The Turd

surreptitious57 · November 3, 2016, 4:54pm

Turd may look like Jesus on steroids on a bad hair day and have some issues with regard to employing the correct gender pronoun for our Trixie
But his intellectual capabilities are impressive. His long posts reveal an almost encyclopaedia like knowledge of ancient history and philosophy
And his big strong man hands will be very useful tools and weapons if the Apocalypse ever comes like the Joker hopes and civilisation collapses

But what do you have to say about this modern day Hemingway?

If you are a man could you fight him to the death over a rabbit you needed to eat just to survive the Apocalypse?
If you are a woman would you break down his resistance in the time honoured way to have a share of that rabbit?

iambiguous · November 3, 2016, 5:35pm

The Turd has me on ignore.
Why?
I’m just lucky, I guess.

Ultimate_Philosophy · November 3, 2016, 7:08pm

Encyclopedias don’t make boats. Humans make boats. Encyclopedias are not brave, they will never be brave, they are not human, they will never be human, they have never felt fear.

surreptitious57 · November 3, 2016, 7:28pm

This thread is about Turd not encyclopaedias sweetie pie. So would you
fight him to the death for a dead rabbit or would you die of starvation?

Ultimate_Philosophy · November 3, 2016, 7:32pm

Not Irish, so I wouldn’t contribute to any sort of thing about a Dead Rabbits Society.

Also, I am fairly sure that if in the entire eco-system, there was only a Dead Rabbit and a turd to eat, I am pretty sure both me, the Rabbit, and the turd would die of starvation, so whether or not I ate it would be irrelevant. Second I would probably burn more calories and lose more health with a death battle than i would get from eating the rabbit.

surreptitious57 · November 3, 2016, 7:51pm

The energy would probably not be worth the effort except that death by starvation can be very slow and painful
And you could get desperate and start to eat your own flesh so I think that the fight is the lesser of the two evils

Ultimate_Philosophy · November 3, 2016, 8:09pm

First thing I’d do is cut off my own dick and balls and eat my own masculinity.

surreptitious57 · November 3, 2016, 8:34pm

I think it would be more practical to start with an arm or a finger

surreptitious57 · November 3, 2016, 8:38pm

Does eating your own balls automatically make you feminine and gay

surreptitious57 · November 3, 2016, 8:42pm

Do you have to eat someone elses balls instead I really have no idea

The_Golden_Turd · November 3, 2016, 10:22pm

Love it when my phone freezes mid post!

I’m using the correct pronoun, I’m not abandoning the English Languages use of Gender in a era who’s liberal culture insists there is no God, science trumps all, everything is reducible to the mind, and smashing every superstition, to give into it’s most obvious hypocrisy, a 180° turn against all it’s teachings, and start claiming people are not what they actually are, and that their is some bloody fucking imperative that everyone has to bend over backwards in quintessending a obvious categorical error at best, mental disorder at worst amongst a segment of the population, in affirming to them their earnest desire to be believed in a obviously and inherently false idea, one that runs dangerous, engine in bodily mutilation and all too often suicide.

Trixie is a he, he was born a He, if he removes his balls it just makes him a Eunuch, you don’t get to stop being a guy just because your a Eunuch. Nobody ran around calling Origen or Peter Abelaird “She”. Mr. Clean is “Mr.” Clean, despite being modelled off a Turkish Eunuch. We don’t go “Oh, Ms. Clean”

I owe knowledge of this link to Sauwelios, I give credit where it is due, shows the absurdities of what happens when Gender isn’t based on biological anatomy in a language:

The Awful German Language by Mark Twain
I went often to look at the collection of curiosities in Heidelberg Castle, and one day I surprised the keeper of it with my German. I spoke entirely in that language. He was greatly interested; and after I had talked a while he said my German was very rare, possibly a “unique”; and wanted to add it to his museum.
If he had known what it had cost me to acquire my art, he would also have known that it would break any collector to buy it. Harris and I had been hard at work on our German during several weeks at that time, and although we had made good progress, it had been accomplished under great difficulty and annoyance, for three of our teachers had died in the mean time. A person who has not studied German can form no idea of what a perplexing language it is.
Surely there is not another language that is so slipshod and systemless, and so slippery and elusive to the grasp. One is washed about in it, hither and thither, in the most helpless way; and when at last he thinks he has captured a rule which offers firm ground to take a rest on amid the general rage and turmoil of the ten parts of speech, he turns over the page and reads, “Let the pupil make careful note of the following exceptions.” He runs his eye down and finds that there are more exceptions to the rule than instances of it. So overboard he goes again, to hunt for another Ararat and find another quicksand. Such has been, and continues to be, my experience. Every time I think I have got one of these four confusing “cases” where I am master of it, a seemingly insignificant preposition intrudes itself into my sentence, clothed with an awful and unsuspected power, and crumbles the ground from under me. For instance, my book inquires after a certain bird – (it is always inquiring after things which are of no sort of consequence to anybody): “Where is the bird?” Now the answer to this question – according to the book – is that the bird is waiting in the blacksmith shop on account of the rain. Of course no bird would do that, but then you must stick to the book. Very well, I begin to cipher out the German for that answer. I begin at the wrong end, necessarily, for that is the German idea. I say to myself, “Regen (rain) is masculine – or maybe it is feminine – or possibly neuter – it is too much trouble to look now. Therefore, it is either der (the) Regen, or die (the) Regen, or das (the) Regen, according to which gender it may turn out to be when I look. In the interest of science, I will cipher it out on the hypothesis that it is masculine. Very well – then the rain is der Regen, if it is simply in the quiescent state of being mentioned, without enlargement or discussion – Nominative case; but if this rain is lying around, in a kind of a general way on the ground, it is then definitely located, it is doing something – that is, resting (which is one of the German grammar’s ideas of doing something), and this throws the rain into the Dative case, and makes it dem Regen. However, this rain is not resting, but is doing something actively, – it is falling – to interfere with the bird, likely – and this indicates movement, which has the effect of sliding it into the Accusative case and changing dem Regen into den Regen.” Having completed the grammatical horoscope of this matter, I answer up confidently and state in German that the bird is staying in the blacksmith shop “wegen (on account of) den Regen.” Then the teacher lets me softly down with the remark that whenever the word “wegen” drops into a sentence, it always throws that subject into the Genitive case, regardless of consequences – and that therefore this bird stayed in the blacksmith shop “wegen des Regens.”
N. B. – I was informed, later, by a higher authority, that there was an “exception” which permits one to say “wegen dem Regen” in certain peculiar and complex circumstances, but that this exception is not extended to anything but rain.
There are ten parts of speech, and they are all troublesome. An average sentence, in a German newspaper, is a sublime and impressive curiosity; it occupies a quarter of a column; it contains all the ten parts of speech – not in regular order, but mixed; it is built mainly of compound words constructed by the writer on the spot, and not to be found in any dictionary – six or seven words compacted into one, without joint or seam – that is, without hyphens; it treats of fourteen or fifteen different subjects, each inclosed in a parenthesis of its own, with here and there extra parentheses which reinclose three or four of the minor parentheses, making pens within pens: finally, all the parentheses and reparentheses are massed together between a couple of king-parentheses, one of which is placed in the first line of the majestic sentence and the other in the middle of the last line of it – after which comes the VERB, and you find out for the first time what the man has been talking about; and after the verb – merely by way of ornament, as far as I can make out – the writer shovels in “haben sind gewesen gehabt haben geworden sein,” or words to that effect, and the monument is finished. I suppose that this closing hurrah is in the nature of the flourish to a man’s signature – not necessary, but pretty. German books are easy enough to read when you hold them before the looking-glass or stand on your head – so as to reverse the construction – but I think that to learn to read and understand a German newspaper is a thing which must always remain an impossibility to a foreigner.
Yet even the German books are not entirely free from attacks of the Parenthesis distemper – though they are usually so mild as to cover only a few lines, and therefore when you at last get down to the verb it carries some meaning to your mind because you are able to remember a good deal of what has gone before. Now here is a sentence from a popular and excellent German novel – with a slight parenthesis in it. I will make a perfectly literal translation, and throw in the parenthesis-marks and some hyphens for the assistance of the reader – though in the original there are no parenthesis-marks or hyphens, and the reader is left to flounder through to the remote verb the best way he can:
“But when he, upon the street, the (in-satin-and-silk-covered-now-very-unconstrained-after-the-newest-fashioned-dressed) government counselor’s wife met,” etc., etc.

