Genetically Modified Foods
GROW THEM! USE THEM! COVER YOUR HOUSE IN THEM! PAINT YOUR WALLS WITH THEM! LIE IN THEM!
I hate environmentalists for two reasons:
1) They dress bad, smell bad and hand me leaflets. I HATE LEAFLETS.
and more importantly,
2) THEY LIE TO US.
A famous hippie-cum-media-whore once said that they kept three sets of figures on any given data set - one to decieve the public, one to decieve themselves and the true ones.
I detest their lying, tofu-eating carcasses. Genetically modified foods are resting on enormous potential only limited by our ability to think of interesting and viable gene transfers. This is where the lies come on - the whole argument against genetically modifed foods goes like this:
"We don't know if they're bad"
Two tons of horseshit. We know. The danger to humanity is minimal, the only people who could be possibly affected are people with ALLERGIES. ALLERGIES!!! FAGGOTS! Do you think anyone in the Sudan has a fucking peanut allergy?? What a typical soft-ass Western conception. A nice snapshot of our stagnant gene pool. People with allergies should be fed corn with peanut genes in it designed to kill the allergenic and weak.
Another soft-media-porn quasi-left-wing scare job.
Genetically modify the world! Genetically modify Weija!
You need to setup your own online rant column, sane. I'd mastubate to it.
My sister absolutely WILL NOT let my nephew eat anything peanut-related because of that.
You're in it.
Here's an old one I recovered:
(A marijuana induced f_b_s rant)
All the serious dark images in metal are offset by their immature shitty counterparts. For ever intelligent band with their own defined style that can hold mature interest, there's a shitty band who overuses the same tired old cliches that made metal "evil" in the first place. This is because the same conformist shit pervades our music the same as any other.
Nothing gets fucking tiresome quite like violating a taboo that isn't really a taboo any more - at least, not a taboo to us. We're all familiar with a lot of shit that most (the vast majority) of people would find extremely distasteful. Cannibal Corpse and Carcass will never never become mainstream bands, even if they have the shit marketed out of them on MTV - the subject matter is JUST TOO NASTY. It's a subculture by definition, and that's something that is pleasing if you (like me) believe that the majority of people are pointless vain self-serving arrogant stupid hunks of steak that blindly stumble into whatever aesthetic may happen to flop gasping in from of them. That's good because it keeps out the people who aren't attracted to it because of its very nature.
BUT! The problem that besets anything that has this subculture nature, this dynamism, is that it's cool. Blink 182 certainly didn't arise out of the Sex Pistols or the Cockney Rejects, it toned down the REAL punk attitude for its mass consumption. It became palatable. Unfortunately it also became soulless, lifeless, meaningless, messageless teenage gruel. This bollox is what keeps the cool, gets marketed and throws away the life.
And this is where the problem arises, and it's not just with the travesty that is Nu Metal. Media has brought this dark shadow of music into the place where people who identify with it, and now we get this weird fucking subset of people throwing out this retro-Arthurian bullshit, Manowar-style posturing and online swearing. It's enabled the really conformist shit to start in earnest, where idiotic little shits hide behind computer screens in an attempt to 'out-evil' each other, mulling over desparate fantasies and searching for somewhere to hang their hat and conform; to something, anything.
There's no way some pre-pubescent twit can comprehend the depth of expression that you can get out of dark imagery. In fact, I'd say some of the stupidest fucking people I've ever met in my life were at the same gigs as me. I see it every time I wear a shirt and some spotty ugly white misfit yells something at me (usually the name of the band, like I don't know what my shirt says). It sucks. A goodly slab of these teenage metalheads should be eliminated for contaminating the fucking gene pool.
That being said, I'm sure that I'm to some extent being a fucking grumpy and mentally ill 20 year old. I know I should be happy that I can listen to the same music as people I'd ordinarily never meet and we can be all nice to each other because we have something in common, but fuck that. Something is not enough. I can't stand no-account good for nothing dumb people, no matter what they listen to.
Who am I to judge?
Who the fuck cares???
The alternative is trying to be nice to mean-spirited conformist little cunts. To some people, Slayer IS Britney.
It's got to the point where if you called me a metalhead I'd punch you in the fucking eye. Labels are not metal.
Pathetic Porno Pieces
Porn is one thing - a cliche. The genre is more stagnant than Rosanne Barr in an oubliette.
5. Porno dialogue
There are underground experimental Turkmenistani films about the danger of reciting haiku about colonic irrigation in Sanskrit filmed with nothing more than a camel and tension wrench that have better dialogues than pornos. Rarely to the participants actually manage to say something sexy, than say something that you know instinctively (even when you're 16 and it's hard to believe those people on the screen are, like, *fucking*) you should never ever say for fear of losing your penis to your immediately wrathful partner.
