I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO CALL THIS POST. GUANTANAMO?

Sometimes you can just tell that the great mind of a machine is behind a cogent comment. A single human being could never see the connection between two such disparate elements like my most recent post and their own particularly droidish obsession.
It takes a village. Or a machine.

Definitely a machine.


A commenter who shyly left neither their name or their contact data typed:

"Great post hοwever , I was wondering if you could write more on the topic of billige brustvergrößerung?
I'd be very grateful if you could elaborate а little bіt.
Thanks!"

I am flattered that my electronic visitor considers me an expert on the subject. Truly. I myself cannot understand the connection between whatever I wrote and the subject of billige brustvergrößerung. It has been years since I came in contact with any brüste -- either the sehr gigantische brüste which are my new microchirpy friend's bailiwick, or the nur kleine brüste which inspire low Germanic selfesteem.
Among Filipinas, Barbie, and suburban high-school girls.

I occasionally see such things when I'm asleep, but that's as close as it gets. They're like otters. Brüste are. Great pets, and very entertaining, but likely to keep you up all night if you let them.
Not that that is a present problem.
I know no brust.


"WRITE MORE ON THE TOPIC OF BILLIGE BRUSTVERGRÖSSERUNG!"


.ß.

You will kindly note that whenever a ringel-s (what the germans call a scharfes s, or an esszet) is capitalized, it should be transcribed with two normal esses. The reason for this is that there are no words that begin with ß, and consequently no appropriate majuscule of that ligature was ever invented; there was no need.
Wherefore writing about brustvergrößerung, whether billig oder unglaublich teuer, needs a change of spelling.

In addition to being punctilious about brüste, Germans are also like that when it comes to writing their language.

"Der schüchterne alte frau schwang fröhlich ihre gigantischen titten rundum"

She could do that, because there was no one else there. Except for her computer. Who silently, secretly, avidly, observed every move.
She enjoyed the freedom, and opportunity to be casual.

Her computer, seized momentarily with a bug, meanwhile keenly searched the internet for brustvergrößerung.
Preferably billig.

Weil sie eine schüchterne person war, she would have been mortified to know of this invasion of her privacy. Out of a gentlemanly urge to respect the old lady -- an impersonal sense of propriety, and merely because of association, second hand, from an electronic third person, poenae suos tenere debet actores et non alios, and all that -- I feel that I cannot say anything about billige brustvergrößerung.

It wouldn't be right.



LAS GUANTANAMERAS

On an entirely unrelated note, for the last several hours a ditty appropriate to the festive season has been playing in my head.
I just cannot get the echo out of my ears.

Guantanamo Bay, call it Gitmo for short,
Not much of a base and far less of a port;
One look at the piers and you know that you've seen,
The nastiest hole in the whole Caribbean.

Refrain:
So hurrah for old Gitmo, on Cuba's fair shore,
The home of the cockroach, the flea, and the whore;
We'll sing of her praises and pray for the day,
We get the hell out of Guantanamo Bay.


At Guantanamo Bay we're confined to our quarters,
We're scratching and sweating, and waiting for orders;
We're watching the harbor and counting the wrecks,
And wondering which we'll be shipping on next.

Refrain:

When the USS Alaska hove into view,
To scrape off her bottom and pick up a crew,
Nary a sailor was fit for the sea,
They'd all been on leave and they all caught VD.

Refrain:

Guantanamo City has hundreds of doors,
And every one's jammed with hundreds of whores;
They lean out of the windows with stark naked chests,
And bash out your brains with their pendulous breasts.

Refrain:

The boys in my outfit are working a plan,
We're saving each nickel and dime that we can;
We'll buy TNT, then one sun-shiny day,
We'll blow the hell out of Guantanamo Bay.

Refrain:


It's just a little song I learned during childhood, before my grammar school years, but for some reason it came back to me today, all day long.
I envision carolers belting it out on Christmas Eve.




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