Wenn er aber auf der Strasse der in Sammt und Seide gehüllten jetzt sehr ungenirt nach der neusten Mode gekleideten Regierungsräthin begegnet.
That is from The Old Mamselle’s Secret, by Mrs. Marlitt. And that sentence is constructed upon the most approved German model. You observe how far that verb is from the reader’s base of operations; well, in a German newspaper they put their verb away over on the next page; and I have heard that sometimes after stringing along the exciting preliminaries and parentheses for a column or two, they get in a hurry and have to go to press without getting to the verb at all. Of course, then, the reader is left in a very exhausted and ignorant state.
We have the Parenthesis disease in our literature, too; and one may see cases of it every day in our books and newspapers: but with us it is the mark and sign of an unpracticed writer or a cloudy intellect, whereas with the Germans it is doubtless the mark and sign of a practiced pen and of the presence of that sort of luminous intellectual fog which stands for clearness among these people. For surely it is not clearness – it necessarily can’t be clearness. Even a jury would have penetration enough to discover that. A writer’s ideas must be a good deal confused, a good deal out of line and sequence, when he starts out to say that a man met a counselor’s wife in the street, and then right in the midst of this so simple undertaking halts these approaching people and makes them stand still until he jots down an inventory of the woman’s dress. That is manifestly absurd. It reminds a person of those dentists who secure your instant and breathless interest in a tooth by taking a grip on it with the forceps, and then stand there and drawl through a tedious anecdote before they give the dreaded jerk. Parentheses in literature and dentistry are in bad taste.
The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they make by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the beginning of an exciting chapter and the other half at the end of it. Can any one conceive of anything more confusing than that? These things are called “separable verbs.” The German grammar is blistered all over with separable verbs; and the wider the two portions of one of them are spread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with his performance. A favorite one is reiste ab – which means departed. Here is an example which I culled from a novel and reduced to English:
“The trunks being now ready, he DE- after kissing his mother and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who, dressed in simple white muslin, with a single tuberose in the ample folds of her rich brown hair, had tottered feebly down the stairs, still pale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing to lay her poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom she loved more dearly than life itself, PARTED.”
However, it is not well to dwell too much on the separable verbs. One is sure to lose his temper early; and if he sticks to the subject, and will not be warned, it will at last either soften his brain or petrify it. Personal pronouns and adjectives are a fruitful nuisance in this language, and should have been left out. For instance, the same sound, sie, means you, and it means she, and it means her, and it means it, and it means they, and it means them. Think of the ragged poverty of a language which has to make one word do the work of six – and a poor little weak thing of only three letters at that. But mainly, think of the exasperation of never knowing which of these meanings the speaker is trying to convey. This explains why, whenever a person says sie to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.
Now observe the Adjective. Here was a case where simplicity would have been an advantage; therefore, for no other reason, the inventor of this language complicated it all he could. When we wish to speak of our “good friend or friends,” in our enlightened tongue, we stick to the one form and have no trouble or hard feeling about it; but with the German tongue it is different. When a German gets his hands on an adjective, he declines it, and keeps on declining it until the common sense is all declined out of it. It is as bad as Latin. He says, for instance:
SINGULAR
Nominative – Mein guter Freund, my good friend.
Genitives – Meines guten Freundes, of my good friend.
Dative – Meinem guten Freund, to my good friend.
Accusative – Meinen guten Freund, my good friend.
PLURAL
N. – Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.
G. – Meiner guten Freunde, of my good friends.
D. – Meinen guten Freunden, to my good friends.
A. – Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.
Now let the candidate for the asylum try to memorize those variations, and see how soon he will be elected. One might better go without friends in Germany than take all this trouble about them. I have shown what a bother it is to decline a good (male) friend; well this is only a third of the work, for there is a variety of new distortions of the adjective to be learned when the object is feminine, and still another when the object is neuter. Now there are more adjectives in this language than there are black cats in Switzerland, and they must all be as elaborately declined as the examples above suggested. Difficult? – troublesome? – these words cannot describe it. I heard a Californian student in Heidelberg say, in one of his calmest moods, that he would rather decline two drinks than one German adjective.
The inventor of the language seems to have taken pleasure in complicating it in every way he could think of. For instance, if one is casually referring to a house, Haus, or a horse, Pferd, or a dog, Hund, he spells these words as I have indicated; but if he is referring to them in the Dative case, he sticks on a foolish and unnecessary e and spells them Hause, Pferde, Hunde. So, as an added e often signifies the plural, as the s does with us, the new student is likely to go on for a month making twins out of a Dative dog before he discovers his mistake; and on the other hand, many a new student who could ill afford loss, has bought and paid for two dogs and only got one of them, because he ignorantly bought that dog in the Dative singular when he really supposed he was talking plural – which left the law on the seller’s side, of course, by the strict rules of grammar, and therefore a suit for recovery could not lie.
In German, all the Nouns begin with a capital letter. Now that is a good idea; and a good idea, in this language, is necessarily conspicuous from its lonesomeness. I consider this capitalizing of nouns a good idea, because by reason of it you are almost always able to tell a noun the minute you see it. You fall into error occasionally, because you mistake the name of a person for the name of a thing, and waste a good deal of time trying to dig a meaning out of it. German names almost always do mean something, and this helps to deceive the student. I translated a passage one day, which said that “the infuriated tigress broke loose and utterly ate up the unfortunate fir forest” (Tannenwald). When I was girding up my loins to doubt this, I found out that Tannenwald in this instance was a man’s name.
Every noun has a gender, and there is no sense or system in the distribution; so the gender of each must be learned separately and by heart. There is no other way. To do this one has to have a memory like a memorandum-book. In German, a young lady has no sex, while a turnip has. Think what overwrought reverence that shows for the turnip, and what callous disrespect for the girl. See how it looks in print – I translate this from a conversation in one of the best of the German Sunday-school books:
“Gretchen.
Wilhelm, where is the turnip?
Wilhelm.
She has gone to the kitchen.
Gretchen.
Where is the accomplished and beautiful English maiden?
Wilhelm.
It has gone to the opera.”
To continue with the German genders: a tree is male, its buds are female, its leaves are neuter; horses are sexless, dogs are male, cats are female – tomcats included, of course; a person’s mouth, neck, bosom, elbows, fingers, nails, feet, and body are of the male sex, and his head is male or neuter according to the word selected to signify it, and not according to the sex of the individual who wears it – for in Germany all the women either male heads or sexless ones; a person’s nose, lips, shoulders, breast, hands, and toes are of the female sex; and his hair, ears, eyes, chin, legs, knees, heart, and conscience haven’t any sex at all. The inventor of the language probably got what he knew about a conscience from hearsay.
Now, by the above dissection, the reader will see that in Germany a man may think he is a man, but when he comes to look into the matter closely, he is bound to have his doubts; he finds that in sober truth he is a most ridiculous mixture; and if he ends by trying to comfort himself with the thought that he can at least depend on a third of this mess as being manly and masculine, the humiliating second thought will quickly remind him that in this respect he is no better off than any woman or cow in the land.
In the German it is true that by some oversight of the inventor of the language, a Woman is a female; but a Wife (Weib) is not – which is unfortunate. A Wife, here, has no sex; she is neuter; so, according to the grammar, a fish is he, his scales are she, but a fishwife is neither. To describe a wife as sexless may be called under-description; that is bad enough, but over-description is surely worse. A German speaks of an Englishman as the Engländer; to change the sex, he adds inn, and that stands for Englishwoman – Engländerinn. That seems descriptive enough, but still it is not exact enough for a German; so he precedes the word with that article which indicates that the creature to follow is feminine, and writes it down thus: “die Engländerinn,” – which means “the she-Englishwoman.” I consider that that person is over-described.
Well, after the student has learned the sex of a great number of nouns, he is still in a difficulty, because he finds it impossible to persuade his tongue to refer to things as “he” and “she,” and “him” and “her,” which it has been always accustomed to refer to it as “it.” When he even frames a German sentence in his mind, with the hims and hers in the right places, and then works up his courage to the utterance-point, it is no use – the moment he begins to speak his tongue flies the track and all those labored males and females come out as “its.” And even when he is reading German to himself, he always calls those things “it,” where as he ought to read in this way:
TALE OF THE FISHWIFE AND ITS SAD FATE

