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Forums » Archive » ЖЕРТВОВАТЬ ,ИЛИ НЕ ЖЕРТВОВАТЬ? 
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Joined: 9/20/2003
Posts: 6352
Posted on Friday, December 12, 2003 10:05:00 PM
 
Вот в чём вопрос ? А если жертвовать, то чем?
Но если честно, я чего-то ленивый стал. И жертвовать ни чем не хочу. Похоже здесь возможны только компромиссы , а не жертвы.

--
Тебе всё хи-хи , а мне надо... (С)

Joined: 8/14/2003
Posts: 823
Posted on Friday, December 12, 2003 10:45:00 PM
 
There are only two main problems in life which are the root cause for all other troubles: not enough whiskey or too much whiskey. Unless you make it clear which one you're facing now, I advise you to take a compromise: take both sedative and purgative medicine together and wait for the effect to show ;)
Joined: 8/15/2002
Posts: 2710
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 11:06:00 AM
 
Чайкин. ЛОЛ. Это сильно
Joined: 8/14/2003
Posts: 823
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 11:12:00 AM
 
Enchantress: (C) not me ;)
Have you read "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"?
Joined: 3/1/2002
Posts: 51165
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 11:49:00 AM
 
We had two bags of grass, seventy-
five pellets of mescaline, five
sheets of high powered blotter
acid, a salt shaker half full of
cocaine, a whole galaxy of multi-
colored uppers, downers, screamers,
laughers... Also a quart of tequila,
a quart of rum, a case of beer, a
pint of raw ether and two dozen
amyls.
Joined: 8/14/2003
Posts: 823
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 11:54:00 AM
 
“There’s a place up ahead called Mescal Springs,” he said. “As your attorney, I advise you to stop and take a swim." ;)
Joined: 3/1/2002
Posts: 51165
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 11:55:00 AM
 
Not that we needed all that for the
trip, but once you get locked into
a serious drug collection, the
tendency is to push it as far as
you can.
Joined: 3/1/2002
Posts: 51165
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 11:56:00 AM
 
The only thing that really worried
me was the ether. There is nothing
in the world more helpless and
irresponsible and depraved than a
man in the depths of an ether binge.
And I knew we'd get into that
rotten stuff pretty soon.
Joined: 8/14/2003
Posts: 823
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 11:59:00 AM
 
The only thing that really worried me was the ether. - that was my first pick :)

“As your attorney, I advise you to tell me where you put the goddamn mescaline.”

http://lkchaykin.front.ru/THunter.FearLoathingLasVegas.rar
Joined: 3/1/2002
Posts: 51165
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 12:21:00 PM
 
As your attorney I
must advise you that you'll need a
very fast car with no top and after
that, the cocaine. And then the
tape recorder, for special music,
and some Acapulco shirts...

this one is my favorite of "as your attorney I advise,"
Joined: 8/14/2003
Posts: 823
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 12:26:00 PM
 
Mine is...

“Where's that opium?” he asked.
I tossed him the kit-bag. “Be careful,” I mattered. “There's not 'such left.” He chuckled,. “As your attorney,” he said, “I advise you not worry.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Take a hit out of that little brown bottle in my shaving kit."

Joined: 8/14/2003
Posts: 823
Posted on Saturday, December 13, 2003 2:39:00 PM
 
Thor: I advise you read this :)

After just the first fifty flights of stairs, my breath won't stay inside me long enough to do any good. My feet fly out behind me. My heart is jumping against the ribs it's behind inside my chest. The insides of my mouth and tongue are thick and stuck together with dried-up spit.

Where I'm at is one of those stair climbing machines the agent has installed. You climb and climb forever and never get off the ground. You're trapped in your hotel room. It's the mystical sweat lodge experience of our time, the only sort of Indian vision quest we can schedule into our daily planner.

Our StairMaster to Heaven.

Around the sixtieth floor, sweat is stretching my shirt down to my knees. The lining of my lungs feels the way a ladder looks in nylon stockings, stretched, snagged, a tear. In my lungs. A rupture. The way a tire looks before a blowout, that's how my lungs feel. The way it smells when your electric heater or hair dryer burns off a layer of dust, that's how hot my ears feel.

Why I'm doing this is because the agent says there's thirty pounds too much of me for him to make famous.

If your body is a temple, you can pile up too much deferred maintenance. If your body is a temple, mine was a real fixer-upper.

Somehow, I should've seen this coming.

The same way every generation reinvents Christ, the agent's giving me the same makeover. The agent says nobody is going to worship anybody with my role of flab around his middle. These days, people aren't going to fill stadiums to get preached at by somebody who isn't beautiful.

This is why I'm going nowhere at the rate of seven hundred calories an hour.

Around the eightieth floor, my bladder feels nested between the top of my legs. When you pull plastic wrap off something in the microwave and the steam sunburns your fingers in an instant, my breath is that hot.

You're going up and up and up and not getting anywhere. It's the illusion of progress. What you want to think is your salvation.

What people forget is a journey to nowhere starts with a single step, too.

It's not as if the great coyote spirit comes to you, but around the eighty-first floor, these random thoughts from out of the ozone just catch in your head. Silly things the agent told you, now they add up. The way you feel when you're scrubbing with pure ammonia fumes and right then while you're scrubbing chicken skin off the barbecue grill, every stupid thing in the world, decaffeinated coffee, alcohol, free beer, StairMasters, makes perfect sense, not because you're any smarter, but because the smart part of your brain's on vacation. It's that kind of faux wisdom. That kind of Chinese food enlightenment where you know that ten minutes after your head clears, you'll forget it all.

Those clear plastic bags you get a single serving of honey-roasted peanuts in on a plane instead of a real meal, that's how small my lungs feel. After eighty-five floors, the air feels that thin. Your arms pumping, your feet jam down on every next step. At this point, your every thought is so profound.

The way bubbles form in a pan of water before it comes to a boil, these new insights just appear.

Around the ninetieth floor, every thought is an epiphany.

Paradigms are dissolving right and left.

Everything ordinary turns into a powerful metaphor.

The deeper meaning of everything is right there in your face.

And it's all so significant.

It's all so deep.

So real.

Everything the agent's been telling me makes perfect sense. For instance, if Jesus Christ had died in prison, with no one watching and with no one there to mourn or torture him, would we be saved?

With all due respect.

According to the agent, the biggest factor that makes you a saint is the amount of press coverage you get.

Around t
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