Muddy Water

I’ll begin this post with a most excellent quote from a wonderful essay of the English language called “The American Pimp” The book establishes some tenets that all master pimps should have, here is one that particularly resounded with me, a  15 year old, middle-class Chinese kid in Scotland.

7) A Pimp Must be Able to See Through Muddy Water in Order to Spot Dry Land

Sometimes, sh*t is extremely thick from problems your hos have. A Master Pimp has to see past all of the b.s. coming at him and spot the avenue out of the problem. And still get paid.

Truly an excellent use of the English language, using it to its full potential. Bear in mind this is written by a man called Rosebudd (“with two d’s for a double dose of dat pimpin'”) I’m not sure why I know of this classical work of literature but oh well, drink widely and deeply from the font of knowledge.

Now whilst I truly cannot relate with this whole “game” and “getting paper from your girls on the track” the ideas are surprisingly good. It’s one of those deep treasure troves of excellent knowledge that you miss if you don’t go into it, anyway, I was listening to JRE today, him and some guy were discussing Islamic extremism and some other Social Justice Stuff, one of their ideas about why this stuff is so converting and addictive to its followers is because of the conviction of its leaders.

Taking inspiration from another shady little source, our Captain Redbeard, Owen Cook from RSD, in one of his lovely little videos, amongst his screaming instructions about how to stop being a scared little turd and become “a man in your prime” he discusses how most people are afraid, and just need direction to be given to them. How people will sacrifice their freedom and resources just to not have to make important decisions. Like University for some people, instead of needing to think for yourself after leaving school, you opt to bury yourself into debt just to avoid trying to find your own way into the world of work.

 


 

I’m gonna stick a little horizontal line here to earmark where everything went wrong. Whilst writing this post, I stopped halfway through and went out for dinner, a usual place called “Zizzis” it’s a pretty decent italian chain (for the Yanks its like Olive Garden without the free breadsticks and serves real food) thus began my night that descended into rubbishness. We went to a different store thing than our usual. First mistake. Sure the place is nicer and all but the chef deserves to be fed his own excrement (he could just as easily taste his food) I pick my usual dish, some weird pasta name Pesto Russo, it’s probably the wrong Italian, who cares, as if real Italian people would go. It’s the same thing as the usual restaurant, but just as I give the server the menu something catches my eye. “With Mascarpone Cheese” I double take, I can’t do cheese, Cheese that has a flavour is disgusting, at most I’ll have a bit of mozzarella on pizza, I add in that I don’t want the cheese. First the starter comes, I pig out on some fried calamari and other related gut-clogging food, then the pasta comes. I almost cry, it’s like watching an old lover change over time, like watching your own child grow up into a deformed sadist who sodomises with pigs. The sauce has lost it’s bountifulness, it’s stickiness, it’s richness. I’m not sure if it usually has mascarpone, I don’t care, I’ve gone off this horrible shadow of a past flame.

This debacle ended and I went to badminton, I don’t usually go on Sundays but I thought I’d punish myself for not doing sport for the last two weeks, oh well. Turns out you really shouldn’t do sport while digesting a fluid ounce of oil. I felt awful during the session and my coach looked at me with such disdain, so much that if I was his child, I reckon I would have been promptly disowned.

Anyway I’ll end here, I’ll probably finish the above post tomorrow, but honestly I reckon I should be a food critic, this is worthy of our lord Giles Coren.

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