I capitalize the nouns, in the German (and ancient English) fashion.
It is a bleak Day. Hear the Rain, how he pours, and the Hail, how he rattles; and see the Snow, how he drifts along, and of the Mud, how deep he is! Ah the poor Fishwife, it is stuck fast in the Mire; it has dropped its Basket of Fishes; and its Hands have been cut by the Scales as it seized some of the falling Creatures; and one Scale has even got into its Eye, and it cannot get her out. It opens its Mouth to cry for Help; but if any Sound comes out of him, alas he is drowned by the raging of the Storm. And now a Tomcat has got one of the Fishes and she will surely escape with him. No, she bites off a Fin, she holds her in her Mouth – will she swallow her? No, the Fishwife’s brave Mother-dog deserts his Puppies and rescues the Fin – which he eats, himself, as his Reward. O, horror, the Lightning has struck the Fish-basket; he sets him on Fire; see the Flame, how she licks the doomed Utensil with her red and angry Tongue; now she attacks the helpless Fishwife’s Foot – she burns him up, all but the big Toe, and even she is partly consumed; and still she spreads, still she waves her fiery Tongues; she attacks the Fishwife’s Leg and destroys it; she attacks its Hand and destroys her also; she attacks the Fishwife’s Leg and destroys her also; she attacks its Body and consumes him; she wreathes herself about its Heart and it is consumed; next about its Breast, and in a Moment she is a Cinder; now she reaches its Neck – he goes; now its Chin – it goes; now its Nose – she goes. In another Moment, except Help come, the Fishwife will be no more. Time presses – is there none to succor and save? Yes! Joy, joy, with flying Feet the she-Englishwoman comes! But alas, the generous she-Female is too late: where now is the fated Fishwife? It has ceased from its Sufferings, it has gone to a better Land; all that is left of it for its loved Ones to lament over, is this poor smoldering Ash-heap. Ah, woeful, woeful Ash-heap! Let us take him up tenderly, reverently, upon the lowly Shovel, and bear him to his long Rest, with the Prayer that when he rises again it will be a Realm where he will have one good square responsible Sex, and have it all to himself, instead of having a mangy lot of assorted Sexes scattered all over him in Spots.
There, now, the reader can see for himself that this pronoun business is a very awkward thing for the unaccustomed tongue. I suppose that in all languages the similarities of look and sound between words which have no similarity in meaning are a fruitful source of perplexity to the foreigner. It is so in our tongue, and it is notably the case in the German. Now there is that troublesome word vermählt: to me it has so close a resemblance – either real or fancied – to three or four other words, that I never know whether it means despised, painted, suspected, or married; until I look in the dictionary, and then I find it means the latter. There are lots of such words and they are a great torment. To increase the difficulty there are words which seem to resemble each other, and yet do not; but they make just as much trouble as if they did. For instance, there is the word vermiethen (to let, to lease, to hire); and the word verheirathen (another way of saying to marry). I heard of an Englishman who knocked at a man’s door in Heidelberg and proposed, in the best German he could command, to “verheirathen” that house. Then there are some words which mean one thing when you emphasize the first syllable, but mean something very different if you throw the emphasis on the last syllable. For instance, there is a word which means a runaway, or the act of glancing through a book, according to the placing of the emphasis; and another word which signifies to associate with a man, or to avoid him, according to where you put the emphasis – and you can generally depend on putting it in the wrong place and getting into trouble.
There are some exceedingly useful words in this language. Schlag, for example; and Zug. There are three-quarters of a column of Schlags in the dictionary, and a column and a half of Zugs. The word Schlag means Blow, Stroke, Dash, Hit, Shock, Clap, Slap, Time, Bar, Coin, Stamp, Kind, Sort, Manner, Way, Apoplexy, Wood-cutting, Enclosure, Field, Forest-clearing. This is its simple and exact meaning – that is to say, its restricted, its fettered meaning; but there are ways by which you can set it free, so that it can soar away, as on the wings of the morning, and never be at rest. You can hang any word you please to its tail, and make it mean anything you want to. You can begin with Schlag-ader, which means artery, and you can hang on the whole dictionary, word by word, clear through the alphabet to Schlag-wasser, which means bilge-water – and including Schlag-mutter, which means mother-in-law.
Just the same with Zug. Strictly speaking, Zug means Pull, Tug, Draught, Procession, Markh, Progress, Flight, Direction, Expedition, Train, Caravan, Passage, Stroke, Touch, Line, Flourish, Trait of Character, Feature, Lineament, Chess-move, Organ-stop, Team, Whiff, Bias, Drawer, Propensity, Inhalation, Disposition: but that thing which it does not mean – when all its legitimate pennants have been hung on, has not been discovered yet.
One cannot overestimate the usefulness of Schlag and Zug. Armed just with these two, and the word also, what cannot the foreigner on German soil accomplish? The German word also is the equivalent of the English phrase “You know,” and does not mean anything at all – in talk, though it sometimes does in print. Every time a German opens his mouth an also falls out; and every time he shuts it he bites one in two that was trying to get out.
Now, the foreigner, equipped with these three noble words, is master of the situation. Let him talk right along, fearlessly; let him pour his indifferent German forth, and when he lacks for a word, let him heave a Schlag into the vacuum; all the chances are that it fits it like a plug, but if it doesn’t let him promptly heave a Zug after it; the two together can hardly fail to bung the hole; but if, by a miracle, they should fail, let him simply say also! and this will give him a moment’s chance to think of the needful word. In Germany, when you load your conversational gun it is always best to throw in a Schlag or two and a Zug or two, because it doesn’t make any difference how much the rest of the charge may scatter, you are bound to bag something with them. Then you blandly say also, and load up again. Nothing gives such an air of grace and elegance and unconstraint to a German or an English conversation as to scatter it full of “Also’s” or “You knows.”
In my note-book I find this entry:
July 1. – In the hospital yesterday, a word of thirteen syllables was successfully removed from a patient – a North German from near Hamburg; but as most unfortunately the surgeons had opened him in the wrong place, under the impression that he contained a panorama, he died. The sad event has cast a gloom over the whole community.
That paragraph furnishes a text for a few remarks about one of the most curious and notable features of my subject – the length of German words. Some German words are so long that they have a perspective. Observe these examples:
Freundschaftsbezeigungen.
Dilettantenaufdringlichkeiten.
Stadtverordnetenversammlungen.
These things are not words, they are alphabetical processions. And they are not rare; one can open a German newspaper at any time and see them Markhing majestically across the page – and if he has any imagination he can see the banners and hear the music, too. They impart a martial thrill to the meekest subject. I take a great interest in these curiosities. Whenever I come across a good one, I stuff it and put it in my museum. In this way I have made quite a valuable collection. When I get duplicates, I exchange with other collectors, and thus increase the variety of my stock. Here are some specimens which I lately bought at an auction sale of the effects of a bankrupt bric-a-brac hunter:
Generalstaatsverordnetenversammlungen.
Alterthumswissenschaften.
Kinderbewahrungsanstalten.
Unabhaengigkeitserklaerungen.
Wiedererstellungbestrebungen.
Waffenstillstandsunterhandlungen.
Of course when one of these grand mountain ranges goes stretching across the printed page, it adorns and ennobles that literary landscape – but at the same time it is a great distress to the new student, for it blocks up his way; he cannot crawl under it, or climb over it, or tunnel through it. So he resorts to the dictionary for help, but there is no help there. The dictionary must draw the line somewhere – so it leaves this sort of words out. And it is right, because these long things are hardly legitimate words, but are rather combinations of words, and the inventor of them ought to have been killed. They are compound words with the hyphens left out. The various words used in building them are in the dictionary, but in a very scattered condition; so you can hunt the materials out, one by one, and get at the meaning at last, but it is a tedious and harassing business. I have tried this process upon some of the above examples. “Freundschaftsbezeigungen” seems to be “Friendship demonstrations,” which is only a foolish and clumsy way of saying “demonstrations of friendship.” “Unabhaengigkeitserklaerungen” seems to be “Independencedeclarations,” which is no improvement upon “Declarations of Independence,” so far as I can see. “Generalstaatsverordnetenversammlungen” seems to be “General-statesrepresentativesmeetings,” as nearly as I can get at it – a mere rhythmical, gushy euphuism for “meetings of the legislature,” I judge. We used to have a good deal of this sort of crime in our literature, but it has gone out now. We used to speak of a things as a “never-to-be-forgotten” circumstance, instead of cramping it into the simple and sufficient word “memorable” and then going calmly about our business as if nothing had happened. In those days we were not content to embalm the thing and bury it decently, we wanted to build a monument over it.
But in our newspapers the compounding-disease lingers a little to the present day, but with the hyphens left out, in the German fashion. This is the shape it takes: instead of saying “Mr. Simmons, clerk of the county and district courts, was in town yesterday,” the new form put it thus: “Clerk of the County and District Courts Simmons was in town yesterday.” This saves neither time nor ink, and has an awkward sound besides. One often sees a remark like this in our papers: “Mrs. Assistant District Attorney Johnson returned to her city residence yesterday for the season.” That is a case of really unjustifiable compounding; because it not only saves no time or trouble, but confers a title on Mrs. Johnson which she has no right to. But these little instances are trifles indeed, contrasted with the ponderous and dismal German system of piling jumbled compounds together. I wish to submit the following local item, from a Mannheim journal, by way of illustration:
“In the daybeforeyesterdayshortlyaftereleveno’clock Night, the inthistownstandingtavern called The Wagoner' was downburnt. When the fire to the onthedownburninghouseresting Stork's Nest reached, flew the parent Storks away. But when the bytheraging, firesurrounded Nest itself caught Fire, straightway plunged the quickreturning Mother-stork into the Flames and died, her Wings over her young ones outspread." Even the cumbersome German construction is not able to take the pathos out of that picture -- indeed, it somehow seems to strengthen it. This item is dated away back yonder months ago. I could have used it sooner, but I was waiting to hear from the Father-stork. I am still waiting. "Also!" If I had not shown that the German is a difficult language, I have at least intended to do so. I have heard of an American student who was asked how he was getting along with his German, and who answered promptly: "I am not getting along at all. I have worked at it hard for three level months, and all I have got to show for it is one solitary German phrase -- Zwei Glas’” (two glasses of beer). He paused for a moment, reflectively; then added with feeling: “But I’ve got that solid!”
And if I have not also shown that German is a harassing and infuriating study, my execution has been at fault, and not my intent. I heard lately of a worn and sorely tried American student who used to fly to a certain German word for relief when he could bear up under his aggravations no longer – the only word whose sound was sweet and precious to his ear and healing to his lacerated spirit. This was the word Damit. It was only the sound that helped him, not the meaning; and so, at last, when he learned that the emphasis was not on the first syllable, his only stay and support was gone, and he faded away and died.

