because “Cake or Death” is the motto of every MBA program on the effing earth.
Not following this? Fine, let me ‘splain it. Not every decision can be made so effing lead pipe simple that the only choice is a beacon to the blind, a symphony to the deaf, or hot fiery awful death. There is no intelligence in “Cake or death”. Monkeys could make the call and be a damned sight quicker about it. Offer a spider monkey some delicious bundt cake, and a ball of vipers, and see what happens. That’s right, the cake is gone and the snakes get an aversion complex. Maybe they would like some cake until they get over it?
If I am forced to walk this earth surrounded by only cake picking monkeys, than so be it. Monkeys are fairly entertaining, or at least they are when you tease them. But Noooo! I have to drag this earthly bondage along to God knows what end surrounded by people that claim to be intelligent, and whose only response to a complex issue is to ask “can you give me the Cake or Death version?”
AUUUUGGGGGHHHH!
Hey, I like a rigged game as much as the next guy. You know, “heads I get cake, tails you lose your cake to me”. Go ahead, flip a coin. Be daring. Sport.
I curse the life that is “Cake or Death”, and all that sail in her.
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The total energy required for indefinite survival is finite. Pour me another universe of possibilities, (https://www.centauri-dreams.org/2015/01/23/who-will-read-the-encyclopedia-galactica/) barkeep.
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Rafael Behr (https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/dec/15/boris-johnson-pandemic-britain-christmas-covid)
Johnson’s technique for dealing with problems is to let them run out of control, building to a point of sufficient crisis that delay is no longer viable. That way the choice becomes perversely easier because there are fewer options left. Wait long enough and there might be only one.
That is how he has dealt with Brexit. He imagines that brinkmanship is a negotiating strategy to wring concessions out of Brussels, but in reality it is just a way to simplify the decision by eliminating options that needed time to develop. He lets procrastination do the heavy lifting. He can then tell himself (and his audience) that the final outcome, while not perfect, is the best available solution. And maybe it is. But only because it is so late in the day and all the better solutions have long since expired.
It is a chaotic way to run anything: leaving it all to the last minute, relying on a critical mass of external pressure to get motivated. As a way of governing in a pandemic it is disastrous because there is no slack time between deadlines. The moment to make the tough choices is always now. The rate at which good options decay is exponential. The virus thrives on indecision. Johnson’s method is effective for one thing, though: it guarantees a sustained pitch of political drama, with the figure of the prime minister lit centre stage. It forces the nation to hang on his word, waiting for him to act, while the consequences of his inaction play out. That bathes him in an aura of power, but it is not leadership.
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Can't we all just get along?
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If it wasn't for open doors I might have made a living painting doors.
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It can't happen here
I'm telling you, my dear
That it can't happen here
Because I been checkin' it out, baby
I checked it out a couple
A times, hmmmmmmmm
And I'm telling you
It can't happen here
Oh darling, it's important
That you believe me
(Bop bop bop bop bop)
That it can't happen here.
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There is no such thing as conversation. It is an illusion. There are intersecting monologues, that is all.
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I shall have more to say when I am dead.
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KNOCK-KNOCK (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9JacoaohBg4&t=2m00s)
Who's there?
GOD
You what?
I WOULD SMITE THEE FOR RUINING MY PUNCHLINE
I don't believe you even had a punchline.
OH YE OF LITTLE FAITH, THAT'S STRIKE TWO
Go on then, God who?
GOD WHO CREATED HEAVEN AND EARTH AND ALL THINGS WHICH CREEPETH
Where's the joke?
LIFE IS A COMEDY TO THOSE WHO THINK
Is this your way of saying humanity is the punchline?
(RESUMES THE SILENT TREATMENT)
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Knock-knock
Who's there?
Howard Hughes
Howard who?
No, Hughes
Oh, right. PPE deliveries in the back, Howard.
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Sacré bleu, c'est Blondie. (https://joshreads.com/2020/11/hell-in-a-white-collar-cell/) Mais quand c'est vrai, c'est vrai.
(https://prettygoodbritain.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/12/blondie-1.gif)
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The British are leaving, the British are leaving.
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"All copyrights belong to more talented people."
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I called a wrong number and somebody picked up. It was Best Quality Vacuum, in Albuquerque. We got to chatting, and it turned out he could give me a new identity. So here I am, tending bar and organising the pub quiz.
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Everyone’s a diacritic.
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I try to stay positive.