Rule my Politics

In some rare occasions in global politics, the rulers and actors became aware of the level of dismay they directed towards the public and made the polite decision of stepping down. That can’t possibly be the case here in Ro, but it happened once in the States, when Nixon resigned.And many other times around the world.

Less and less, politicians are interested in being decent, and there are a few reasons why that will make a 180 and bite their collective blubbery ass. You may argue that ‘indecent’ is their way of expressing themselves and it’s wrong to indict them for it as it would be wrong to indict a chimp masturbating in front of the 3rd graders visiting the Zoo. Well, no. Democracy is based on the representation of the will of the masses. The masses have been known to have an extremely decent behavior across history, except maybe Gomora and Sodoma.

For any kind of ruler to abandon the decency of his office is a slippery slope that can’t possibly arrange itself in a positive manner. Decency is among the rules of the fight. All wealthy and powerful men should be smart enough to respect that rule, embrace it and take shelter under it’s dome. It’s one of the rules of the game that works in their favor.

Decadence, scandal and indecency will bring them to my realm, one by one or all at once. Once they reach a certain level of indecency the general public will lose interest and the anarchists will take over. Now, bare in mind that the current ruling class is made out of people that are supposed to be decent but can’t. My realm will come and anarchy will change the rules. You will experience the indecency of the people that never intended to be decent in the first place. You will be confronted with the behavior of the animal that killed it’s way to the top of the food chain. It’s not in my moral code to give a heads-up to the exiting class of rulers, but you can be the judge of their actions: they are willingly giving up the code that sustained their kingdom and easily changing their lame rules into my rules. I concur, politics is a disturbingly boring domain, but they wouldn’t last a day in the flip-coin of that order.

At a very top, Anarchism will become organized so that it can produce a wider damage and deny it’s existence in the process. Politicians and rulers will once again become lambs, compared with the future hoards of punkers that will rule the world. In a few decades, half  + of the world will be under 30 yo. That means that the ruling apparatus will be flooded with kids. Just one of the bad news waiting for the ruling class.

Vote for Syringe!

Having a soft spot for systems, I can’t begin to explain the amount of aw I reserve for the religious one.

If religion was a vault, it would be in Fort Knox. You can’t approach it, nevermind breach it. If you ever fucked with the religious establishment, here’s what happen to you during the ages:

Greece, Balcans, Middle East 300 BC:

a)  your villager neighborous would regard you as jinxed. For any mishap you would experience, they would have a special little god to credit and make a laugh out of it. Then, at the first sign of a community disaster, which could very well be a draught, they would sacrifice your ass in a ritual involving pain, blood and death on your part.

b) your fellow citizen would direct you to a special elevated podium made of stone, then gather around you and listen to your opinion in spans of 3 to 5 minutes.  After you form a school where all disciplines are called either physics or philosophy and you really get their attention, they realize they don’t agree with you, stage a quick trial and do you in a public murder with white robes only.

Holy City, AD TD BC – year O

a) you would become a neighborhood holy man. You would have to deal with the black holyman 2 streets away, always stealing your juicy crowds. You would mostly sleep on the street and live the life of a slum dog, become ill at an early age and die. High chances of contracting various types of food disorders, such as dysentery.

b) you become a black holyman. You preach nonsense to rich crowds in private gatherings of people who have never seen a black man ever and you pass time by hustling and stealing the juicy crowds of another holyman, 2 streets away. You eventually end up crucified or worst because of a farisei who witnessed one of your private displays, got a hard-on and tried to rape you, then repentant, declared you a Shepperd for the Devil and fixed you up to become a public torch.

c) [slim chance] you just get borne, have no ideea of the intricate and preposterous net of lies your mother fixed your father into buying. You are, fortunately, white, lack basic child clothes, on the run because of a misinterpretation of the zodiac change that provided the basis of a law passed by a local bureaucrat which clearly stated that you and all others looking like you, but especially – you, must be killed on sight. Your interpretation of a Year O high-speed police chase becomes the basis and most important holiday of the second greatest religion in the world. Momentous happenings, aligned galaxies and visits of kings from across the world take place in the one night that you  felt most miserable, cold and generally completely unaware of anything more than 2 inches from you. Your career is all down the drain from there, featuring horrible torture, public diminishing, absurd further misinterpretation of your entire philosophy and death at an early age.

