Bright-ass day

I absolutely love that Four Loko proudly displays, in bold print right on the can, that it contains FD&C Red #40. It's a proud corn-based alcohol psyche-em-up, and I'd be sad to see it go. Waking up near its empty aluminum husk gives the day a special flavor. The sun is low and bright, the air crispy, the leftover beer oh-so-tasty. It'd be sad to see it go.

What the fuck, donuts?

Donuts are castrated pastries. That hole is unjustified in my eyes! >:(

EDIT: Damnit Krispy Kreme, I can't stay mad at you. Except when you annhilate ecosystems with fatty dumpage, but EVEN THEN...

Sakartvelo

This is simplified to the point of being criminal.

Aiight, so the Soviet Union crushes itself under its own weight like an oppressive beached sperm whale. Georgia, formerly a primary tourism location in the Soviet days, is free. It is not entirely together though; within the borders of Georgia are 3 autonomous republics. These are South Ossetia, Abkhazia, and Adjara. These are in large part artificial creations to keep Georgia under control.
Abkhazians make up only about 20% of the population in Abkhazia, yet they dominate the parliament and enjoy much support from the Russians today.
Anyhow, Gamsakhurdia, the son of a famous Georgian writer, takes power. Corruption is rampant. Shevardnadze, one of the former top Soviets, takes power. Corruption is rampant.
In 2003, protests mount and Saakashvili takes power in the bloodless "Rose Revolution." He changes the Georgian flag and promises to move things in a new direction. 6 years later, public opinion in Georgia is largely against him.

You'd like a title to this post, wouldn't you?

Some people laid a crown of thorns upon my head today. No lie. Actually, that is a lie. It happened fuckin' months ago, in Richmond. Now I'm in Tbilisi. Breakdown of the history of the Caucasus impending. At some point.
Comparisons (its a huge logical gap for all of them. Feel free to add your own in the comments. The more obscure the better):

Diogenes = GG Allin

300 Argavi = Spartans at Thermopylae

Irakle II = Blackbeard (Both got wounded a bunch and kept fighting)