It merely means, in its general sense, “herewith.”
I think that a description of any loud, stirring, tumultuous episode must be tamer in German than in English. Our descriptive words of this character have such a deep, strong, resonant sound, while their German equivalents do seem so thin and mild and energyless. Boom, burst, crash, roar, storm, bellow, blow, thunder, explosion; howl, cry, shout, yell, groan; battle, hell. These are magnificent words; they have a force and magnitude of sound befitting the things which they describe. But their German equivalents would be ever so nice to sing the children to sleep with, or else my awe-inspiring ears were made for display and not for superior usefulness in analyzing sounds. Would any man want to die in a battle which was called by so tame a term as a Schlacht? Or would not a consumptive feel too much bundled up, who was about to go out, in a shirt-collar and a seal-ring, into a storm which the bird-song word Gewitter was employed to describe? And observe the strongest of the several German equivalents for explosion – Ausbruch. Our word Toothbrush is more powerful than that. It seems to me that the Germans could do worse than import it into their language to describe particularly tremendous explosions with. The German word for hell – Hölle – sounds more like helly than anything else; therefore, how necessary chipper, frivolous, and unimpressive it is. If a man were told in German to go there, could he really rise to the dignity of feeling insulted?
Having pointed out, in detail, the several vices of this language, I now come to the brief and pleasant task of pointing out its virtues. The capitalizing of the nouns I have already mentioned. But far before this virtue stands another – that of spelling a word according to the sound of it. After one short lesson in the alphabet, the student can tell how any German word is pronounced without having to ask; whereas in our language if a student should inquire of us, “What does B, O, W, spell?” we should be obliged to reply, “Nobody can tell what it spells when you set if off by itself; you can only tell by referring to the context and finding out what it signifies – whether it is a thing to shoot arrows with, or a nod of one’s head, or the forward end of a boat.”
There are some German words which are singularly and powerfully effective. For instance, those which describe lowly, peaceful, and affectionate home life; those which deal with love, in any and all forms, from mere kindly feeling and honest good will toward the passing stranger, clear up to courtship; those which deal with outdoor Nature, in its softest and loveliest aspects – with meadows and forests, and birds and flowers, the fragrance and sunshine of summer, and the moonlight of peaceful winter nights; in a word, those which deal with any and all forms of rest, repose, and peace; those also which deal with the creatures and marvels of fairyland; and lastly and chiefly, in those words which express pathos, is the language surpassingly rich and affective. There are German songs which can make a stranger to the language cry. That shows that the sound of the words is correct – it interprets the meanings with truth and with exactness; and so the ear is informed, and through the ear, the heart.
The Germans do not seem to be afraid to repeat a word when it is the right one. they repeat it several times, if they choose. That is wise. But in English, when we have used a word a couple of times in a paragraph, we imagine we are growing tautological, and so we are weak enough to exchange it for some other word which only approximates exactness, to escape what we wrongly fancy is a greater blemish. Repetition may be bad, but surely inexactness is worse.
There are people in the world who will take a great deal of trouble to point out the faults in a religion or a language, and then go blandly about their business without suggesting any remedy. I am not that kind of person. I have shown that the German language needs reforming. Very well, I am ready to reform it. At least I am ready to make the proper suggestions. Such a course as this might be immodest in another; but I have devoted upward of nine full weeks, first and last, to a careful and critical study of this tongue, and thus have acquired a confidence in my ability to reform it which no mere superficial culture could have conferred upon me.
In the first place, I would leave out the Dative case. It confuses the plurals; and, besides, nobody ever knows when he is in the Dative case, except he discover it by accident – and then he does not know when or where it was that he got into it, or how long he has been in it, or how he is going to get out of it again. The Dative case is but an ornamental folly – it is better to discard it.
In the next place, I would move the Verb further up to the front. You may load up with ever so good a Verb, but I notice that you never really bring down a subject with it at the present German range – you only cripple it. So I insist that this important part of speech should be brought forward to a position where it may be easily seen with the naked eye.
Thirdly, I would import some strong words from the English tongue – to swear with, and also to use in describing all sorts of vigorous things in a vigorous ways.

