How Do Animal Structures Well Suited To

SECOND INTERLUDE

constructivist philosopher did not tolerate the light. He lived cloistered all shutters closed, in an old apartment in the Rue Boulard. A reigned in unspeakable filth there. Orange peels, crumpled packaging, dry food for cats and moldy coffee filters dragged here and there among the old issues of the Review of Constructivist Philosophy he edited. Human time was a social fiction that he had substituted its own conventions lonely it is unnecessary or impossible to specify the hours of his meals and work sessions, which obeyed to any specific rhythm and whose relation to the natural cycles of the calendar was unstable and chaotic . The only relevant thing that concerned the constructivist philosopher, was the work to which he worked for two years, and which focused on the eradication of male. It was a fashionable idea, although not new and that he could in no way claim authorship, dating back at least to the SCUM manifesto of this poor mad Solanas. The philosopher constructivist nevertheless intended to provide rigorous analytical foundation to the project's most important human evolution. First observation: the male is responsible for almost all of social violence recorded since the story exists. Second observation: the endpoint of technological change is reached, negating the usefulness of the creators manic-depressive, the overwhelming majority are men. Worse, the modern economy requires qualities of attention, physical inactivity, order and dexterity, imposing a structural disadvantage for males come on the market, as evidenced by the inferiority of their academic performance. The unsuitability of males to modern life, each day further from the primitive bestiality, resulting in a widening gap between their life and that of females. Thirdly, a myriad of psychological studies had firmly established the men's emotional disability. On the one hand, and it overlapped the hormonal and neurological evidence-their ability to feel emotions of fine quality was zero, and the richness of women's experience, his nuanced palette of exquisite feelings, their were ever-prohibited unfair consequence of chromosomal determinism. On the other hand, the sexual instinct overwhelmed them as a burden, control of animal instincts was a struggle all the time, and like the dikes must inevitably give way one day, in the era of reciprocal altruism and compassion for the weak (high values female), each male was a potential danger to social stability. Fourth, thanks to advances in genetic engineering, the species now controlled their own evolution, and the abolition of sexual reproduction was possible. Although the constructivist philosopher was revered in academic circles on the planet, those in France among non-specialists might have mentioned his name, could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Yet his influence was enormous. Number of policy makers, manager, planners bureaucratic fashion gurus, ayatollahs of aesthetics had been teaching at the Ecole Normale Superieure. The twenty-nine volumes of his Summa Constructivist enthroned in the reading room of many men, among those who really counted. The doctrine budget of the Ministry of Cultures Partners proceeded entirely from ten pages of Volume XVII - Aesthetics - devoted to the theory of Random Art. Neurologists showed the particularly chaotic brain connections among major creative geniuses such as Rimbaud, Saint-Exupery, Malevich or Jim Morrison. The constructivist philosopher proposed to base the art of tomorrow on "intersubjective connections chaotic." In other words, the spark of genius proceed now rare and fruitful interactions between distinct individuals. The twentieth century saw the final breath of the creative potential individualism hideous. Regeneration of Western art went through cooperation between human beings, by hybridization of their conflicting personalities, which flashed like an electric spark the masterpieces of the new society, just as, as shown by Volumes IV and V devoted Economics, individualism had failed to produce equitable wealth and should eventually give way to a planned system using the best altruistic sentiments of everyone. Since the construction of the new man - who is a woman - and that of art its own would not progressing at the same pace, it was not to judge works of art with our new criteria reactionary, bourgeois and patriarchal. The Ministry of culture and solidarity can only be a conservatory all possible, any work produced by the method of intersubjectivity could legitimately claim his spirit, until the new society was firmly established and its elites can make the sort out the mess of artistic biodiversity we have left them. Tens of memoranda carefully rewritten by each hierarchical level, were circulated within the department, about the practical implementation of the aesthetic theories of Aristotle. Whatever it was difficult to discern at first a work of a work intersubjective ordinary as artists infected egocentric romance might fraudulently claim to subsidies, we had established a relatively reliable, especially when s' acted to punish officials suspected of distributing public money on the basis of their personal conception of beauty, pleasure, or commercial drift lower, because they had noted an early popularity.