Central Europe, Transylvania, 500 our days

The ways that the religious system would put your tiny voice down in these times seem various because of the piling up of the torture kits from the stone age, the gold age, the bronze age, the iron age, the crazy dictators age, the dinosaur age and so forth. Much of these tools were heavy and out-dated, but all of them , after some gruesome pain,  resulted in death. The hardware will be sorted out in the next few hundred years.

Turkey, around 1057

a) create your own religion, name it kindda like the old one and build a new city with a central church so immensely large that the building itself is a proof that your new religion is sound.

b) your fellow villager neighbors will attempt to get you drunk enough to publicly admit that you don’t believe in any religious bullshit so that they can burn you in the only intersection of the village and take away your sheep and furniture.

Somewhere in Europe for the next 700 years

You meet the regional executive inquisitor, a white-faced fellow that has hardly ever lost anything after he lost his mind and walks around covered in a black robe that lets his fingers breathe.

From there, you can either:

a) get tortured for a long time and then impaled on a wicked device intr-un ritual ce imbolnaveste si publicul de varice.

b) get to serve the community one last time as suspended crow-bait; your body hangs until rotten while the villagers hunt down and eat the animals that attempt to scavenge you. Your luck turns 3 months after your death, as your rotten environmentally-hazardous corpse springs an epidemic and kills all villagers 32 villages across, except a few little children.

Meanwhile, all this time, in Japan, they would happily allow you to kill yourself in front of your master in a very dignifying and short ritual that wouldn’t fuck the chi of your master’s morning tea.

XIX century, Europe and Americas

If fucking with the religious establishment during this particular hundred years, odds are that you would either be

a) an indoctrinated religious bastard who’s mum and dad enslaved other poor bastards to pay for the studies that enlightened your tiny mind so much that you actually sprigged up an idea that runs against the mainstream; you then cease to be a religiously indoctrinated religious bastard, you become a mad scientist, various scientific communities make up specific jokes with you, where you’re either an idiot because you don’t have the first clue about electricity or  about genetics and creationism all stating the general idea that your idiotic opinion is something that the scientific community can do without. A few decades after your death, streets will be named after you and fellow scientist colleagues still alive then will speak highly of you in newspaper interviews.

b) communist leader/ leech / Marx himself / inhabitant of Russia: your fucking with the religion establishment is easily facilitated and encouraged, but you don’t really care because that aims really low on your list of immediate concerns; probably higher and urgent items would be “cold” “hunger” “imminent war”.

‘90 around the world

By now, fucking with religion got us to an age where freedom of speech got the game on heights expressed in millions and percents. People disapproving other religions than theirs, people having it in against some religions, people fucking it all [16% atheists in 2006 - 960 mil].

You can’t fuck with the gods. Cool system, but the age of Pisces ends soon, and new gods can be created.

So, if you vote for me to become the new spaghetto god in the age of Aquarius, I promise to:

Keep an open call-center 24/7 to handle all shit concerning you carefully and transparently, in a civilized manner

Establish a new Universal standard Measure, so you can blame the management for shit like mass disease, catastrophic airline accidents and wars. The linear scale will be suited for the next ages of the zodiac, so we can draw a line and see who’s who.

Also, I promise to cut the almighty bullshit. I mean, running the entire Universe is a massive job and gods can be pretty cool and skillful, jaw-dropping even, but let’s get real: almighty? when the Universe will start keeping records in a scale that can be checked, like the score at Tetris, we’ll see that some gods rule and some gods make the highscores. I also want to remind you that the allegations of my counter-candidates stating that I approached the only 6 mathematicians on the planet that could verify the highscores that I will fraud with the new Universal God Coolness Measurement System or UGCMS are preposterous and the legal decisions are pending.

In general, life will be good under my rule, earthlings. Surely, massive numbers of mere humans will probably not survive the first critical hours of the new establishment, but a lot of those lucky enough to keep their life will hopefully chill and forget about it.

You now know who to vote for at the next god

elections! Keep it safe! Vote for Syringe!

Control

It’s how you call it once you peep through a crack of the facade. It’s a widely mistaken volatile environment, much like religion. Not only that people like talking about it, but they endulge in such discussions for hours, rarely if ever having any resemblance of a clue what they are talking about.

Any little action that you can possibly think of  that you can’t do altough you are able to do it [psy/fiz] is regulated by a form of control. Sometimes, the apparatus behind it is simple, like the thing that keeps you under control when you face the complicated decision of saving us all the missery of your presence and jump off a remote but high cliff. The mechanism involved there is an easy one, the self – preservation inherited will pretty much do. But when it concernes your baheviour in the society and all the control that runs down from there, the levers and pins run a little more complicated than that.