“Verdammt,” and its variations and enlargements, are words which have plenty of meaning, but the sounds are so mild and ineffectual that German ladies can use them without sin. German ladies who could not be induced to commit a sin by any persuasion or compulsion, promptly rip out one of these harmless little words when they tear their dresses or don’t like the soup. It sounds about as wicked as our “My gracious.” German ladies are constantly saying, “Ach! Gott!” “Mein Gott!” “Gott in Himmel!” “Herr Gott” “Der Herr Jesus!” etc. They think our ladies have the same custom, perhaps; for I once heard a gentle and lovely old German lady say to a sweet young American girl: “The two languages are so alike – how pleasant that is; we say Ach! Gott!' you say Goddamn.'”
Fourthly, I would reorganizes the sexes, and distribute them accordingly to the will of the creator. This as a tribute of respect, if nothing else.
Fifthly, I would do away with those great long compounded words; or require the speaker to deliver them in sections, with intermissions for refreshments. To wholly do away with them would be best, for ideas are more easily received and digested when they come one at a time than when they come in bulk. Intellectual food is like any other; it is pleasanter and more beneficial to take it with a spoon than with a shovel.
Sixthly, I would require a speaker to stop when he is done, and not hang a string of those useless “haben sind gewesen gehabt haben geworden seins” to the end of his oration. This sort of gewgaws undignify a speech, instead of adding a grace. They are, therefore, an offense, and should be discarded.
Seventhly, I would discard the Parenthesis. Also the reparenthesis, the re-reparenthesis, and the re-re-re-re-re-reparentheses, and likewise the final wide-reaching all-inclosing king-parenthesis. I would require every individual, be he high or low, to unfold a plain straightforward tale, or else coil it and sit on it and hold his peace. Infractions of this law should be punishable with death.
And eighthly, and last, I would retain Zug and Schlag, with their pendants, and discard the rest of the vocabulary. This would simplify the language.
I have now named what I regard as the most necessary and important changes. These are perhaps all I could be expected to name for nothing; but there are other suggestions which I can and will make in case my proposed application shall result in my being formally employed by the government in the work of reforming the language.
My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought to learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in thirty hours, French in thirty days, and German in thirty years. It seems manifest, then, that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired. If it is to remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside among the dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it.