Chicken Invaders Revenge Of The Yolk Cheat Engine

After the incursion of Jean-Claude Verdot in the closet of his girlfriend , there was no straightforward explanation, but a growing embarrassment arose between them. In place of their animated conversations (although they had no point of disagreement), it was now the silence that reigned over their little dinner in Chinese or Greek corner. He had only to smell the cigarette at the next table - the client waved obligingly between the index and middle fingers of his right hand, like a censer, merely take a few puffs of scattered carelessly - leering over their plates, listen to their conversation - who learned to Jean-Claude Verdot on housing prices, latest Markowicz, or how to enjoy the last little queue-jumping and free ride , nothing that he did not already know - the toilet once to wash their hands after urination - while she went there once to wash their hands once and for tinkering with her makeup, twice for urination and that the four voyages of his girlfriend did not coincide with those of Jean-Claude Verdot - and drawing the cell phone to talk with some knowledge insignificant, to tell them where it was in exchange for similar information from them. There were a thousand ways to give a capacity, but none dispelled the heavy cloud of suspicion and disappointment that surrounded the couple Verdot - we will forgive me this shortcut misnomer, since it was unthinkable that Jean-Claude Verdot ritual sacrifice in primitive and egalitarian marriage.
He wanted to know if she slept with guys, but dared not broach the subject. The banality he could have said instead were related to his job, so to contemporary, and he feared to learn more about bounded contempt of his girlfriend to modern culture.
One day she told him she had found a job at the tourist information office in Rennes. And it was almost by tacit agreement that she went to settle there, even if they had considered alternative arrangements. Jean-Claude
Verdot suddenly found himself alone, and excellent orgasms were no longer a pious memory, the belly button and her friend that she exhibited so generously to the public gaze. It plunged into a terrible fright, firstly because meet his sexual needs was again a difficult task, because then he felt no shadow a sadness. His marriage had he been a commercial partnership, an exchange of unbilled services, a more scheming to save rent, technical management of idleness in just over television, a season ticket for to empty the balls no more respectable than masturbation or frequenting whores?
As in any business relationship partner's identity was irrelevant, he could live with any other woman, she could sleep with any other type, and that was probably what she was doing.
He felt the need to look in the mirror. It was tempting. Brown, winning, ambitious, impeccably shaved, the tolerant eye, gesture suave, slim, buttocks close, comfortable in his required weekend which left a net drag of fresh air between his chest and his polo A perfect product of the Parisian bourgeoisie and its Institute for Policy Studies.
He had learned in college that had to be sexually relaxed. It was the reign of the English hood. There was on every wall. We distributed in the subway, at the entrance of pharamacies, next door to the Senior Advisor for Education, to the body art cinemas and testing centers for social action and toilets of restaurants. Photographs lined the giant condom billboards. All of them put: councils, youth ministry, ministry of public health, humanitarian organizations, gay liberation movements. The state distributed the leaflets to schoolgirls evocative images, full of hugs without complex, where we saw pairs of compounds variously practice in a halo of happiness all forms of eroticism, in positions that generations had earlier considered quite obscene, but that the art of photographer transfigured into an evocation of angelic bliss. It urged schoolgirls to be sexually relaxed with slogans such as "thirty partners, thirty condoms." And Jean-Claude Verdot also was employed there, whatever might cost him. And his efforts were rewarded, because few knew how to overcome setbacks to achieve orgasms he had excellent product with this girlfriend who was so proper love. He cherished a feeling of gratitude to the Ministry of Education National whereby his sex life had been so reasonably well.
He never quite understood why the hoods and tops of the images proliferated; new worship of the Phallus swathed in latex, so strong and popular as the cult of the Virgin Mary at its peak, even reversal of the latter, since the immaculate conception was substituted fornication barren her parents had vaguely said that it was to guard against disease, but these diseases did not involve in sexual slogans of government is exhorted youth to practice coitus indiscriminately provided to coat the glans with a film of rubber was a new mystery of the Faith, as transubstantiation, it was unpopular to criticize. Like others, Jean-Claude Verdot had sacrificed to the new phallic worship, to the delight of die rubber, until her relationship was stable enough for him to dispense with the sacrosanct rubber sticky after a favorable opinion of occupational medicine. The shadow of the divine, however Capote hung on all reports, even when they're happening. The hood was present, immanent and transcendent, even when she was absent. She embodied the trinity formed by fornication, security and equality, and by a kind of transmutation in the absence, enveloped in an aura all virtual coitus direct. This protective goddess inspired Jean-Claude Verdot visions. While he was making love, marching in his head psychedelic images of old tires, shoe soles, gloves to clean the toilets, and these elongated balloons with which children were the squares of the nodes.
The couple had the function to solve a technical problem, that of achieving better orgasms by dispensing condoms. Accordingly, the personalities that make up the couple are interchangeable. If Jean-Claude Verdot had lived with his girlfriend rather than another, it's because of frictions that prevent to meet an arbitrarily large number of women in an arbitrarily small time. The affinity of souls had played no role, and it was just because their schedules did not leave room for such affinities might hatch. Recreation was not so different from the work: both consisted of a series of tasks to accomplish: the car park, call the restaurant, the buck on the other side of the net, etc.. The tasks were then substituted for the creatures, now indifferent. And this was an admirable form of equality, solidarity and citizenship, that any woman would aim to become the girlfriend Jean-Claude Verdot, and that he was perfectly replaceable by another man. Finished, the weight of emotional storms, stifling the node mutual rights, the mouth of lead because we did not say what to say ... in an era poisoned herself sexually relaxed you do not life with statements Soul marriage.
It was therefore perfectly natural that Jean-Claude Verdot felt no sadness when a friend moved to Rennes. But contrary to what one could have foreseen that this lack of feeling terrified him, so that the few hairs he had on his legs stood on end and he could not repress a slight snap of teeth.
"I'm the one who is not" is what he could say. Behind the boy rider, slim, energetic and fine manners do was a dizzying nothingness, a bottomless pit dressed by the humdrum fonctionnarial a department, clonic mold of the Institute of Political Studies, relaxed sexual practices that he had been taught, and recreation semi-fashionable cultural meekly inherited from his class. This atrocious
doubt lasted a few weeks. And ambition was the impulse that made him emerge.
He learned the news that a former classmate had been appointed Special Advisor to the Prime Minister for urban renewal. Although urban renewal was less stylish than interdependent cultures, he remembered something like (some Combourg-Schneider) as a dirty son pushy dad (his father was a surgeon in sight) coupled with a perfect fool, and career-flash of this snobbish dislike it seemed a real threat. While he was content with his girlfriend and distribute money to the creators, while others filled their address book and prepared the best places for the future. If a pearl of wisdom whispered to continue to put the small pleasures of Paris, the ferocious territorial instinct urged him to break the back of Combourg-Schneider and his ilk.
After three years in the same position, we had not talked about promotion. He resolved to seek, and quite convinced that the case was vital to overcome the anxiety that the departure of his girlfriend had plunged.

