James W. Meng

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THIS PAGE PREVIOUSLY CONTAINED A CRITIQUE OF A RUSSIAN GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL

May 2025 (previously February 2022)

Eventually, this page will contain a long, rambling allegorical rant, possibly in verse, and probably written drunk, the theme of which will be what it means when criticism, no matter how constructive (or not) fails to produce any meaningful change in functionality or behavior. Until then, enjoy.

delivering the deliverables: also May 2025

I rarely apologize. The issue is simply just that I rarely, if ever, actually do anything that merits an apology. The few times that it's happened over, I don't know, the last decade or so have involved a rather astronomical amount of alcohol, and I always, always specifically make a point to whomever is serving it to me that they have to be conscious of the things I might say if they get me that drunk. One particular such moment that remains vividly etched on my mind forever involves a rather dark, dull, and swarthy Armenian guy I knew in business school, and this was maybe early 2011 or so, who today lives in London on quite a lot of, well, essentially welfare money from the American CIA with his Ukrainian wife and children. He wanted me to drink vodka with him, and I was like, dude, look, I don't mean to be rude but I'm already drinking wine, and if you want me to drink vodka with you, I want to be absolutely clear that I accept no liability for anything that might come out of my mouth, I mean, here I am, visiting a N!gger Nude Beach only because someone insisted, and now everyone expects me to mix booze and be positive about the whole thing and fraternize with the local fauna, and look, I'm just not a pro-Western welfare case from a post-Soviet shithole. Real economy here. No crackpipe. Noooooo crackpipe.

anyway, the West has since moved on, and is now on the crablockpipe

Another thing that some of my readers may have gathered by now, is that while I absolutely adore a certain word that I have more recently substituted with [TRABLUMPKIN], and in so many different literary ways, I never, ever use it about Black people. Isn't that weird? Everyone always says that's weird. But I want to tell you, dear readers, the same thing I always say about Black people: Black people do not deserve to be abused with this horrible pejorative word. Black people are from a normal line of human evolution that largely does not diverge from that of any other mammal. Africans who are slow and stupid and criminal are killed, early and often, and have been for thousands upon thousands of years. Not just by other Africans, but by other animal species. White-skinned people, however, and particularly white-skinned people in North America, are from an overwhelmingly adverse-selected line of human evolution. White-skinned agripeasants with demonstrably, hereditarily inferior brains and bodies have out-populated better variants of their race to an unmanageable degree since the 19th century, despite several significant attempts by monarchs to cull adverse-selected populations over the same period. It's not that there are no better humans (and other animals) around to kill them off - there definitely are - it's that their legal system now enforces worthless adverse-selected behavior at all times, through decision-making that is based on social proof and popular consensus instead of concrete assessment of human behaviors in comparison to laws in force. They - white peasants - are a protected class today.

This is a serious moment for me, actually, to write about this. Anyone worth anything has probably been asked, extorted and harangued, even, to help and mentor someone incredibly dull and stupid over the years. And so it goes in my own life. That's how the peasants do it to you: they give you a dumb, worthless piece of trash, demand that your personal success depend partially on your ability to get things for them - to build a comfy, prestigious life for a worthless and totally unqualified imbecile - and then they take everything you have and give it to the idiot and maybe even kill you. Eventually.

Want a good example? Well, I'll let you use your imagination.

Once you – oh glorious mentor, you – have a [TRABLUMPKIN] now happily situated and comfortable in the dreamland that he or she was never actually worthy of, you may feel inclined to take it easy. Don't you dare. Step back even one inch from your new life as a [TRABLUMPKIN]-Builder and [TRABLUMPKINS] of all stripes will descend upon you. No one new will be approached for assistance; they want you. It's now your responsibility to help the new [TRABLUMPKINS] in your life to build a massive pyramid scheme out of each other.

Just imagine: a pyramid of useless, effectively illiterate screaming babies all worried that you aren't helping them enough; you aren't anticipating their needs enough; you aren't spending enough time thinking about how to build the next step in their careers for them. All, of course, not performing well, not willing to be at all aware of how little they're worth, transforming your organization into a failed democracy of clueless, worried have-nots with each passing day.

But you still don't understand what's coming next. You, after all, aren't very insightful about people. You can't even fathom how great things will be once the entire place is a [TRABLUMPKIN]-Pyramid. That's why you can't make decisions, after all. Fortunately, you're really good at selecting and mentoring people. They'll all say that, you see, because they got together as a [TRABLUMPKIN]-Net within their [TRABLUMPKIN]-Pyramid, and they voted on it and they arrived at a positive [TRABLUMPKIN]-Consensus immediately. And you're so very lucky to have such a great, big [TRABLUMPKIN]-Star on your hands. It's really to your credit.

It doesn't stop there, either. It never does. You can't just make a [TRABLUMPKIN]-Pyramid out of people the way stupid Mitt Romney says you do. “Corporations are people.” Stupid, Mitt, stupid. They're so much more than that, Mitt. You need an edifice for the [TRABLUMPKIN]-Pyramid to build around itself: some sort of meaningless “digital transition”, perhaps involving migration to a new software package with a slicker user interface; then, maybe, an irrelevant group patent or two, just so the [TRABLUMPKIN]-Pyramid can distinguish itself with a [TRABLUMPKIN]-Equality programme for intellectual property that isn't worth anything to anyone anyway; and finally – the capstone: promotions. Weren't the [TRABLUMPKINS] all excellent? Yes, dear Mittens, they were, of course. And now, having thus built the [TRABLUMPKIN]-Edifice around the [TRABLUMPKIN]-Net [TRABLUMPKIN]-Pyramid, making no one any money in the process, the other many [TRABLUMPKINS] you excluded in the course of living your own life will come for you as manic-depressive jealousy overcomes their little brains.

You didn't help them enough, they said. And in the [TRABLUMPKIN]-Law, the penalty for that is death.

Now it's time. Once you have a [TRABLUMPKIN]-Net [TRABLUMPKIN]-Pyramid, with a [TRABLUMPKIN]-Edifice firmly around it, and the [TRABLUMPKINS] you excluded have killed you, it's got to be worth more money. Not less. Stupid Mitt. It's never worth less, Mitt, because now it's covert government buyout time. Fuck you, Mitt.

and now, a movie