If I play along, like you, or Gib, Arc or Magsj plays along, I’m equally culpable as you all are when he bleeds out trying to carry the next step on his own, or when he blows his brains out later on discovering not a damn thing changed. Alturism doesn’t mean incredulity, compassion isn’t based on encouraging harmful self deceptions on others. Trixie is doing something wrong and stupid headed to himself, and I’m no Nietzdchean who stands by silently waiting for it to happen, then snicker afterwards. He makes it a topic, I point out it us wrong, not because the Bible said it, or Christ said it, but because it only brings disadvantage and future miseries down on himself and his family. We shouldn’t play along with such dangerous fantasies arising from a distant childhood rape trauma. It is a time to heal, not to deepen his wounds, and everyone seems obsessed with making his situation worst. I can’t tell him what to do with his life, where to go, but the philosopher in me can’t point to the obvious, blantant as hell dangerous obsessions he has, and I can shine a light on some of the pitfalls. It us a act of inhumanity to play along with his games, it us one of enlightenment to help him when he cries out for help. Every statement he makes, is a crying out for help.

At this point, I doubt he will even stop here, it is obvious he is morphing into a purple Unicorn. There ain’t no damn pronoun for fucking purple unicorn people that conjugates universally in speech. We have pejoratives for mental disorders like “Hey, retard” but if we need to differentiate, we say “no, not you, him”. When we say Him, it ceases to be retard, but a male retard. The English language obviously focuses on the actual known sex, not what we wish it to be. It is why there is comedy around the old SNL Patty skits.

Look, Trixie is trying to become a gay unicorn, but it us obvious he will turn into Trance Gemini from Andromeda in the end.

So we gotta not just pretend he isn’t a guy, not call him a Eunuch, but then call him a Unicorn, from a kids show for little girls, which is wrong on so many levels, then we gotta after that call him by whatever the fuck Trance Gemini was on that TV show. Trixie is a Nietzschean, Trance was the ultimate Anti-Nietzschean. I don’t see the point of playing along. It doesn’t do anyone any good.

The_Golden_Turd · November 3, 2016, 10:27pm

My hands are normal sized, between a large and extra large. I just ordered tactical military gloves off Amazon for using my crowbar with during the winter, and I can barely squeeze in the large size, but most men are large or extra large. Medium is for children.

I’m lying in bed with my giant, yellow 3 foot long crowbar. I’m so excited about it. Got some plans for it down by the river.

And nobody is gonna look at me and say Jesus on Steroids, I’m 99.9% body fat.

