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Carlos' Black Rose
Rachel's Rose
This article, Jorge Leari/Quotes, belongs to Black Rose.
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I'm not particularly interested in playing a round of the Socializing Game or Twenty Questions right now, I'm in a little bit of a hurry.

—Jorge

The more I look at the NOS, the more I'm disturbingly reminded of the Crusades.

—Jorge

I used to be part of a group of thieves which would go around and just steal a lot of shit that wasn't nailed to the ground. They were a bunch of good guys, if you excuse the stealing part. For example, there was this guy who called himself Vhem the Digger, this nice freak who had a hobby which basically consisted of looting corpses from graves he dug up. He especially loved doing that, to the point where, when I would go to pick him up, I could be reliably sure that he was at a graveyard or somewhere similar. He was a great guy, they were all great, but I had to leave at some point. It was because I tend to be against the group, that whole collective type thing that just freaks me out. I love individuals, but I hate groups, because they feel the need to blend into each other and whitewash themselves, and that was happening with our little band of thieves. When I realized that, I needed to leave. It's sort of hard trying to steal shit when you're going solo, but at least you're not just some cog within a well-oiled machine.

—Jorge

BitsEdit

No-one really loses their minds. Really. It's more like, it becomes something significantly more entertaining.

—Bit.

The greatest failure we've ever made as a species was the high five, or the fist bump. Ugh, get these people away from me. If someone came up to me, wanting one of those, you know what I'd do? Stab him in the hand, fuck him. I'm tired of that shit.

—Bit.

I think we, as the violent cavemen we are, have a monopoly over any other species in terms of our killing ability. I mean, think about it. First, it was the spear for hunting, then the axe, the bow and arrow, the sword, catapults, cannons, knives, guns, you name it. And that's just the stuff that kills you that you can hold in your hands. I don't need to bring up the nuclear and seithr bombs, do I?

—Bit.

You know what irritates me? Those guys who can't seem to help themselves when it comes to proving their manhood. You know what I mean, right? These guys who can't stand to think that another man out there has a bigger dick than he does. This kind of dick fear does not impress me, it's stupid, it's not clever, it's further proof that we're still inherently animals, and it's fucking ridiculous how far we go to prove our dicks are bigger than our enemies. It does not take having a master's degree on political science to see the bigger dick foreign policy in play, especially in this special little war we're having right now. Right now.

—Bit.

I'm not an Anarchist, despite what I say most of the time. I'm more like an Anomolist; the belief that I just made up that, if you attempt to provide solutions, you are part of the problem.

—Bit.

You can't blame the NOS for committing genocide; they failed to wipe 'em all out.

—Bit.

You think Amanohokosaka says to himself every night before bed, "I don't understand why they call me a war-monger. I mean, I only nuked Taoreta"?

—Bit.

I've been thinking lately... I don't think there's such a thing as morality. I think it's a human construct, designed to facilitate the control of people. Values, ethics, legal systems, standards, all of these thing are human-generated. And they're lumped under some vague idea called morality. But suppose humans got it wrong. Suppose there's no actual objective morality. Suppose there's just a natural, worldly, secular, common sense standard of behavior, whose purpose is what's best for getting along, and what's best for survival. That would be a good system. Why should a system like that be overlaid with a sense of spooky, mystical, judgmental oversight?

—Bit.

If someone walks up to you and says that you're not going with the flow, if you're not being a contributing part of the group, just congratulate them on being so fucking observant.

—Bit.

I'm not a "team player." I'm not someone who "gets along with people" or has "people skills" or is a "people person." I'm not "relaxed" or "patient" or "social." I am not a "friendly presence." I am, however, noisy, irate, sarcastic, and completely grim. I go through 60 lighters an hour, leave behind at least enough cigarette butts to make a mountain, am willing to put out the lit end on your disgusting and completely intolerable face if you piss me off enough, and add to the toxic atmosphere whenever I can. It's not like it hasn't gone through enough damage already. And, on the plus side, that second hand smoke has the potential of killing the annoying fucks around me. Fuck people. People suck.

—Bit.