Mile = 1.6 kilometers

Henry Fords Secret Timewar, pt 3

"Ugh, it looks like the bastard child of a facehugger and a stack of flapjacks," muttered the Man Formerly with Money, inching forward towards a wriggling trilobite with his newly carved spear. The seated Walter Balpherfarthing replied with nothing. His head hung between his knees, and his eyes were visibly sunken; the eyes of a man who has seen more than he ever wanted in his lifetime.
The trilobite scurried and twisted on the side of a rock wall to avoid the aggression of his pointed stick, but to no avail. Money evenly skewered the arthropod, and turned back to their makeshift shelter to prepare a cooking fire while the creature writhed in its spastic death throes. "And to think, this place won't see anything else as fucked up as that until this spot is chosen by old Henry to be his own personal prison camp god-knows-how many years in the future."
Walter raised his weary gaze once more to survey the prison camp. It was ingeniously simple: a dead-end canyon with only one way out, guarded by two spider-legged 20 foot walkers. These mechanical guards generally sat perfectly still until one of their roughly 200 prisoners attempted to leave a pre-determined area. The precise location of this invisible line in the sand was only known to the guards, but the bullet-riddled bodies of previous would-be escapees gave the remaining prisoners a rough idea of the limits of their enclosure.
The trilobite Money skewered sizzled in its shell over the tiny fire. A slight clicking sound accompanied Walters glance towards the meal. "Smells good, don't it?" Said Money, a weary grin spreading across his face. "Not really." replied Walter.
"Eh, you do what you can." Money lifted the steaming arthropod off the fire, broke off a limb, scooped out the gooey muscle, took a bite., and winced. "Euuggh. You should eat some of this, I sure as hell don't want to finish it."
Walter mechanically turned and reached in to the fire, ripping off a chunk. The flames licked at his skin, spreading blisters across his hand. Walter hesitated with his arm in the fire and watched the upper layer of his dermis boil off, exposing a network of fine metal wires and plating. Money looked away.
"Shit, man, I know it sucks being trapped millions of years in the past in some eon I never cared enough about to learn the name of, but seriously. You're going to make me lose my disgusting lunch. Besides, people'll look at you like a freak when we get out of here if you start going all Terminator..." Money found his rambling cut short by Walters blank stare. "Goddamn you're creepy."
"We're not done yet."
"huh?"
"We're still here. Ford could have killed us, but instead he strands us nowhere in time and leaves two automated guards to watch over all his deadliest enemies. We will get out of here, or at least someone will. We still have a role to play in his schemes."
"I guess so. C'mon, eat your bug thing. You're starting to lose it. Destiny, shit. As far as I'm concerned, destiny, or fate, or god, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, got royally fucked up as soon as that crazy anti-semetic bastard sent his whole fuckin factory hurtling through time to conquer the world."
"I won't have a part in whatever he is going to do, although I doubt I will have a choice. You probably don't either. I'm going to do something now. Act as you will."
"You do that."
Walter got up, and walked toward the perimeter and the two towering sentinels, their unthinking machineguns at the ready. He walked past small huddles of destitute people stranded from all over time; those who fought against the Ford takeover and were considered too important to simply snuff out. Some had been there for weeks, some months, some years. Every now and then, through desperation or depression, one of them would make an attempt to escape, only to meet death by the bullets of their jailors or the force of gravity, for those who attempted to climb the vertical canyon wall. Had they escaped their enclosure, the fugitives would face a fairly hopeless situation anyway. No human would exist for millions of years, so even if the harsh environment of primordial earth did not finish them off, their efforts would surely be in vain.
Walter knew all this, yet still he walked. He was not desperate, for desperation seemed a useless emotion to him now. He was not depressed, since for the first time in a long while he felt he was serving some larger purpose. A cog in the machine. The walk to the perimeter was at once the longest and the shortest stroll he had ever taken. He felt the whirr of the actuator in his heel with each and every step, the minute clicking signalling the focus of his cybernetic retinas. Before he knew it, the array of dead bodies splayed out directly in front of him. "Henry, I'm glad you trusted me." He took a step. "You bastard."
The red optic lens of the metal spider-walker widened, then tightened to a pinprick focused on its quarry. Within a millisecond, its companion registered the threat and each brought its guns to bear. Abruptly, the firing started. Bullets punched in to Walter, tearing apart his flesh yet he kept his advance. Rounds started deflecting off his metallic inner body, even as his advance was slowed by the withering fire. Walter sped up to a run directy at his adversaries. The advanced tracking systems maintained fire on him even as he made it to the walkers. Systems failing and bleeding blood and oil from several dozen wounds, Walter furiously slammed in to the machine gun of one of the walkers, bending the barrel and ruining the fire mechanism. Obliviously, the machine kept firing and destroyed its own armament. Unthinking, the machine kept pointing its broken weapon at Walter in vain. The other, sensing in its binary mind that something had gone wrong, began to back up, but to no avail. Walter blew out the hydraulic systems in his legs, launching himself through the air at the remaining walker. Walter landed a tremendous punch directly in the ocular receptor of the walker, and his fist broke through the red plexiglass straight through to the brain of the machine.
The mechanical spider stumbled around furiously, running through every routine in its archive in a desperate attempt to gain control of its systems.
"Come on, show me what I want" Walter hissed through his broken vocoder. Life, or whatever version of mechanical half-life Walter had been subjected to, slipped out of him like a raft floating down a cool river. His cyborg corpse fell off of the spider, its mission accomplished.
At last, the machine triggered its time-portal mechanism, albeit heavily damaged.
A prismatic glowing sphere exploded from the chassis of the machine, and grew rapidly to envelop the whole canyon.