This is what I look like not fat and hairy:

I’m not that big, she is like, under a 100 pounds, between 90 and 100. Bitch never ate, pissed me off, always made me feel bad.

The_Golden_Turd · November 3, 2016, 10:44pm

Closest I could find comparison (no Jesus Cat Hat picks), you can see his face is very different.

Ultimate_Philosophy · November 3, 2016, 11:00pm

Incorrect. Decreases combat effectiveness in the gun age. Same as bows and tools, can’t use it without an arm.

No, it just makes you a buddhist bullshit eunuch. You get a red dot in your forehead and your life long goal is to please. Turns you into a bisexual more than anything else. Does it make you feminine yes it does. Does it decrease your combat effectiveness well that depends. Depends on mind over matter. I can take an anti-depressant and not pull any punches, that’s a fact. Mind over matter.

Turd Ferguson:

Love it when my phone freezes mid post!

I’m using the correct pronoun, I’m not abandoning the English Languages use of Gender in a era who’s liberal culture insists there is no God, science trumps all, everything is reducible to the mind, and smashing every superstition, to give into it’s most obvious hypocrisy, a 180° turn against all it’s teachings, and start claiming people are not what they actually are, and that their is some bloody fucking imperative that everyone has to bend over backwards in quintessending a obvious categorical error at best, mental disorder at worst amongst a segment of the population, in affirming to them their earnest desire to be believed in a obviously and inherently false idea, one that runs dangerous, engine in bodily mutilation and all too often suicide.

Trixie is a he, he was born a He, if he removes his balls it just makes him a Eunuch, you don’t get to stop being a guy just because your a Eunuch. Nobody ran around calling Origen or Peter Abelaird “She”. Mr. Clean is “Mr.” Clean, despite being modelled off a Turkish Eunuch. We don’t go “Oh, Ms. Clean”

Fact is all males are born female. Males are not born he, they are basically born chicks with dicks. Fact of the matter is until they are age twenty they are not a man nor will they be as manly as Mr. Clean. Fact is Peter = Penis so of course Peter is a he. That’s why when a guy crossdresses at age 18 there is hope, body gets used to the idea of feminizing, brain plasticity begins, hormone cycles alter, good chance of him turning into a hot woman. But if a guy waits till age 57 to crossdress there is no hope, they are sentenced to fashion hell and fashion damnation.

Too long for me to read, not a supercomputer. Perhaps I will read it tomorrow.

Fact of the matter is, most trannies do not blow their brains out after a sex change unless the doctor fucks up, does the surgery wrong and sabotages their sensation. Most just end up quitely in the mental hospital, until they adjust to their new role in society, being quietly chased by strange men and to enjoy the penis, not being satisfied with lesbian scissoring.
That is why I firmly advocate for futa-ism. Keep the penis and balls for stability of the American family unit and reproductive purposes. But implant a vagina so that the trasexual can finally feel “right” and happy with their lives. No risk, no risk of redaction. Turd you and I can agree on this.

Fact is I am morphing into a Blue Unicorn that wears purple. Saying purple Unicorn is like saying Joker is morphing into a purple smurf, everybody knows Joker is white and wears purple, is not purple.
Fact is Aria Blaze is purple.

Fact is I cannot decide which Andromeda personality I am, I keep morphing. Can’t decide if I am Trance Gemini, that clown anarchist chick, or the ship itself. I’d say I’m all three. Fact is if I was all three I’d have a threesome with myselves.

Nietzche is only a mad-man. I consider myself superior to Nietzsche.

The_Golden_Turd · November 3, 2016, 11:14pm

You already have a vagina down there, it is your ass hole, no need for surgery. All the other faggots manage to take it up the ass without the surgery and hormones, why can’t you? Nothing more worthless than a fake vagina. You gonna keep your passport up there or something? Nobody needs a vagina unless they are a woman. It is like a giant belly button hole, but all the lint that builds up in it gets wet and infected, and it can sterilize you, or even kill you if left unclean. I can barely clean my own asshole, I hate going near it, fuck, I wouldn’t know what to do with a stupid bleeding cunt taco. My penis is fairly simple. Hard when happy, limp when sad. Only on rare occasions it gets complicated, like when I’m stuck between having to pee or beat it. Peeing with a erection doesn’t result in a massive orgasm, I’ve tried, thought I would be howling in pleasure. Just makes it go down. Blah

Penis makes sense. Fuck vaginas.

Ultimate_Philosophy · November 3, 2016, 11:23pm

Turd Ferguson:

You already have a vagina down there, it is your ass hole, no need for surgery. All the other faggots manage to take it up the ass without the surgery and hormones, why can’t you? Nothing more worthless than a fake vagina. You gonna keep your passport up there or something? Nobody needs a vagina unless they are a woman. It is like a giant belly button hole, but all the lint that builds up in it gets wet and infected, and it can sterilize you, or even kill you if left unclean. I can barely clean my own asshole, I hate going near it, fuck, I wouldn’t know what to do with a stupid bleeding cunt taco. My penis is fairly simple. Hard when happy, limp when sad. Only on rare occasions it gets complicated, like when I’m stuck between having to pee or beat it. Peeing with a erection doesn’t result in a massive orgasm, I’ve tried, thought I would be howling in pleasure. Just makes it go down. Blah

Fact is I ain’t no faggot. You’re acting like I’m some kind of queerbo that listens to modern garbage music like Nikki Minaj. I don’t like modernity, think people on TV are stupid, and nothing more than a bunch of dumb babies. Fact is trasexual vaginas are in many ways superior to cisvags, no period juice and less fish-taco smell. Also they have more muscles inside. Fact is modern faggots Like popsicles with Red 40 and listen to the Koolaid. Not saying I don’t enjoy things in my bottom, but the fact is, I’d be a fool to say that a bottom could ever be as good as vag. Also a fun fact, there is a such thing as a peeing orgasm, I had it before, it is one of the strangest feelings you will ever feel. Oxytocin is needed.