My Uncle Snodgrass was a sex laborer who, on friday nights, would go out and fuck the girls personally in order to open them up a little for the customers. He was at the Akatsuki Mass Suicides, but didn't have any of the juice. Instead, he pretended to have it, and then pretended to be dead with the rest of the people. When it was safe, he looted all the corpses. Once, during a parade, he stripped himself of his clothes and flogged his dong until he showered the crowd in white rain. He managed to get away by converting the float he stood on into a getaway vehicle. He finally met his end during Hurricane Sclowmo, when the sign of an adult toy shop fell on top of him. He died, crushed by a giant dildo.

—Bit.

Uncle Potter had one hundred distinct personalities. Unfortunately, all of them were completely unpleasant. He sold weed in his younger days just so he could get enough money to buy himself someone who would actually love him. Later in life, he pretended to be an Arch Bishop with a roaming pack of rebel altar boys, spreading false reprisals to people who really needed them. He married Elizabeth Belcher, who, at the age of eleven, got run over by a snail and they had to amputate both of her ears. They ended up dying in an airship accident after Potter, trying to throw away a used tissue, ended up opening the sealed hatch and, because of depressurization, caused the whole thing to crash to the ground.

—Bit.

My Uncle Lazlo was a wandering street musician who would play songs about a sweet little girl named Dorkus. During his twenties, however, he spent most of his time protesting against the NOS before ending the day with a 20 gallon hit of LSD and SC2. No surprise, he ended up contracting seithr poisoning because of large consumption of SC2, but said it felt fantastic because something finally happened to him for once in his life. He died in a stampede in the city plaza. When it ended, he had his guitar halfway through his throat and stomach.

—Bit.

The average person, unless they are slightly aware of what's going on, are easy to fuck with. Think of it as a complicated array of gears and cogs that keep turning and turning, and turning and turning, and turning and turning, but have an obvious hole in the middle which could obstruct operation completely and fuck the whole thing. I'm the one who puts something through it.

—Bit.

If I had the responsibility of reconstructing the homeland security agencies into something slightly more effective, I would delegate the job to two separate response teams: the Bureau of What the Fuck was that? And the Department of What the Fuck Are We Gonna Do Now?

—Bit.

I think the worst thing your parents ever did to you was conceiving you in the first place. Wanna know why? As soon as you were born, you were fucked. You're on a timer now, motherfucker. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick. Your parents gave you an ensured and definite demise, wasn't that nice of them? It might be maxed out at 90 to 100 by this point, and it keeps getting bigger, but it's not infinite. You're still gonna die. At least as sperm, you weren't aware of the fact that your life was gonna end. But now you've got consciousness. You now get to analyze and witness the entire experience. You've been truly fucked over now.

—Bit.

I once encountered a smoking sign around an area with high seithr density. I'm serious. Somehow, my second hand smoke is considered more lethal than that shit that literally turns you into an abomination if you're in it for more than an fly's wingflap. And don't say "well it must've been put there before the seithr got dense," no. It was right next to a bulletin that told me about the seithr density as it rose and fell! They want people to know not to smoke around there! Not to smoke in the poisoned air!

—Bit.

Have you ever woken up in the morning, or whenever if you're me, and you feel like complete shit? Like, your body decided that your time sleeping wasn't an appropriate time to do its business, like usual. You've got a headache, your arm is numb and pulsating coz you slept on it, every bone in your body is quaking. Then you go to the bathroom, hoping the dirty water in the sink will somehow cure you of every problem. You splash it on your face, and then you look up at the mirror. Do you, for a moment, sort of get scared because you don't immediately recognize yourself? You sort of jump in shock, like "WOAH! WHO'S THAT UGLY ASSHOLE?!" Before realizing it's just you?

—Bit.

This show was funded by deliberately starving a Beastkin family of seven throughout the winter solstice until they signed the contract that gave us the right to take everything they owned. Just kidding, there was no funding, but you'd expect that of me, wouldn't you?

—Bit.

I once got quoted out of context for being a Beastkin-hating fuck. Hey, I don't inherently hate people, despite what you might think of the things I've said. I just think that people suck. But this quote that they misquoted me for was... "I hate the Beastkins." Now, that sounds anti-Beastkin, am I right? But that was said while I was rambling about some guy that was in the news at the time for throwing shit at, like, some group, I forget who. And I was like "why is this fuck on the news, who cares what he thinks, that's like me saying "hey, I hate Beastkins" and then I suddenly got a lot of plausibility out of the whole deal. It's negative, but hey.