***

Felix Rocquencourt detested nothing so much as these young idiots who in frog ministry offices. They came out the same schools, wore the same suits, and said the same thing. Women were more entertaining, even though most were only trying to take advantage of flexible hours and parsimonious and accumulate various holidays. More metastases progressed (air sorry physicians was almost comical, as if they were not sooner or later, too, join in the grave), plus the museum and the project Norbert Walsung Niebelstein, the summit of the dynamic art and conceptual, it seemed like antics. It really was not very serious on the part of a mature man, suffering from a serious illness, to pretend to be remembered through such childish bureaucratic.
Basically, he was a bastard. Ie a perfect officer. Or a schizophrenic for whom the necessities of the service were beyond reproach, even if they are in complete contradiction with him. He never found it strange that the refined dandy who listened to classical music on period instruments, collected junk, bathed richly scented who had been the envy of the most famous casseroles of the Second Empire, and smoking of excellent cigars selected by a trusted and probably produced by semi-slaves under twelve years, was in the city of Saint-Just interdependent cultures, which did not give a penny to bourgeois art and its archaic values (dignity of the artist, public respect, work, effort, entertainment, reality, rules, narrative coherence, balance, composition ... all this nonsense that Verdun, Guernica and Nagasaki were abolished), but instead funded the overthrow institutional institutions.
It was the race of bastards who burn a village because they are orders, and condemn the innocent to the police because it suits them, besides this, able to enjoy life as an individual, cynically and without remorse. It took a bunch of metastases, and an officer of the extreme right he fucks his daughter, he became conscious.
He was glad he lived to the age Pacific where the last battles were called culture of solidarity, civic education, community health and urban renewal, as god knows how he had ended a few decades ago, when one could make an excellent career move for summary executions in Oradour, Auschwitz or Stalingrad. Small
department officials, he once pampered like soldiers of the new society, were more than sinister puppet - he almost heard in petto calculate the consequences of teasing that the game that would inevitably follow his death would have on their pathetic little career. There was one in front of him, a certain Jean-Claude Verdot, so insignificant that he had just discovered its existence, although he had crossed countless times in the hallways and they were seen at some meetings. This homunculus
came to spend so perfectly consistent with the regulatory maintenance manager, necessary for promotion. He had to promote one, so why not this one, thought Felix Rocquencourt, since in a few months these wriggling insects would fall over into nothingness.
By decree of October 17, 20xx, the government decided that only would be promoted officials who had completed their task fairly, with a keen sense of social priorities and a refusal incisive discrimination. It had established an observatory to identify the actions of each employee to certify their compliance with these objectives. We do not climbed the ranks as a favorable report from the Centre. Therefore the left of Felix Rocquencourt, on a Chippendale desk antique Kensington had been delivered, the report was placed forty-two pages of the Centre Jean-Claude Verdot. He did not read of course, what distinguishes a clerk in a round-of-leather needy. But he took a fancy to browse while his partner, sitting beside his chair, stammered an air of constipated the usual speech, which showed how much he supported the objectives of the department and how much he was willing to exercise responsibility to read further, while respecting the union prerogatives.
-Mmh, Rocquencourt interrupted, it would seem that there is only twenty-eight percent of women among the recipients of your awards ...
-Uh ... I ...
-The Observatory also notes the use of sexist pronouns in your business writing, you know, this circular which states that the use of "he or she is obligatory in official documents, and requires the use of the feminine where the writer saw fit to ease her style ...
The other lost composure.
-This is perhaps not so severe, you may be able to convince the Centre that your choice was particularly appropriate, as regards the political content
works ... "That is to say ...
"Unless you've paid particular attention to the sexual orientation of beneficiaries ..." Well ...