Your own perception of value, your private shopping list, your bahaviour in the city. It is allready known, all the important bits: you have the perception of value of a wide class of people, some people buy some shit and during rush-hours, there is a one-in-5 chance that you are the actual asshole that blows his horn, may it be the sound signal for his mother burial.

But the fun part of control is the impact end of the game. The part when wooden-handled tools come into action. It’s when the jaw breaks with that sandy noise that crumbles teeth. When the system hits a trap-door and wants to put you down the creepy way. A heel in an army boot produces a rubbery plastic water filtered noise when it jump-stomps onto the head of a victim laying on the ground. That is the noise of severe brain-trauma, and you don’t need to be a trained surgeon to recognize it. It compresses the all muscles and nerves in the eye-area by a couple of centimeters and releases. It is more scary to a human ear than the loading sound made by a 44 Magnum; that is another particular sound that you mustn’t worry whether you’ll recognize it or not. And this bloody description above is scientific fact. How so? Control relies on study. Infantry flat-foot tiny lines of data kind of study also shows that people who associate hard metal impact sounds [such as the sound of a hydraulic hammer] to danger find the sound of brains compressed between asphalt and boot less creepy than those who are frightened of explosions. That is why you send miners to break the bones of students, not policemen.

But why do we know these and other gruesome facts? Control is a sub-machine, a sub-interface of the system that keeps most of the things together, working somewhat smoothly. It relies on the knowledge of all these things and much more. Off course, the system has many breeches. One of them gives everyone access to all knowledge, or most of it, because it is way too much to be sorted out by one dude.

The Archimedechal support-point of control is the fact that you want it. You rather be controlled than doing your own thing  most of the time.  That is the base of money system, credit mechanisms, TV and most other human-invented systems.

Enjoy.

Eunuc sef la harem de cibernautice, caut job de student

For the few of you who surfed the web during the weekend, I’ve got a notice, other than the fact that you should get a life. Especially during the weekend. I don’t write during weekends.

Being a syringe fucks up your weekend life. All those sterile environments that an usual syringe experiences during the weekdays fade away when the weekend starts. During the weekends, an average syringe is more likely to be used by junkies than doctors. As a representative of syringes all over, I can not turn a blind eye to that and leave my sisters into the hands of junkies while they are getting used multiple times and heated up to dimm flames. One of the reasons why I don’t write during weekends. The other one is that it is quite handy to say stuff like

“I don’t answer my phone while I am eating, sleeping or riding my bike”

” I don’t answer my phone while I am at the cinema, school, theater or the swimming pool”

” I don’t answer my phone while I am writing, smoking or working”

The sum of all of the above pretty much tells you that I rarely answer my phone. Now that it’s public, it’s a fact. You shouldn’t be mad about it, because you could have found out about it before you called, with a simple google search: “does syringe answer it’s phone right now?”.

All these rules and regulations are a deceptive facade, in reality. Easy like a feather, if I want to answer my phone while some of the above are in development, I do. Try a set of rules like these, they will most likely make your life a lot easyer. And if they don’t, fuck them, they are ment to be broken anyway.

My favourite wildcard for a monday afternoon is school. You may wonder why that card is wild but Cybernetics Inc. is the kind of place that lets you make your pick concerning that. This time it’s the un-even distribution of pussy in the establishment. I used to think there are probably 5 girls in the entire school, but much to my dismay, I got fixed with an only-girls-and-one-other-dude class. It was probably the result of an intricate ecuation that the dean worked on for the entire summer, an ecuation that was due to fix my embarassingly low attendance to courses. It kindda worked, but not as well as you’dd expect it. With 25 girls in the same room, it feels like bathing in an ocean of estrogen.

As all complicated ecuations generate a number of end results and another number of consequences, my suddenly-overwhelmed-by-pussy student life smiled and asked for a new type of job, a student kindda job. All these and a number of other coincidences that creeped into my life made me think that I should expect for something to happen any moment now. Something is just around the corner, thus, I decided to become a waiter.

Much to my surprise, shortly after I embarked on this endeavor, I learned that it’s not such an easy task. It is actually easyer to find a job as a manager of something or other than to find a job as a waiter. What a cruel world we all live in. My lack of experience as a waiter/bartender/something that serves_and_does_not_drink_liquor qualifies me for a job as a piccolinno, at best. The fact that I will probably drink on the job makes as much difference as the result of a differential ecuation makes for my most famous professor of advanced mathematics, now that he’s dead.