—Bit.

Besides, I love the Beastkin! They're easily the best people I've ever been in bed with! Then again, I often think about the possibility of this activity of mine being a loophole for bestiality, but eh, fuck it. Both ways.

—Bit.

Sometimes, I wonder if someone will shoot me in the face just to shut me up one day. Maybe.

—Bit.

You know what I want to see? An explosive vest that spreads a high abundance of seithr into a city plaza. Wouldn't that get a point across effectively in this time and age?

—Bit.

And before you correct me and say "it's not an 'explosive vest,' it's a suicide vest," get out. You've lost the vocab test, my friend. Because it's not suicide. Not even close. Suicide is the act of killing one's self in an effort to put an end to it all, because the afflicted feels that their lives are worthless. These so-called suicide bombers don't feel that way. They conduct their mission under the idea that, in killing hundreds with explosive power, they're getting a point across to the government and the people. They're furthering their cause, and showing the severity of the situation as far as they can see it. They end up killing themselves in the mission under the assumption that, by sacrificing their physical form, their lives will have purpose. Completely opposite to suicide.

—Bit.

Also, speaking of which, I've heard from a couple of people that the term, in this case of 'suicide bomber,' is homicide bomber. And I try as hard as I can not to laugh in their face for the idiotic suggestion. Because, friends, it's a bomb. They're meant to kill in the first place. To induce homicide. Any guy who builds himself a bomb consisting of a glass jar, heavy chunks of shrapnal, and a cooking timer and sets it off in public is intending to kill people. This is true of any bomb. Whether you leave it inside a mailbox, or strapped to the wall of a federal building, or sitting right outside someone's doorstep, the intent is always the same. In the case of these so called 'homicide bombers,' the only difference is that the person responsible is intentionally ending their own life in the process, which is why people confuse the act with suicide.

—Bit.

I often see people who like to say they've got a lot of attitude, just because they like to fuck about with themselves and others, while also being a bunch of pussy douchbags who wouldn't know what actual attitude looks like even if it smacked them in the face with a sharp object. This is decidedly not attitude. Let me show you what attitude is. I was once in a bar somewhere near my hometown, trying to get a drink that night because I had been travel for two days without much energy in me. My traveling buddy at the time, a tough guy named Oscar, who was stopping in the town because he had some business to take care of there, and me were talking to each other. For context, this bar had large, clear, rectangular windows leading outside, so if you were inside, you could see any guy who was passing through. Suddenly, in the middle of the conversation, Oscar looked up and saw a guy passing by outside. Immediately, he reached behind the bar for the bamboo bat that the bartender kept to whack rowdy drunkards into an early unconsciousness and went outside. He went up to the guy and just started smashing him to pieces with the bat, until he was a quivering mass of bruised flesh and broken dignity. Oscar then went back into the bar, put the bat back, and said to me, in order to justify himself, "he owes me some money." That's attitude. Those other guys don't have that. And never will.

—Bit.

Never cooperate with the NOS. It is a bad decision. Never give them any eye witness testimonies, no evidence you've been made aware of, no directions to some asshole they're chasing, no snitching on others, and no making them think you're withholding the shit. Listen, we already have a system that awards those who help it. Don't accentuate the problem by joining in the population-wide orgy organized and arranged, funded and sponsored by the Novus Orbis Sequentia. Don't do it. It's for your own safety, because the only reason you'd be even thinking about doing this is that you only care about your own safety. So let me say it again. It's for your own safety.

—Bit.

The only reason why we're all not in Ore Processing, or whatever the fuck else the NOS's got going, is because they haven't come up with a good way to get rid of all the corpses after the first week.

—Bit.