-If, for example, you show in the Observatory supporting evidence, that there are at least nineteen percent of bisexuals, lesbians, gays and transsexuals - I remind you that the compensatory purpose of past discrimination was set at five per cent - see ... ten- nine to twenty-eight ... we are not too far off the mark, although I count the lesbians twice. Felix
Rocquencourt wildly amused. He had decidedly sadistic fiber. The other recovered himself took up a pretty convincing tirade on the need to end sexism and discrimination. It sounded like old hat, a popular tune of our childhood, a melody of old sung by our nurse. Rocquencourt took a kindly and reassured him. The other enlisted to scrupulously ensure gender parity in service, as well as to develop special attention to homosexuals, bisexuals and transsexuals, and also those with disabilities, people of color, homeless , undocumented immigrants, homeless, and other species left behind. Then he rambled on about the ministry ... spearheading awareness citizen ... the role of the state in organic solidarity of society ... the plural cultures and identities community ... the societal questioning of the artist plastic ... the public awareness of the new French school of filmmakers ... etc ... etc ... etc ... Rocquencourt floating in a cottony welfare (probably a metastasis, which ruined some secret nerve center), he listened distractedly while flipping through the report .
He interrupted again.
-There are more serious ...
-Pardon? You would
-funded exhibition on Marcel Estoublon .



*** Jean-Claude Marcel Estoublon Verdot knew as little as possible. Author there on the other side of the border that separates light from darkness. TVs and private theaters were feasted to his works. Those they touched are counted in millions, but those millions do not count, because the exotic and the sentimental junk from the bottom floor were banned in the Ministry of culture and solidarity. He had been specifically created to root out the people and the wrong crowd to raise the real art and socially concerned. But the people resisted and shunned the regional centers of drama to clump before the television and enjoy shamelessly moral scruples of the petty bourgeois canebière and devious chicanery illiterate peasants Valensole. Marcel Estoublon embodied everything that the department fought: commercial success, the apotheosis of the bourgeoisie and conventional writing, French Academy, moral obsolete, love of money, a liberalism of the Third Republic, and especially the people, not one that the trying to shape, but the real people, obscurantist, greedy, selfish, intolerant and tribal people that they could not break even in the Kabyle massively important and Senegalese, as these latter were afflicted with the same bullshit that people, that the work of a Estoublon complacent, who does not convey any social criticism, kept in darkness and the acceptance of his condition.
any link with Marcel Estoublon, even if he involuntarily like kinship, was enough to destroy a career in ministry. And Jean-Claude Verdot, who knew Marcel Estoublon as little as possible (he nearly fell out with his girlfriend he had a surprise at his heavy drama on TV), knew that much. He could have given money to a estoublonade only incidentally and without his knowledge. Or, as it was inconceivable that one can apply for a grant from the department on behalf of the seller of soup, he had simply not been paying attention, thinking perhaps a namesake (but it was only lawful to have the same name as Marcel Estoublon?). It was the old trick of the thing so big we did not see him. At least he had acted under the influence of any suicidal instinct, the call of the abyss he had found in him after his girlfriend was gone in Rennes. You could also think about a tragic error of the Observatory, or a paper slid into the record by the malice of an enemy. But he had none, he who ran perfectly in the spirit of the department and whose sense of rivalry that had not woken up after having spoken of Combourg-Schneider in the book business. ***