Autumn means fruit

And I love this season. All my old forgotten relations to Earth and Agriculture come back to life in this season. I feel the need to get dirty. I enjoy the rare opportunities presented to me in the shape of fresh squeezed apple juice. Grapes. Most of what Mother Earth conlcluded that can be eaten, drank, smoked, licked, boiled and drank, evaporated into fine dust and inhaled in the form of straight white lines is reaching the right age right about now.

A third of the population is born in this season, thus almost 10.000 girls become the legal age to get laid this season.

One thing that’s bothering me this particular autumn is the fact that more and more people cut their connections to Earth. Sure, they are still Earthlings, but not Earth People. How can you recognize them? They like to do weird stuff to fruit.

It was this autumn that I learned that a boy can fuck a banana peel. Now, that’s conspicuous. And I don’t have a picture of that.

But it also came to my attention that people like to shoot fruit. Particullary watermelons. Watermelons are harmless creatures, man. They don’t hurt anybondy.

And it’s a gruesome thing to do to such a watery creature.

And that’s not the only punishment that watermelons get. Seems that their shape, which has served well for many years, is no longer fezable. We don’t like it anymore, because it rolls around in the fridge. And what is up with that?! 12600 yen for a watermelon? Buddy, you’re kidding me?! I can buy a truck full for that money anywhere in Bhutan!

And the fact that it deals with your thirst and your hunger in the same time is not user-friendly enough for some people. It needs a more friendly face, apparently.

Stop doing that, people. It’s not funny, it’s disturbing.

What are you willing to do? Bribe? Black-mail? ask…?

Looking south towards Bucharest almost 7 years ago I was thinking I could be a capital city boy. This deserves capital letters. I could be a Capital City Boy.

Tags work. Moved into Bucharest and became Capital City Boy. Got a job in a corporation and became Corporate Boy. Black suite and Shit.

I remember thinking I can out-smart the general public of Bucharest, e usor sa traiesti printre straini, doar sa inveti sa fii rechin intre rechini. If you move to Bucharest from a cultural city, Regie is the place to be. It’s a mess. It used to be dirty, too. They cleaned it up a little bit, but it still feels like it’s a mess. Only students and the sea can grind rocks and buildings. That’s especially true in Regie. However, my college doesn’t have dorms in Regie; so I did what any student does when he feels like he’s about to be thrown out of a party [or not allowed acces into one]: attempt to offer a bribe. That didn’t work.

Hail the principles of democracy! Romania is a bribery-free zone and corruption has been abolished! Easy there, sea-biscuit, I was just kidding. Bad joke, I know. No, the truth is just my bribe wasn’t acceptable. Not because I walked into the admin’s office wearring a press tag or because I had a camera around my neck. I was just young and foolish and had nothing but the first clue on how to offer a bribe.Never got a place in Regie. Life can be deceiving, indeed.

Fast forward 3 years and I joined the ranks of a multinational corporation for the 3rd time. For those of you who never had the horror of these easy steps, there’s smart, then there’s wise,  street-smart and street-wise, corporate-smart and corporate wise. By now, I’m probably all, except one. At that time, I was corporate-smart: that’s the worst kind. It’s usualy an intermediate step between a wise-ass and a fucking liability. You’ve seen these corporate-smart kids before. They drive a company car with no brands on it. When they step out of the car, they have a round-about look on their faces like they are looking for the next victim. That’s how you know they are on the clock, working. They are well dressed, but it’s easy to see that the suite is not a natural extension. Watch one walk by you and you might think he’s having his mind elsewhere, but make no mistake, this is a dangerous species: bust a move in it’s direction and you’ll get the creature focused; it can probably think of 5 ways to make your life misserable in the next 30 working days and scheemes to make an adversary suffer involve a level of imagination that can find a similar use in space exploration. 3 years in Buchale and a shark was born. I was selling pharmaceutical over the counter products back then. A nice way to define a range of products which included pregnancy tests and sliming chewing gum. I got the job because, during the interview, I used a napkin to write down an ecuation about selling fridges to eskimos. They said they needed a guy like that, but it still eludes me why.

During my first days on the job, I was trained in bribery. That makes for 40% of the added value of 98% of the items you can possibly buy in a pharmacy. That means that a particular pharmacy will sell your product if you offer the pharmacist a gift. Offer a big one and your product is practicly off the shelf. Please try it out, dear reader. Walk into a pharmacy and pretend you are not sure about which product to buy. The girl behind the counter will sell you the product that she wants to sell with more conviction then any sales rep. During my visits in pharmacies, I learned a lot. For instance, I learned that the Dona Pharmacy near Tineretului Square in Bucharest also sells shoes. Not medical shoes, women shoes. Not very nice ones, tough.