"Did that hurt you bitch?"
"Ooooooooooh yeah. My asshole is SO TIGHT. SOOOOOOO TIGHT!"
It's impossible to approach the above epithets without laughing. First of all we know the reality of this dialogue...
"Did that hurt you bitch?"
*noticeable pause in proceedings*
*male participant rolls out of bed clutching his testicles, eyes wide and screaming, patches of skin oozing blood from under the women’s fingernails*
"Don't you DARE call me a bitch!"
...and what's more it's too FUNNY. And chuckling puts you in a non-appropriate state of mind for efficient masturbation.
4. Plot-bereft beginnings
A women can walk into a house, ask the plumber a slightly double entendré question, be a teacher with a disruptive pupil (who looks about.... 30), know the postman's first name, wear any uniform at all with just one button undone too many, not have ‘a pen to sign with’ at delivery or basically exist, and she'll be immediately beset with a guy whose cock resembles a torpedo in both size or intent. The reality of a guy waiting in a bar for hours, buying drinks for strangers, having both his wallet and his heart agonized time and again to eventually go home with someone he doesn't *actually* like to fuck in a desultory manner before going to sleep and waking up and feeling immediately awkward looking at the leviathan lying in the bed prostrate and snoring like an adenoidal pig beside him must be too boring to film.
3. Über-male casting ability
I wonder why male porn stars fit into two categories:
1) Overweight middle aged white guys who look terrible
2) Guys who don't actually look stupid naked.
1) Overweight white guys are trying desperately to convince themselves that they're still, one day, going to be able to fuck that cheerleader they used to know. Even if she’s now 38 and works in a diner. The reality of someone else doing it makes that bile in their throat at their miserable failure a little less acidic.
2) Some of the population evidently enjoy watching guys who are built (everywhere) and aesthetically pleasing fuck. Maybe they’re just not overweight white males.
Alien life forms and frypans are supposed to be silicon based. NOT TITS. End of discussion.
1. Facial cumshots
WHAT is the OBSESSION with fucking for two hours then losing your load in some girls mouth from a distance? What sort of quasi-semen-worship is this? And afterwards the girl is obliged to smear the mess of dick juice and saliva EVERYWHERE. I think the Union of Uber-Whores withholds her performance fee if it doesn't cover at least 85% of her face. If a girl decided to suck YOUR penis in order simply to marinate her face in your semen, I think you'd do a bit of a double-take. It’s doubtful you’d complain, but you’d probably ask for an explanation afterwards.
As a guy, you're a rarity if you want to SEE your own semen. If you could fuck without semen, admit it, you'd do it, straight away. No weird used-condom-inch-thick-skin feeling on your dick after you came, no more ducking out to flush it down the toilet before it completely grosses her out, no more trying to do an overhand knot with one hand, no more accidents or fuck ups with condoms that may have well have been paper bags. (Trojan are shit. Don't use them. Ever.)
And the money-shot dialogue is the most ridiculous of all.
"I'm gonna cum in your mouth."
Is that for the benefit of the blind, who can't see your intention through the fact you have a handful of her hair and you're jerking off 3 inches from her nose? Honestly, that's equivalent to a guy standing on a cliff over sharp rocks with a rope around his neck, a gun in his hand, an empty bottle of poison by his feet… wearing a shirt that says "I'M GOING TO KILL MYSELF".
And stop smiling! That's the worse possible deviation from reality. Girls look startled and rather apprehensive when you're about to forcibly ejaculate on them - they VERY rarely stare you straight in the eye grinning in delight while lining up your dick with surgical precision to the epicenter of their face. And they never have that ‘benediction’ look when they get splattered with hot cum. That's a special kind of perversity that real life rarely has to offer. More's the pity.
Bless filth in all its forms. Life is not complete until I’m in porn.
Awesome. Now THIS is a good thread.
Hah, those are really good man, I agree to slayme, you should have an own column!
they do take a while to read but it's well worth it!
whoa dude, those fuckin kickass. thisll probably sound frigga gay to you, but if you want you can submit those to my site
behold all that i have so far! a teenage angsty whine and a piece of crap about government parties
Fellas, this thread will have to make do as sane's column for the time being, until I secure a proper place for him to empty out his twisted head. Sane's obviously, a potential hot property, and should be heard and read by more than just the members on this forum.
Rock on, Jim.
Shit! Does that site exist??? That'd be trippy.
GO dI hope now/t
Best Drunk Sentence Ever.