The mere mention of Marcel Estoublon enough to buckle Verdot Jean-Claude in a broom closet. But because of this effrontery probably unintentional, Felix Rocquencourt the junk collector who kept his complete works in a library of Estoublon locked, took a liking for this young man. Like the cat who loves to tease a little mouse before the crunch, he decided to have a little fun at the expense of Verdot. Life was so short, especially in his case!
"I want to believe in your good faith, but still, nonetheless, Marcel Estoublon is a bit strong ...
The other protested his loyalty.
-We would have to be convinced that you really ...
Profile Verdot asked to be put to the test.
-How you talk! We do not put an officer to the test! This would contradict this status, hard won after years of struggle, a more sacred! Know, my dear friend, there is something Calvinistic in our caste. It has the profile, or you do not. This is not working we acquire the necessary sense of intimate adherence to our goals.
He had rarely had so much fun. Happiness belongs to those who do not take life seriously. He had to wait to have more than eight months to live to see it. What a shame.
-It seems to me, "said Rocquencourt, only a psychological
custom ..." He paused to turn one of his excellent cigars he smoked in his office, violating the prohibitions and the great national cause of the fight against cancer, which in his condition had plenty of panache. He used to long matches scented with nutmeg, it was manufactured by a craftsman in the Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, a provider of eccentrics and the creative class, and lifestyle magazine which was devoted to glowing reports.
- ... only a psychological custom, could tell us about your ability to occupy a position of responsibility.
The waffle was sweet as honey. What a pleasure and disconcert his interlocutor with a stream of terms agreed hypocrite, who told him one thing: it was the right side of the barrier, which is holding the handle of the saucepan, and let go that we do 'in exchange for all the compromises and the abdication required of an aspirant to the rank of schizophrenic bastard, that is to say an officer responsible for the hum of the machine without surprise. The psychological
custom was the treatment of deviants, suspects, and traitors. Those who, like the ordinary porter private social conscience, reveled in Marcel Estoublon parts. Those who had risked jokes about a national priority, a cultural body, a rehabilitation plan of urban space, a collective of artists or a think tank museum. Those who had spoken to politicians from the extreme right. Those who did not have enough signed petitions or too openly sulked the National Theatre Citizen. Those who do not read The World or attended American businessmen. Those that had not quite seen in demonstrations against racism and for peace. Those who mocked in private Markowicz and Sung-Jun, and their friends had betrayed. Those who had known for a son's military career, unless they are bruised to the point of being consumed internally in a terminal residue of metastases.

***
Stunned, bruised, shriveled, Jean-Claude Verdot closed the door behind him who ascended to office padded Rocquencourt. Staggering under the weight of nausea, he dragged himself to his. Stunned by the blow that made him a cultural offender, he could not even leafing The World . It was the first unexpected thing happened to him in twenty-eight years old. She should have fun, but it did not have enough imagination for that.