But best of all, after 6 months on the job, I could offer a bribe to the Pope. I even offered a bribe to a police officer in a court of law, while at least a dozen people were watching. I seriously doubt that any of them caught to the scheem. I think not even the police officer realized what it’s happening, but he bended the rules my way, anyhow.

Corruption wasn’t a product that just ran out of stock in front of me. It was a blessing from above in a country that has more freedoms than all western democracies combined. On a large deal of pharmaceuticals, I offered a BMW 1st series to a pharmacy. The deal was sealed, but so was my conclusion about this immaculate working environment. I started being slopy, just to see if it works. Stopped offering bribes, but instead hit on the girls in pharmas. This also worked well for the company and my boss [the best you could wish for], was encouraging the attitude, altough I can’t say he was indulging in it himself. Maybe in his younger days. Then I totaled the second company car.

On the smartness list, there are quite a few more steps to go from where I left it above. As a general rule, you can’t be more of those things at once, that’s against the rules. And the rules also say you have to move forward, upwards, untill you get so high that you get tempted of rock-bottom. Funny enough, after I surpassed the phases named above, yesterday I get talking to a friend and I find out he is the son of the preacher-man. A teacher, that is. Thus, has a free spot in Regie but doesn’t wanna stay there. “Can I have it, please?” – “Sure, man. You know you can ask me anything.“

Strong Feelings

What do I reserve my strong feelings for? Sometimes I meet a girl and I reserve a night for her. Sometimes I can tell what’s she like from the very beginning and I reserve some strong feelings for her. I put them on hold; if any customer asks for them, I just say they’ve been half paid for, even if it’s not true… I don’t like mushteriii [tr. customers] so much anyway.

But on some occasions, for some express categories, no reservation is required. Like the Queen doesn’t need to make an appointment with the mechanic, for instance. I imagine she can pull her Rolls in the front alley of the mechanic shop anytime she wants, really.

It’s like that with my strong feelings and the Americans; you can ask me anytime if I have some strong feelings about them, and yes, I do. I strongly dislike them. I don’t hate them, not in the general sense of the word, but that’s pretty much covered by half of the Globe. No, I am an educated European; my level of culture exceeded the average american level of culture when I passed into 3rd grade. I can’t possibly hate Americans, because you can’t really hate a guy with the Down Syndrome. That’s how they generally look, don’t they? Fat, incapacitated, drop-dead-stupid but they have that childish look on their faces… you know y’all, like Down – syndrome people do…. it’s kindda cute. I can’t hate that. My heart isn’t dark enough. But I really really dislike them, tough.

And then, there’s the Romanian political class. It’s an entire class. You knew that in Romania being  politician is a proffesion? Is it like that in your countries? If your fat ass served Romania as an elected official, after some time you get a retirement fund. Like you’ve actually done something. Pension, it’s called. It’s just plain preposterous, if you ask me. But nobody did. You know why? Because they vote their own salary. They vote their own pension, too. In the day they passed the law about how much they should get paid, all members of the House of Parliament were present. It wasn’t a record-breaking presence in the session, it was unprecedented. When discussions were afoot to establish how much $ to take home, they were all there. That never happened until then or since then in the modern history of my country.

When I heard that I said, well, I’m in the wrong business. I should set my own paycheck as high as I want. So I did. I went to my boss and informed him that from tomorrow on, I will earn as much as a Romanian member of the Parliament. He was so busy and that was such a stupid thing of me to say that I don’t even think he acknowledged what I said. He just said OK. None the less, from that day onwards, I earned as much as a Romanian member of the house of Parliament. That lasted for 8 months. I worked and got paid. Work. Pay. You get the picture. Guess what, after 8 months, my boss finally catches up to my payroll and I get fired. So I figured it must be something wrong with that number of months… 8. It’s funny how that coincides with the number of months after election when Romanian voters start becoming really pissed with their choice. On a related note, you could make a kid in that period of time [providing that you own a vagina] – but the kid will probably be screwed up. It’s not enough time to create something  and make it work. It’s, as they say, premature.