15 GuidelinesEdit

Because most of you, like, at least, 80 to 90% of you guys, are unable to live like me, the cool red-eyed jack off, let me give you a couple of guidelines to live by. These are fifteen guidelines.
Number 1: Relax and take it easy. There's no need to stress yourself over such hollow goals such as "doing something with your life." Nonsense like this has no place in our modern world and is an ensured way of getting depressed.
Number 2: Whatever you feel that you need to do with your life, make sure you do it with about 50% effort. Keep your ideas and creativity bottled in, and never, ever, let them out. Do not question others and try to shove in your own personal take on things. Remember, the squeaky wheel is always the first to get replaced.
Number 3: Always size up the people around you quickly and develop rigid attitudes based on your first impressions. Do not diverge from these immediate opinions. If you attempt to, oh I don't know, get to know them on a personal level, you're only asking for trouble.
Number 4: Do not allow yourself to fall into the non-sense belief about treating others how you want to be treated. It is a transparently narcissistic approach to life, and may be the sign of a weak mind.
Number 5: Spend as much time as humanly possible pleading and impressing others, even if it makes you want to kill yourself. Pay close attention to those who may manipulate and harm you the most. Remember, in the overall scheme, you count for very little.
Number 6: Surround yourself with people who have lost hope or hate themselves. Not only will you feel better about your current situation in no time, you'll also look better by association.
Number 7: Do not buy into the superstitious belief that everyone, every once in a while, has a shortcoming. It is the fastest way imaginable and available to you of undermining yourself. Remember, the really best people in this world of ours have no defects. If you cannot make a similar claim, something is wrong.
Number 8: If, by chance, you are not perfect, first accept that you are most likely deeply flawed. Then detail a list of all the perceived faults you have and dwell on them everyday. Put them in a note book and carry around every day, and try to think of other things you could add to the list. Blame yourself for everything.
Number 9: Beware of intuition and instincts, they are completely unreliable. Instead, develop preconceived notions about the world around you and do not waver in your commitment to them. That is, unless someone tells you to. However, that is only when they seem to know what they're talking about.
Number 10: Never, ever, give up on an idea, even if it is bad. Cling to it like your life depends on it, even when it seems pointless. Anyone can say fuck it and run, but it takes a very special person to stay with something stupid and harmful.
Number 11: Always know that today never counts. Don't attempt to make something outta today, you're only setting yourself up for failure. And, plus, you're robbing yourself of precious time that could be spent sleeping or daydreaming.
Number 12: Dwell on your past, from your earliest memories to just a second ago. Think of all of the mistakes you've made from that point forward, and how much better your life would be if you hadn't made them. Think of what you should've done and blame yourself for not thinking of it sooner. And don't pussy out and go easy on yourself. Be really hard.
Number 13: If you end up making a fresh mistake, especially a very costly one, attempt to repeat it several times so that you become familiar with it and can replicate it in the future. Write it down for future use. Put it right next to that list of your faults.
Number 14: Beware of the dangers of looking towards the future. It is the fastest way of getting yourself into trouble. Instead, drift through your life, day by day, in a bumbling fashion. Don't get sidetracked by some foolish "plan."
And, finally, number 15: Enjoy yourself forever more, and do as you please. Don't let yourself be captured by that mindless chatter going around about "responsibility." That's exactly the sort of thing which can ruin your life.

—Bit.

The Curse of CreativityEdit

The curse of creativity is that you keep thinking of what ifs. You keep imagining how you'd want conversations to go. But when they actually happen, every system inside your body goes on red alert. Operation inside your brain panics because it forgot what it spent days training for and is trying to improvise. Let me use one all guys in the room can get, asking a girl out. You probably figured out inside your room how to talk, how to walk, how to act smooth, how to look nice, everything. Then you actually walk up to her. Suddenly, all of that planning, all the maneuvers you've practiced, all that sweet talk you trained yourself for, everything, is dumped straight into the toilet. Like they found a small typo in the kissing section and decided that the whole thing was ruined. Soooo, you just stand there, staring into their eyes like operation is trying to signal to the enemy boat that they surrender, saying "um, uh, um, hm, eh..." Like you've got some speech impediment or something. At the same time, you're trying not to shit yourself, so you've got to act like you've got a stick up your ass. At the same time, also, operation is trying to figure out their plan B. So now your eyes are going everywhere, just so we can ignore enemy operation for a second. Staring to the far west wall over there and its chiping white paint, revealing the yellow underneath. Or at the sky, and that cloud over your head that's shaped like a poorly formed turd. Operation refuses to look at the target under the assumption that if you can't see them, they can't see you. Only works in the deep night, motherfucker. So, they decide to abandon ship. Your anal nerve goes, as you finally muster up the words you want to say most. "Nevermind." You walk off. Now everything's somehow okay. Operation is alright. So now you've wasted your time with that shit, you get to walk off and wait for the next day. To do it all over again. Holy fuck.

—Bit.

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