http://drug-rug.tumblr.com/

Räudige-Rollator-Rambos

Was ist mit unserer Jugend los?

„Denn der Mensch ist ein Raubtier. Feine Denker wie Montaigne () und Nietzsche () haben das immer gewußt. Die Lebensweisheit in alten Märchen und Sprichwörtern aller Bauern- und Nomadenvölker, die lächelnde Einsicht großer Menschenkenner - Staatsmänner, Feldherren, Kaufleute, Richter - auf der Höhe eines reichen Lebens, die Verzweiflung gescheiterter Weltverbesserer und das Schelten erzürnter Priester waren weit davon entfernt, das zu verschweigen oder leugnen zu wollen.“ (Oswald Spengler. Der Untergang des Abendlandes)

Edward Hopper

Die Karl-Heinz Rummenigge-Fremdschäm Kolumne

Bayern-Vorstand Karl-Heinz Rummenigge über die Hilfsbereitschaft von Hoeneß: 
"Wer beim FC Bayern war und sich seriös verhalten hat, hat auf Lebenszeit eine Card blanche der Hilfe."

Inspiriert

Hey, my threads, baby! — Scratchy, “The Day The Violence Died”

Katzen die rauchen

Der facebook-community-lynchmob  jagt jetzt einen angeblichen Tierschänder:

!!! ACHTUNG !!! Wer kennt diesen Tierschänder?! POSTET & TEILT DAS BILD, SOWAS DARF NICHT UNBESTRAFT BLEIBEN!! .. WER DAS NICHT TEILT IST GENAUSO WIE ER
- THANKS FOR HELPING!

 

• Anita DeJesus Figli di puttana!!
  

  vor 5 Stunden ·  ·  1
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  De Rosi Richtig biondina
  

  vor 5 Stunden · 
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  De Rosi Die müssten auch de fresse voll bekomm
  

  vor 5 Stunden ·  ·  1
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  Andreas Schippers ich würd ihm die pfeife zu tief im hals schlagen das er dran erstickt die tierquäler sau
  

  vor 5 Stunden · 
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  Sammy Sannan that is wrong what you are doing to the cat. its not humane. you are a bad person. i should report you to the authority. bad.. very bad.
  

  vor 5 Stunden ·  ·  1

• Jacek Mazurek Ich dachte, solche Dinge nur in Polen ...
  

  vor 8 Stunden · 
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  Katharina Sabrina Gärtner echt traurig so was... für so einen typen wie ihn gibt es echt keine worte!
  

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  Stefan Weis disslike :-(
  

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  Demirci Jeannette ich find dass gar nicht lustig !! was sind das für typen die mit so wenig hirnzellen leben,,!! schäm echt
  

  vor 7 Stunden · 
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  Maja Haji Djavadi Assozialer Spast!!!!!!
  

  vor 7 Stunden · 
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  Ylenia R Nark Ich hoffe, sie erleiden einen langsamen tod! Ich kann es nicht ertragen, eine arme tier in diesen bedingungen zu sehen! Ich hoffe, finden ihn tot vor meinem haus!

• Azarath Mortiis Ab nach auschwitz mit so untermenschen
  

  vor 7 Stunden · 
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  Sergej Janzen Hunde Sohn man muss das ding denn bis zu an Schlag in den arsch rein schieben
  

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  Mav D Ray That's NOT cool! :(
  

  vor 7 Stunden ·  ·  1
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  Doriano Doriano Bagialemani sei un coglione you're an asshole vous êtes un trou du cul
  

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  Martin Borkert bastard! ich will blut sehen!
  

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  Pollon Combina Guai che sfigati di merda!!!povero miciooooo!!

usw. usw....

Allgemein bietet facebook ein hervorragendes Betätigungsfeld für Anthropologen. Die Möglichkeit  seine persönliche Meinung ohne den Filter eines soziales Umfeldes zu äußern, legt archaische Impulse frei. Nur scheinbar vergessene Kulturtraditionen wie Lynchjustiz feiern fröhliche Urstände. Wie überhaupt die neuen sozialen Netzwerke generell die niedrigsten Instinkte ansprechen.

Zurück zur Katze, die raucht.
Unabhängig von der moralischen Bewertung, die nur negativ ausfallen kann, handelt es sich wohl um einen Fake. Mit einer gezielten Provokation lassen sich viele Klicks für die dazugehörige Seite erzeugen.
Die wenig nachdenklichen Empörer sorgen mit der Weiterverbreitung des Bildes in jedem Fall für einen Haufen weiterer Nachahmer.