Back to my idea, I have some strong feelings reserved for the Romanian political class. I hate them all. The lot of them. I hate the fact that I’m regarded around the Globe as a 3rd world citizen because of them. I hate that I live in a country wealthy in natural resources that is experiencing the worst possible management. A bunch of half-brain apes could do a better job. I hate that they are not even discreet about being stupid or thieves, the lot of them. I hate that they can’t get fired after 8 months. I hate their official cars that have right of passage before me.

Recently, I found out that they also hate. These inbred lobotomized laboratory failures also hate. Each and everyone of them might have a set of things that they personally hate, but I am no more interested in their particular persons then the syphilitic chimp that humped their mothers in their conceiving moments was interested in their first time they [the politicians] decided to probe their cracks with a toilet brush. And what all these political figures hate while I pay them to get shit done around here is one of their own. It’s the current president. His name is Base, but that’s less relevant to this point.

Now I found myself in somewhat of a dilemma. Hating them all together proved so far to be easy and less time-consuming. Comfortable. Some of my friends used to ask me “Hei, Syringe, what do you think of the politician that…” “I hate them all, man. If they were all to drop dead tomorrow, I’d have a terrific party, everybody’s invited, we’ll drink and have a good time“. But no, they refuse to die all at once. If they die one at the time is no good, you see. According to experiments conducted in the mid 70’s, a new monkey in the cage will be taught the ways and rules of the cage. So one of them removed is not going to help anyone. And they can’t all be removed, apparently. I suspect many people wanted them all removed over time, but history recorded no such accomplishment, sadly.

At the point when I gathered all these information, my brain was to lazy, to full of hatred and disrespect to even tackle the problem. Then I learned one other fact.

It seems that, before a recent international political gathering at Bruxelles, Base expressed his desire to meet with his U.S. counterpart, Obama. Only that Obama didn’t share his enthusiasm about a meeting and expressed it quite directly in a press conference. The new Messiah of the Americans took the microphone and went into details about how much he dislikes Base and his regime. It was delirious. I’m glad I wasn’t there, because I would have probably had a laughter attack. Anyway, Base [not one of our brightest and best] goes on to ignore not only what the black guy said, but also ignores all political protocol, approaches Obama behind his back and taps his shoulder, like: “Yo, dude, I need a word with you“. At this point, they were on a stage with at least a dozen other heads of state, so SS couldn’t kill him. I’m sure they wanted to. Obama turns to see that it’s Base, turns back around and walks away, not saying a word.

Of course, Base is a Neanderthal son of my ugly bitches, going up to the president of U.S. and asking for a moment like I would ask you to join me for a coffee, but that suddenly became second in importance once I realized that Obama hates the guy and what he does. The political class of Romania hates the guy and what he does. I hate them all. See where I am going? Suddenly, I’m Base’s biggest fan! I would vote for him twice.

Peace y’all. I’ll be writing daily.

Tiny voices on the web

Early ‘90, one of the first threats to the Internet: media giants run some numbers and reach the conclusion that Internet will diversify news, will create new media challenges to the brain-washing corporations and will basically make things a lot more difficult for the un-named propaganda apparatus.
5 years into the problem and the corporations couldn’t [? - hmmm] find a solution; lucky for them, the problem just went away. Seems that, the larger the Internet gets, the smaller the voice of the people gets. We are compelled by our own readers to provide sources [more than one], to follow pre-established rules that were already supporting the mainstream and, before we know it, we are the mainstream. Beautiful – except for the fact that Mainstream hasn’t changed after we entered.

Lucky enough, there are blogs and e-mails. Millions of different tiny tools that are put to work each day in different directions. Sure, they lack quality and consistence in the general accepted way, but they get the word through. They make a mute man feel like he can talk.

And talk is what I shall do, dear reader. Stingy, poisonous, infected and probably high, because Syringe is the un-sang hero of medicine. Sure, you hear about the dangers of Syringes all the time.

Syringes are the bearers of needles, which most of us hate; at first, needles used to hurt; that was easy: what’s your problem with needles, man? – They hurt like hell, man!; then they got ever smaller, so we couldn’t say they hurt anymore, because we would then look like pussies; so we switched to becoming scared of them; still, being scared of a little thing like that was not going to work for long, unless you had a matching bra for your purse; luckily, diseases start spreading via syringes and needles. Now, we are afraid of them, and for a good reason – they are no longer a tiny pest, they are really dangerous, they can hurt you and even kill you.

“Kill me?!” – some of us were surprised to learn – “I fucking hate the murderous fuckers!“

Hopefully, my blog here will follow the pattern of the syringe that provides my web-name and most of you will end up hating me.