Milena Velba En Streaming

CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 8

There was one area where Jean-Claude Verdot and his girlfriend were lagging behind, the licentiousness of marriage. Arguably Jean-Claude was so pleased with their carnal understanding he did not feel the need to try something other than his girlfriend. Also confess a certain visceral shyness prevented her from collecting experiences. All that embarrassed him, because part of buttocks had no more meaning than a game of tennis, you could practice it with anyone, provided that the performance of his or her partner are sufficient. Dating his girlfriend had never interested any more than other activities, nor that many aspects of his person, which left him indifferent. The important thing was to have a girlfriend and a healthy sex life settled, as probably most of his colleagues, especially those who were carefully groomed, confident, comfortable in their skin and finely commented the news. Was practice, there was a role model, one that offered him domineering bourgeois and the young so perfectly happy in the unshakable belief that they fortified by reading their daily evening preferred. And that day he realized his bliss, was also where he found the perfect identity of her lifestyle with that of his colleagues. More than an antiquated prudery
, monogamy - albeit fortuitous as that of Jean-Claude Verdot - betrayed a contemptible instinct of property, unworthy of a young head of mission at the Department of cultures together. Was sacralization entirely inappropriate, even hysterical, flesh, evoking the stained sheets of honeymoons, honor crimes committed with a gun shot, poison rings and other cloistered women, a toy-mythical southern , a nerdy machismo to Prosper Merimee on which everything will be fashionable was to spit with a knowing air. Since sexuality was more than pleased as the others, who, like tennis, could take place between persons of either sex (and it was not the slightest victory against the constructivist philosophy of human nature), since no longer played any role in human reproduction, fortunately guided by considerations of economic viability, social opportunity and public health, the instincts were jealous that the residue of an unhealthy and deadly Darwinian era gone by. For some it was even there some form of dementia, such as eating with his fingers or speak in grunts. It was therefore for quality people to practice openly erotic vagrancy, and to tolerate the antics of their partner, to demonstrate that they were fully eliminated their residue prehistoric they faced and good-naturedly the pooling of mucous intimate partner.
Despite his shyness and the fact that their mutual performance rendered any unnecessary extramarital affair, Jean-Claude Verdot no doubt that one day his girlfriend and her quietly lengthen their sexual charts, which would dispel the image of the repressed that we had him in the ministry - although he suspected it was not any evidence.
He had no doubt that jealousy was totally foreign to him, his girlfriend was not an object but it had to be free, free to wiggle and show her navel free to take his foot with which she wanted, a woman who has finally reclaimed his body and his sexuality, free even to be bored in the first Citizen of the National Theatre.
But after that first riot in which his car was burned, he felt an incomprehensible resentment, and had to admit that the instinct of property was brewing in him, just shaken by the assaults of his social conscience . Certainly, the car was a selfish and contemptible object merchant. None had a question that strikes by public transport - He agreed - and assaults that took place there - an unfortunate consequence of the exclusion. Of course, one could only encourage the youth revolt suburban victims of discrimination. Admittedly, it was because of the disgusting management of the mutual assured officials that, based on the principles of the private sector, which had reimbursed his car a quarter of its value. While the judges were right to condemn not only the young light work of general interest, because we know that the prison nourishes every infamy and that inequality is the only injustice. But Jean-Claude Verdot could turn off the flashing red light at the bottom of his soul, and warned that as the line separating his property from predators had been crossed with impunity, its existence was threatened. He knew that this was an old reflex inherited from millennia of evolution, a special wiring of its neurons, activation of enzymes and hormones that was no longer anything in the new society, but had no way to silence the anguished rage that tied him by the throat and insomnia afflicted punctuated by nightmares.
This same instinct whispered that evil had rights to his girlfriend, and he would have been very unpleasant she sleep with another man. Despite all his shame he could not banish the feeling possessive disgusting. And it was shameful, but without hesitation, that Sunday when she was away for an internship, he opened the closet where she piled her papers - the same closet modular panels of pine he had assembled himself two years ago, using this little bad steel crank still lingered in his tools - in search of clues about intimate adventure that would have been hidden. It was simply absurd, as it was understood that each retained their freedom and they had nothing to hide. But women's intuition of his girlfriend could very well blow him it was better not to provoke the instinctive repugnance property of Jean-Claude.
He did not expect to find anything but sanctimonious irrelevant: Orders and safety sheets forgotten heels of credit card countermarks laundry, notepad where she had scribbled a hasty phone number, paper clips, envelopes, postcards, administrative correspondence, pieces of invoice, photo films ... and that was the gist of the content. But there was a cardboard folder in which she had meticulously collected clippings of women's magazines. Like all items in this release, they offered practical advice to improve his personal life and feel better about yourself, praising the merits of passing a few products.
