I’m not an expert on India,  but this is exactly what the 100% employment statistics in the USSR meant in practice.

http://www.reuters.com/article/2014/10/12/us-india-industry-zombies-idUSKCN0I10XD20141012

P.S. My new app is very ideological. My guess it’s an admirer of Fukuyama. It keeps changing “USSR” to “USA.”

Is there any reason (other than an extremely low degree of awareness on health-related issues) why people don’t take these embarrassingly painstaking narratives of the sex acts they engaged in to an actual sexologist? There is a whole profession dedicated to answering the questions the linked post’s author has. Yet, instead of figuring all of this out with a professional, the journalist is engaging in a public disrobing that, judging by how eagerly she substitutes “I” with “we” at the end of the article, is not helping her in the least.

There is not a word for my experience,

the post’s author concludes. The really sad part, however, is that there is a whole bunch of words that could help her. Sadly, she is refusing to ask for help and, what is worse, she contributes to an environment where health-related issues are a matter of public debate instead of something that can and should be addressed by a doctor and a patient in the privacy of a doctor’s office.

Can you guess how often I still receive rambling, poorly written and hysterical comments of the “But men and women are different,  please, please, pretty please, I’m begging you” variety?

On average,  once a day. They are all written by different – I’d like to say people but, given the source of their desperation, I have to call them creatures. Poor, poor things.

I knew that Sting was a piece of shit, but I didn’t know to what extent:

I woke up in the middle of the night with that line in my head, sat down at the piano and had written it in half an hour. The tune itself is generic, an aggregate of hundreds of others, but the words are interesting. It sounds like a comforting love song. I didn’t realize at the time how sinister it is. I think I was thinking of Big Brother, surveillance and control.

—Sting

Everybody knows that the song is a stalker manifesto written by Sting to intimidate his ex-wife. It doesn’t sound like “a comforting love song” to anybody but weirdos of Sting’s ilk. The song is creepy, the tune is obnoxious and banal. And the attempt to use this evidence of Sting’s infantile self-involvement as a statement on governmental surveillance is pathetic.

And now, thanks to reading the stupid linked article, I will have Sting’s nasty little jingle ringing in my ears all day long.

Edward Snowden’s Privacy Tips: “Get Rid Of Dropbox”

http://techcrunch.com/2014/10/11/edward-snowden-new-yorker-festival/

Snowden is such a shitty little weasel. He has the gall to lecture people on the supposed evils of Dropbox while groveling at the feet of Putin. He should just crawl into a hole and die of shame over his collaboration with such a disgusting police state.

P.S. Sorry for the weird format of the post, I’m trying out a new app.

I understand that there are moments when one just absolutely needs to be a brainless,  sexist, pompous freak. But is is it really necessary to piss on the memory of Chernobyl while engaging in this useful exercise?