Wish I could, but the facts are against me. Fact is I’ve never fucked a girls vag, only her butthole. She told me her vag was sacred, and that lowly me was only worthy of her dirty butthole. Most would jump at glee, but not me, no sir, not me, it hurt my wee-wee, it hurt my pee-pee, no sir, not me. Fact is after all the abuse she did to me, I considered suicide, but thanks to Neitzche, I pushed on, thanks to Neitzche and the fear of circular recurrence, plus the will to power, I pushed on. Neitzche saves lives, he’s not the evil you’d like us to believe.

The_Golden_Turd · November 3, 2016, 11:58pm

Hurt your penis? You mean it hurt your unstretched foreskin pushing in without lube.

Your supposed to squirt some shit down. Next time your taking a girl out on a date, ask for some mayonaisse packages with your McChicken, and use that for buttlube.

And your foreskin is just gonna hurt however you do it till you get used to regular fucking. Dressing up as a unicorn is gonna seriously cut down on the access to adult, legal practice pussy.

Vaginas, even when virgin, aren’t that tight feeling when lubed up from arousal. Foreskin doesn’t matter much, and if you wear a condom, not at all.

Penises are customer designed to fuck actual vaginas. I don’t mess with my foreskin ever, so it is never stretched, and grows tight. Sex isn’t a issue, it is when a new girl just grabs it and starts jerking it hard that I will crumple to the fetus position crying like a little girl. My nerve endings are in better shape than circumcised guys, and it feels rather violent, like a pencil jabbed into my peehole, if they just go into a crazy sprint. But after a few sessions, I’m ready to go.

And you are the crazy fucks on craigslist that keeps modt sane people away from craigslist. If I was exoectingba eomsn, and a guy dressed like a purple unicorn showed up… mother fucker, that is some extreme false advertising, your liable to get your ass bear down for that. Wouldnt necessariky hapoen cause I might be so freaked out I might not wanna touch you period. I wouldn’t take it kindly though, just some politically correct misunderstanding… fuck. I bet guys have committed suicide after being set up like that.

The_Golden_Turd · November 4, 2016, 12:31am

Before S57 cries, it is biological, not a ideological reaction, called Uncanny Valley

en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncanny_valley

Mori’s original hypothesis states that as the appearance of a robot is made more human, some observers’ emotional response to the robot will become increasingly positive and empathic, until a point is reached beyond which the response quickly becomes that of strong revulsion. However, as the robot’s appearance continues to become less distinguishable from that of a human being, the emotional response becomes positive once again and approaches human-to-human empathy levels.[12]

This area of repulsive response aroused by a robot with appearance and motion between a “barely human” and “fully human” entity is called the uncanny valley. The name captures the idea that an almost human-looking robot will seem overly “strange” to some human beings, will produce a feeling of uncanniness, and will thus fail to evoke the empathic response required for productive human-robot interaction.[12]

Mate selection. Automatic, stimulus-driven appraisals of uncanny stimuli elicit aversion by activating an evolved cognitive mechanism for the avoidance of selecting mates with low fertility, poor hormonal health, or ineffective immune systems based on visible features of the face and body that are predictive of those traits

I’ve grown to accept a wife variety of people since I had my first instinctive revulsion at seeimgba fat girl when I was 4 or 5 years old jump around wet in a water canal in Yuba City, California, the mere sight of it threw me into a intense rage, but then afterwards, took control of the rage by asking what was wrong.

A big chunk of everyday life is built around bringing males and females together, every civilization puts a big chunk of its daily efforts to this task. We aren’t driven to anger that much when it is merely a mate mismatched in status, beauty, age making sudden advances, but when it drives this instinctive drive.

You’ll see girls ostrachize other girls, but guys in their youth in pacts will hunt down people of any difference, even if just elderly or homeless. This gets magnified especiallybwhen confronted with dating situations and someone who clearly, under any circumstance shouldn’t be considered even remotely a potential mate shows up. That’s the inherent risk with online dating. It is one thing for me to think I’ve been talking to Katherine McPhee

but the person who I eventually meet is 20 years older, wrong nationality, and twice my body weight. If it is still a woman, lonely, I can compute. Compute as I get up and leave silently angry while defrauded of my time and energy. But that’s not Uncanny Valley. It is when all the features are just off. Like, she has a fucking Adams Apple, and in the morning has hair stubbs growing in all over the chest, and I’m not able to put two and two together, just something fucking off… making me angry, revolting. That’s gonna result in a severe beat down if I’m mislead into something more, if not much worst. About worst thing you can say if I discovered I have been dating a woman who was originally born a man, is “What does it matter, that’s not who I am”… that’s a shallow grave scenario, followed up by a deeply embarrassed and self disgusted suicide.

That’s posteri Uncanny Valley, priori is seeing it and being revolted. I know looking at you your not a woman. I can control it enough, given my Stoic face, it would never occur to you over how I treat others, but if pressed, you would see a sudden involuntary surge of anger. Humans are not fish that just change our sexes, and Hominids have traditionally been around distantly related hominid species that sorta look like us, but we couldn’t breed with save like the offspring of a Donkey and Horse, a sterile Mule.

That rejection is deeply built in for a reason, just isn’t conscious. Craigslist has the potential to throw unsuspecting people at random into the thick if that experience. I wouldn’t react well, hence why I refuse to allow it to happen in the first place. I try to suppress it, there is no “nietzschean overcoming” of it, it simply is what it is. It is doing what it is designed to do, Phallic Inflation and Deflation as Satyr practices isn’t a healthy alternative. Healthy alternative is to cuss such fools out and evade preferably peacefully.

surreptitious57 · November 4, 2016, 12:50am

That clean shaven crew cut look is not as good as your Jesus on steroids look

Now where did this ridiculously irrational fear of your own arsehole come from

Trixie should not be putting anything up her arse but it is her body and so her choice

She looks fine as a purple unicorn in glasses so pay her a compliment and say how nice she is

Thanks for posting a photo of your semi hairy arm you really did not have to go that far out you know

I am not wasting half a day to read that wall of text you that posted about the correct gender pronoun to use

Do you ever go on Craigslist as Jesus on steroids or are you afraid you might get chatted up by a purple unicorn in glasses

WendyDarling · November 4, 2016, 12:54am

Turdballs,

Is an expounder X infinity. Leave Trixiebelle the H E double L alone.