Sane, no it's not real. In fact, I'm gonna look it up right now and see if it's available to buy.
Yep, it's available. As well as .net, .org .shit .anything.
It's quite an evil and sacreligious thought... I should get it. I don't know how though.
I wrote something the other day... I'll post it when I can find it.
"2002, not much review"
(A f_b_s stream of consciousness rant)
Often I hear stories of people drinking. Rarely I understand their relevance to me and my version of "drinking". As a consequence, I tell this...
Tonight, I finishd work and I bought an expensive 6-pack of beer... I had three, and a guy turned up at my house... we shared the last few. Then people came over, and I had several beers with them, then got out the scotch. This scared some people, and I put a seriously dent in the scotch bottle with one other brave man... then I had another beer and then some people left my house... I celebrated by drinking more scotch. When it came time to toast the new year, I had a half glass full of scotch... dropped it like it was jelly. Maybe three shots in that. Scotch bottle was empty - mainly me drinking it. Started drinking beer again. Had a few more, and then everyone left, because it was 3am.
THEN I sat down with the five beers I see beside me now, and started drinking. Two of these five are empty. Now I have started typing.
Now you understand how I drink.
How does one define a year?
We could start with looking at the idea of a year itself. A year is a fairly arbitrary concept. An agglomeration of Greek and Roman ideas about the renewal of the calendar combine with the Australian love of alcohol and excess here to provide a fairly seirous holiday here on the southern isle of raging piss-artistry and stupidity.
At the end of the day, there's a million places you could claim a "true" end of year, and consequently real significance for celebration. Solstice sucks. At the end of the day, what have we?
A fat party.
Nothing more, an excuse for terrible self-destruction.
the thing that worries me is that we live in a place that needs an EXCUSE for doing this. Waggon-hitching to anything, we will celebrate the arse off anything if we deem it "necessary"... Real celebrations must be had! Enough of this colonial retardation! Kill the weak!
Happy New Year, you fucking bunch of cunts!
God I'd love my own site.
Get a column!!.........''Sane's Column'' :beer: :D
I wrote this shopping at Christmas. It is not angry.
"SMELL SHOPPING FOR THE STAID"
The 100% natural cosmetic shop is somewhat frightening.
I have seen them before, and always warily passed them by. Granted I am not ordinarily of the persuasion that heads without abandon into cosmetic shops, especially those populated by people who seem to be rather indeterminate looking and vegan, but still… there were female presents to buy, and if you have ‘taste’ (God knows where I acquired it) then things that smell good are worth purchasing.
Perhaps I sell myself short. A few too many years of tasting wine and scotch, and my tired whisky-sodden olfactory senses have enough kick in them to distinguish between ‘annoyed civet with gooseberries’ and ‘lavender infused with something inconsequential’.
When did we start complicating things like this? Not one thing in the shop ever had a simple name – no “lemon soap”, no “vanilla scrub”, instead a perpetual miasma of bizarre things with the inevitable tag of ‘being good for you’, whatever that means these days.
The theory that men only see in EGA (that is, in 16 colours) can be extended over the other sensory modalities – the same way ‘peach’ is a fruit and not a colour, ‘chocolate’ is a foodstuff for fat single women and definitely not a fragranced bodywash. Especially if it has a cheeky hint of raspberry. Cocktails have a cheeky hint of raspberry. Lotions should not.
In any case, this time, I headed in.
The first thing that hit me was the smell. A thousand supposedly sensitive odours from a thousand soaps, lotions, potions, oil, body scrubs, body washes, body foams, body restorers, revitalisers, after-wax creams, after-sun creams, all-natural, all-organic all-confusing formulas and emulsions combined and outdid their usually placid nature to assault my senses with a Louisville Slugger of scent. In the heat of a Sydney afternoon, the smell of the shop was physical. It punched me in the face like Mike Tyson Cologne.
In a philosophical bent, the smells immediately reminded me of the poor benighted females who perpetually insist on smelling like this. Somehow using it as a substitute for attraction, they change face creams and flavoured soaps daily in order to find that one that will remove the nagging doubt still hanging over their head that they are an aesthete’s nightmare.
Unfortunately, one of the rules of the universe applies here – ugly people who smell good are ugly. Their continual insistence on changing the aroma of their ugliness will change little. If only there was ‘self-esteem cream’ – but I digress…
A creature who worked in this shop must have been sizing me up the moment I slowed by the door, as she was at my side in an instant. This babbling British Mouseketeer positively oozed geniality – she knew a sucker when she saw one, and the gentleman with no hair staring incredulously at simple things like ‘soap’ was fair game. I only hope I can sell her a bottle of single malt one day, when she offends my sensibilities by pointing to the Laphroaig and asking “Is this good?”