Die kulturelle Inspirationsquelle war aber mit Sicherheit:

Robert Crumb

http://www.crumbproducts.com/

Christoph Daum nimmt auch wieder Drogen

 "Diese kleinen subtilen Dinge wie GRAS FRESSEN, ÄRMEL HOCHKREMPELN - 

das sind immer noch die BASICS!!!"

Aktuelle Lektüre: Joshua Ferris ''Then We Came to the End'

The cornered office

Joshua Ferris' debut novel 'Then We Came to the End' rockets into the Dilbertian universe of cubicle life

Reviewed by Gordon HauptfleischMarch 11, 2007

Call it by any name you like: downsized, being laid-off, terminated, getting the ax, being sacked or the standard-issue standby, “You're fired!” The formal companywide announcement, however, is usually couched in more diplomatically delicate and ambivalent terms: So and so “has left to pursue other employment opportunities. We know you'll join us in wishing him/her the best of luck in his/her future endeavors.” Just as long as he/she is not endeavoring to stay here.

AMANDA RAYMOND / McClatchy-Tribune illustration

The co-workers in the Chicago ad agency central to Joshua Ferris' incisive and wickedly amusing “Then We Came to the End” put it more colorfully as they wait, one by one, to be cordially invited to clear their desks and vacate the premises. The phase “Walking Spanish down the hall” originally comes from the days of piracy on the Spanish Main, when the pirates would lift their captives by the scruff of the neck and force them to walk with their toes barely touching the deck. A more recent usage in a Tom Waits song describes a similarly ominous tottering as those unfortunate souls make their way toward execution.

It's a ghoulish procession that seems absurdly apt, somehow, for the novel's copywriters and designers as they struggle to hang in there at the end of the 1990s Internet boom: “We'd watch the singled-out walk the long carpet with the Office Coordinator leading the way” to a fate akin to the likes of Ol' Sparky, the narrator explains. “A few minutes later we'd see the lights dim for the voltage drop and we'd hear the electricity sizzle and the smell of cooked flesh would waft out into the insulated spaces.”

BOOK REVIEW Then We Came to the End  Joshua Ferris; Little, Brown; 387 pages; $23.99

Ferris, who worked in advertising before his fiction appeared in the Iowa Review, Best New American Voices 2005 and Prairie Schooner, exaggerates for effect from time to time in this debut novel. But just as in the comic strip “Dilbert,” the movie “Office Space” and the TV show “The Office,” there are, at the core, some art-imitating-life elements that, despite some fits-and-starts faltering, fit cubicle careerism to a T, in triplicate.

Anyone currently undergoing the 9-to-5 workaday monotony, interspersed as it is with gossip, office romance, pranks and coffee break after coffee break, or who has escaped such routine and left with “visceral, rich memories of dull, interminable hours,” should find a lot of evocative moments, droll and emotional, in “Then We Came to the End.” The paranoia induced by the faceless entity known as the Office Coordinator as she – wielding power endowed upon her by the serial number master list – holds unbridled authority over desk-chair ownership, makes for an hilarious and ongoing debate between those jockeying for the spoils of the layoff wars. All is fair in love and office furniture, apparently.

On the other hand, everyone agrees that “Titles meant everything,” even if promotions may not come with pay raises. But when someone jumps up an acronym, a hierarchal ripple effect is set into motion.

Excerpt We hated not knowing something. We hated not knowing who was next to walk Spanish down the hall. How would our bills get paid? And where would we find new work? We know the power of the credit card companies and the collection agencies and the consequences of bankruptcy. Those institutions were without appeal. They put your name into a system, and from that point forward vital parts of the American dream were foreclosed upon. A backyard swimming pool. A long weekend in Vegas. A low-end BMW. These were not Jeffersonian ideals, perhaps, on par with life and liberty, but at this advanced stage, with the West won and the Cold War over, they, too, seemed among our inalienable rights. This was before the fall of the dollar, before the stormy debate about corporate outsourcing, and the specter of a juggernaut of Chinese and Indian youths overtaking our advantages in broadband. Marcia hated not knowing what might come of being caught with Tom Mota's chair, with its serial numbers that would not match up with the Office Coordinator's master list. So she swapped Tom's chair for Ernie's and left Tom's in Tom's old office. Even so, she continued to be concerned that the Office Coordinator would look for Ernie's chair in Ernie's old office – from which Chris Yop had taken it, swapping it with his own lesser chair when Ernie retired – and discover not Ernie's serial numbers but Chris Yop's, and upon that discovery, go in search of Ernie's chair, which Marcia had wheeled down to her office. Sooner or later, Marcia feared, the Office Coordinator was bound to find out what she had done.