Money suddenly found himself in a sparsely furnished, windowless office, standing in front of a large stained oaken desk with what looked like a DAMN comfortable chair behind it. He still had a section of trilobite impaled on his stick, and its juices were staining the hardwood floor. He mouthed the words "What the fuck," but his heart really wasn't in it. Nothing was WTF to him anymore. Through the wall he heard gunshots and screaming. "What did you do, walter?" he asked himself rhetorically. Without warning, the door swung open. A man wearing an old-fashioned suit stood in the doorway, eyes wide.
"What are you doing here? How did you get here?" the man demanded.
"...Ford, I presume?"
"GUARDS!"
Money man lunged at the time-traveling tyrant, and kebbabed him under the trilobite with his makeshift spear. Seconds later, a well dressed cyborg burst in to the room and gunned Money down. Bleeding out, Henry Ford crawled over to his desk. "So close. I was so damn close." He reached under a drawer and felt around for his panic button. "Its probably better this way." He pushed the button. The temporal disruption engines at the heart of Ford's flying Factory-city revved to life one last time.

Henry Ford sat in his office in 1914, overlooking a personal memo. On the piece of paper was a list. Henry silently crossed out "Time travel," and went down to the next item, "Livable wage."
"It's worth a shot." he intoned to nobody in particular. A young Walter Balpherfarthing opened the door to his office.
"You wanted to see me sir?"
"Oh? ah, um, nevermind. Carry on."
"um, okay sir." The young man left.
Ford put his list away for the time being, got up, turned off the lights, and decided he would take a personal day.

Thus did Henry Ford conquer the world, only not really.

If you read all that (much less understood it), you are a hero.

-p to the raz

Become the star of your own life!

Do you feel the world revolves around you? Do you feel the world should revolve around you?

Are you the troglodyte at the center of the earth who feeds on global nausea? (Don't worry, the creature glutted itself on the international release of Epic Movie; he's sleeping it off.)

If you answered yes to any of those first two questions, it is your lucky day!
If you answered yes to the last one, know that your insidious troglo-reich shall fall. Soon, my toadish nemesis. Soon.

MOVING on, if you don't get enough attention, we here at the Worcheshire Group have devised a convenient solution for all your psychological needy... needs. Experience the raw intensity of the Undivided Attentiontm of one of our highly trained agents today!

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It's Gonna be a Long Winter.

Or, Henry Fords Secret Timewar pt 2

On bad nights the light pollution from New York across the river blots out the whole damn sky. It just hangs there like a false dawn.


A short beeping punched through the distant ambient din. Hot tobacco smoke glided down the cigarette, through the filter and into the bloodstream of a man sitting on a dew-gilded park bench. A man whose heavy, fatigued eyes and weary armani suit which had just begun to fray betrayed to the casual onlooker a man recently befriended by sleep deprivation. "My watch works," he mumbled to no one in particular "6:30, gota work." . A large family could survive for a year on the difference between what he was worth one shitty week ago. The sweet pipe dreams of deep slumber avoided him and let him hang out to dry in the cold pre dawn air of this barren and alien morning.

The money man's shellshocked stupor was interrupted by the rather large time rift tearing reality a new one roughly 400 feet away to his left. "How's psychiatric care in Canada?" He shouted to the goliath armor plated arachnoid mechanism crowned with two crackling, lightning-spitting tesla coils, a massive gyroscope, and an open cockpit housing a man with a finely waxed moustache, whose features were partly obscured by a large pair of goggles and whose head was wrapped in a leather cap.

"Huh. The new hybrid SUV." Money man offered to the river. "Buy American." The clanking electrical time walker strode swiftly down the banks of the river, expanding the rift and making way for larger, more shadowy shapes and figures formlessly shifting in the glittering scar. It struck the money man as quite a beautiful display. "The greatest things in life are free." The Ford logo situated on the front of the machine glittered in the surreal, apocalyptic light display. Nothing surprised the money man any more. "It's about damn time."