In any case, I was treated to a whirlwind introduction to the wonderful world of bizarre, bizarre stinky stuff. In the first 30 seconds I saw enough yak’s milk buttock analyser, lost Himalayan Magyar fruit flavoured clitoral polisher and 37 ‘natural AND organic’ flavours of douche to last me the next year. It was unbelievable – if it comes naturally out of any animal or plant orifice, they’ll put it in a soap, weigh it, and charge you per hundred grams. All the products had a small treatise written about them and their purported effect, and the Mouseketeer seemed to know a few others besides. Overwhelmed, I named a flavour I felt comfortable with – “vanilla”.
Immediately I was beset by suggestions – of course there was nothing that actually SMELT like vanilla but this one here was at least 35% coconut oil and it was guaranteed to perforate your skin with proto-lactin and twice on Sundays and there was this that had a hint of vanilla but it was more like a toenail balm but it has the same active ingredient as this body scrub that has inbuilt laser guidance and a persecution complex which had overtones of Meryl Streep… and so on, and so forth.
It was remarkable how seven or eight different smelling things off the shelf all contrived to become small, round and white when handed to me. Remarkably innocent looking, despite their ability to cure cancer and save the free world from epidemics while curdling goat’s milk to make cheese and playing the harmonica underwater with a side-order of coriander.
I paid for a few of the items that looked least dangerous and walked out, contriving a few jokes that got smiles rather than laughter, and went a small way to restoring my tattered and confused masculinity. I saw a soap that was designed for men that actually smelt good, and I was sorely tempted to try it, until I remembered that I had soap at home, and until now it had done a perfectly acceptable job of cleaning me… it wasn’t until I was out of the shop and further down the arcade that I realised my soap at home had never done anything for me, and couldn’t cook a three different veal dishes in under 20 minutes, and didn’t sing polkas while I scrubbed with it, and definitely didn’t perform vector analysis on the fractal patterns of moon rocks. But by then, it was too late to go back.
Why this female obsession with smell? What’s more, why these nth degree olfactory materials? Have you even smelt a yak, let alone yak butter? I think you’re getting very badly fleeced, that stuff is probably scraped off the middle-aged mailroom guy called Bernard.
A male cosmetic shop would have about 16 products, in a large square box on one wall. They would be labeled in rows “Smell Rich”, “Smell Sexy”, “Smell Dangerous” and “Smell Tough”. The columns would be the easily identifiable smells for the various products “Leather”, “Gun Oil”, “Clean” and “No Poof Smell At All”. When the shop was full, the “No Poof Smell At All” range would sell like hotcakes and many suspicious glances and dick jokes would be exchanged, an early opening would find single shoppers furtively buying the other scents. Around Christmas, the dispossessed heading to family reunions everywhere would be stocking up on the “Smell Rich” to avoid probing questions about occupation and success, the hopefully-to-be-could-probably-get-there-if-you-tried fuck festival called Valentine’s Day would sell the “Smell Sexy” hard… “Smell Dangerous” and “Smell Tough” would be bought by a continuous flow of edgy drifters with bulky packages under their coats who would sidle up and silently buy three or four at a time, while everyone else concentrated on staying out of their way.
And what would you call a male cosmetic shop?
A fortune waiting to be made...
Wrote this when the World Cup was on, a while ago
For the first time in living memory, an animal rights issue is becoming quasi-international.
The World Cup being held in Korea is providing fuel to the fire of the idiot activists who insist that it is thoroughly immoral to eat cats and dogs. Like the Koreans do.
Now, I love my cat very much. I value independance of thought above most other things, and there is nothing that a cat does that is depdendant, especially half Siamese cats. When I was a four-year-old and I got the cat, which at the time looked like a very very small tiger and had a temperament accordingly, I was absolutely delighted. Why? Because it had balls. Extreme character. The kind Ted Nugent has. It was a small female cat, and it beat the shit out of other cats, neighbourhood dogs as big as labradors, water-rats, possums, large birds, not to mention the utter decimation of the local chapter of mice. It gave me my space, and after it slashed me across the face for blowing air in its face, I learned to give it space too, stupid little fuck that I was.
Children, never blow directly into the face of an angry cat to see its expression change. Cats are real, not bovine and forgiving like the emotionally clouded people you're surrounded by.
Now my cat is old, and content to lie in the sun all day like a discarded tiger-coloured carpet, and like any old person should be it is dozy and happy to just eat, sleep and generally enjoy itself being an utter slob after a life in pursuit of the massacre of other species. It is pathologically clean, no more moody than my girlfriend and provides me with endless amusement by waiting out the front of the house in the sun for strangers to pat it, then biting them when they invade its space.