“Karen and Larry didn't get on because Larry was an Art Director and Karen a Senior Art Director,” it is pointed out. “Every AD wanted to be a SAD. If you were a SAD you had your eyes on becoming an Acker. Acker was our phonetic translation of Associate Creative Director. Ackers wanted to be Creetors, and every Creetor envied the Eveeps. You could either be a Creveep (Creative Executive Vice President) or an Ackveep (Account Services Executive Vice President), but both species hoped equally to be invited one day into partnership.”

But, perhaps surprisingly, those who have already made partner are invested by Ferris with nuance and a full humanity that counteracts the skewering of the more quirky office drones. Supervisor Lynn Mason is dignified and commands respect, but at the same time the rumors that she has breast cancer has ramifications for the corporation's workload. What connection, if any, does the agency's main and rather cryptic project for breast cancer awareness have with Lynn's prognosis, especially with “the client's” shifting of objectives seemingly paralleling changes in her supposed condition?

The episodic ebb and flow, and multiple subplots and arcs of “Then We Came to the End” doesn't always sustain the narrative, but the subtle characterizations, unfolding over the course of the story, imbue the work with unexpected depth and dimensionality that perpetuates the novelistic momentum. A certain cartoonishness creeps in with a character such as Marcia Dwyer, who listens to outdated bands and whose “hair was stuck in the Eighties,” or Donald Sato, whose grandfather has “a weird collection of Chinese ears.” Even a prominent though unfairly disliked character such as middle manager Joe Pope gets stuck too long with a shallow portrayal as “seriously one inch too short,” just the sort of needed inspiration for the “Action Joe Pope doll by Hasbro!” “Watch Joe Pope interrupt us over the cube wall! Pull the string and listen to Joe Pope say nothing!”

Some of the sharpest-drawn characterizations seem to start out as caricatures, and just as they appear to zig into predictability, they zag into complex individuals within ever-elaborate narratives marked by Ferris' adeptness in realistically capturing multiple and segueing conversations. When unassuming and serious Janine Gorjanc is discovered going to McDonald's at lunchtime every day to submerge herself in the kids' Play Station “pool of plastic balls,” it becomes a sideshow attraction of sorts for gawking co-workers. It is only upon the revelation of the full extent of her lingering mourning for her missing and murdered child – who loved to play at this McDonald's playground – that full understanding, and remorse, take hold.

Moreover, the amiable and extroverted Benny Shassburger is probably the most likable character: “Practically everyone shared their thoughts with Benny because everyone loved Benny, which is why some of us hated Benny.” The potential for such puzzlement is furthered when Benny, in an inspired sequence of events, is inexplicably bequeathed a totem pole that, by the end of his account, has some serious and far-reaching implications for him.

At the other end of the novel's personality spectrum is Tom Mota, abrasive and contentious, a psychopath to some – indeed, a “petulant, high-strung Napoleon exiled to an Elba of his own mind.” Yet on a one-to-one basis, Tom can be the most compassionate and levelheaded one of the group, gravitating to the most troubled or distraught individuals to try to help them in any way he can. Sometimes that assistance entails physical labor, and at other times he will pass on a little solace or nonconformist fortitude via the words of Emerson or Whitman. “Those two (blanks) wouldn't have lasted two minutes in this place,” he says. “Somehow they were exempt from office life.”

And so too was Tom, one of the first to be laid off, or downsized, though those terms make the actions sound more ceremonious than they actually were. He was doubtlessly just plain fired: no walking Spanish down the hall for him. In fact, he might have come closer to that fate some time later when – embodying the kind of “faith, hope and delusion” surrounding the company's ongoing efforts at a turnaround – he returns uninvited, raising some real fear in a darkly comic climax, one that rules out leaving to pursue other employment opportunities.

---

 Gordon Hauptfleisch is a freelance writer.A