However, the sight of shaven cats on sale in Peking, or the thought of eating Kitten Laksa doesn't bother me. The only thing I'm concerned about is what they're fed on - I'm not sure about the purity of the flesh of something that eats catfood... I want 100% organic grain-fed cat if I'm ever going to eat it. Pensioners are the only living entities who should eat catfood.
Indeed, how do I achieve this ridiculous separation of pet and pate fois gras? Rationality. Animals are outrageously treated every day, in ever part of the world. Animals are bred on outrageous amounts of resources, slaughtered inhumanely and have their bodies dismembered and packaged in plastic so we can make admiring noises over their sizzling flesh at barbeques. Dogs are dumped by uncaring people who think having an overbred show dog is like having an antique vase - you put it in a cage and remark to other specatularly materialist wankers how pretty it is. Pathetic contemptible suburban fantasy-dwelling cunts. Hopefully they'll be preyed on one day.
We kill and consume all sorts of animals daily. Tuna, lobsters, crabs, prawns and oysters are pillaged from the sea and eaten - often they are boiled alive, often they are eaten almost alive, or raw. Cows, chickens, goats, kangaroos, deer, tortured baby calves and cuddly-wuddly lambkins are shot directly through the face or electrocuted and then flayed to pieces by industrial knives and marinated by fat Greek men with big hair on prime-time cooking shows. Geese are overfed and slaughtered, diseased and suffering, so we can eat their organs. Dolphins are hooked in draglines and brutally drowned, bleeding out their stupid blowholes as they become a filler in cheap tuna. Flipper, eat your heart out, because I know for sure I already have.
From this list of mass inter-species genocide, singling out cats and dogs as inedible is beyond retarded. The moral argument is about as convincing as Ed Gein's defence counsel. Let's break the evidence down.
Surely it can't be about intelligence. What are the animals that have been trained to the highest levels of cognitive function? Grey parrots and chimpanzees. We eat neither. Why? They taste like shit.
Likewise, it can't be about important function. To science? No. They are not a viable part of any ecosystem, they have no unexplored function - vet science, like real science, follows the money... and cats and dogs have been fully probed to the extent where we know exactly how they work, there is no cancer cure hiding in a cat's spleen.
Emotive function to people? No again. I don't think anyone's proposing on rounding up all the dogs given to dying orphans called Jimmy on Christmas morning and turning them into puppy parfait. Maybe breeding them and killing them, like we do everything else.
It can't be about equitable treatment, our previous list of transgressions towards animals makes killing the odd pooch seem like a mass murderer getting a jaywalking ticket. To say absolutely nothing of the animals we kill for clothes, resources or sport. Or as a byproduct of land clearing. Let's not descend into moral relativism on that one.
What are we left with? It's because they're cute. People, not content with applying their sterile and superficial standards on other people, are applying them on animals. I used to have a pet spider when I was a kid, a three inch black hairy venomous beast of a funnelweb. It lived in a jam jar. It was the least cute thing in the entire world but I liked it because it could have killed me. I can only assume we're all attracted to different things because the people in Thailand who eat spiders do not give one quarter of one shit about me and my stupid spider, they're too busy eating their own. John was killed eventually, my mother 'retired' him - he was an unsafe toy and not in the kids-bow-and-arrow-set sense, in the "If it bites me, I die horribly in convulsions" way...
Something interesting about standards - in Thailand they eat grasshoppers, beetles and locusts too... I wonder what they taste like? Probably crunchy. Someone told me one that beetles in soy were tasty. Anyway, as usual, I digress.
At the end of the day, if every tuna was called Puggles, if every lobster was cute and furry and liked being scratched under the chin, if oysters had style and character and could fetch sticks, if cows kept pests down or guarded warehouses, the wet-behind-the-ears animal rights faggots would see them differently too. I have never seen a more vomitously emotive issue paraded through the media than this.
The sooner our good friends the Koreans can get back to the wholescale slaughter of cats and dogs and eating their faces in public, the sooner we can all forget this ridiculousness. A rack of dog ribs can't be less healthy than chicken nuggets, at any rate.
I have registered www.farbeyondsane.com... Thank you to slayme for answering my retarded questions during this process.
Soon the heresy will have a new home.
I'm already sitting on pins!:cool: :mad: :D
WE'RE IN FUCKING BUSINESS!!!!!!!
Click HNYAH!! -> www.farbeyondsane.com
Wait for the next few days to start seeing some structure and content.
Start up page looks sweet, dude. Good job.
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