Titles evoked uninhibited enjoyment of the liberated woman of the oppressive yoke of man, who knows how to use with dexterity and domination of her charms, fully exercising his sexual power, and use of men in need, which was a fair compensation for thousands of years of oppression that are macho had just been released. Sexual superiority of women was fully recognized, since no fewer than four different organs procured him the pleasure, and women's magazines with an assumed superiority found this ribald insolence. We showed
creatures flat stomach (although the navel of the girlfriend of Jean-Claude was coated beads of fat, even though discrete and charming, do not disqualified under the eyes of a fashion photographer) fully blooming in the fullness of their bodies, like beautiful Fruit of August, and whose white teeth and expressed a haughty look I do not know what superhuman. The articles we explained how the lives of women was great because "summer sex will or will not," and "nothing like a little pussy for a pleasant holiday." Moreover, "know spice your love life by libertine adventures," "infidelity: a new lifestyle," and "test: are you a tease? . Meanwhile, the threesome is spreading like wildfire, so much so that talking about a phenomenon company, and have two men was the key to happiness. And why deny a muscular hunk on a beach, on the pretext that the children were staying at six hundred meters in the Marina stepmother?
There were those who wanted "a baby but no husband," other "two men but no children, those who said" abortion is more comfortable than the pill, those who preferred " change man of business, those who put to the test concubinage and marriage, and of course the traders, the sado-masochistic, and porn actresses. These, new priestesses of Venus Eryx, to rejoin the city honorable mothers, faithful to their spouses and their children dedicated to excellent seamstresses, for licentiousness if provocative spiced spare time for lawyers business and marketing director, he was a dirty grind for sex workers, and even sacred whores film X, who practiced with fervor, were quite happy when they had served their time.
And all these women, shown as examples in articles that girlfriend of Jean-Claude had carefully Verdot cut, were entirely happy, because those who could not be had benefited from the services of a psychologist or benefited from the advice of women's magazines.
women's magazines had ended the archaic conception that the woman had to hold his rank, his behaviors are prohibited, and especially the idea that she had to devote his family, a concept repugnant if is the mother of all domestic abuse. Yes, the reactionary idea that it is through others (comfort and safety of children, social status of husband) the woman is truly happy, which infected the ancestors Petainists pages of these magazines, they had completely eradicated. And nobody wanted to know what the baby faced by the lawyer who spent sixty hours a week with his nanny, or father scrapped because his wife had "fallen for a guy on the beach, or partners one who wanted two men but no baby (but they only had a brain?), much less of course the contributor of semen or her daughter who had "a baby but no husband." The only thing that mattered was to prove week after week, that balance personal and sexual satisfaction of women take precedence over everything else. And, in case some still doubt, he had to repeat week after week, and track gender bias by exhibiting every week some new taboo shelved by the choice of an admirable woman freed.
There were also pink cardboard and plastic with a very naughty Club 69, slipped between two pages of a magazine. Jean-Claude
Verdot should welcome the interest of his girlfriend for licentiousness advocated by women's magazines, because their loyalty was transient, involuntary and suspicious. But instead of rejoicing, on his discoveries plunged into disarray.
First, it was from all these magazines an vulgar little relished by the representatives of the cultural elite. It confirmed the unpleasant impression on Jean-Claude by the impatience of his girlfriend at TNC. Was she not, in short, an ordinary teen of Prisunic, and had he not been deceived by his humanitarian activism and feminist readings produced scattered and superficial? Weeklies of the left, far more respectable than the tabloids that she was reading, regularly preached sexual freedom, based on scientific studies and advice from senior academics. Jean-Claude would not have felt such a discomfort if the emancipation of her vaginal girlfriend was catalyzed by the substantive articles of the Observer Parisien, rather than the banter and garish pictures of Marie-Sheryl and Woman Attitude .
Second, she had been careful to give him his adventures. Their relationship was based on a lie it? Regarded it as a conventional type, jealous, possessive, a greybeard Molieresque before age? It seemed inconceivable, but had she not treated repeatedly "stuck"? Two years earlier, she had wanted him to change his hairstyle and made the bike. She had driven in vain in nightclubs, places where you filthy wore sequins and where we fidgeted at the rate of Love Fever and Coin-Coin-Coin-Coin , basements light greenish and smells of gin fizz, with a festive atmosphere of the Sun at the campsite Chatelaillon beach ball or firefighter in a suburb of Bar-sur-Aube. After these incidents during which he had shown a male spirit of resistance, refusing to ride a motorcycle, barter her hair dull cons cut rock'n'roll, and put your feet Star Club and Village Dance , which would have irreparably damaged his career if any messenger of the department were surprised they had crossed a few weeks of mutual contempt, for which he had not dared to say that he lived with a little idiot commuter nor that she paratageait layer an asshole snob and stuck to the rue Saint-Guillaume.
And it was the memory of these episodes who gave him the key: it was not fact she slept with other men she was hiding, but the identity of these men, most likely, cretins who slicked the djerkaient Star Club and embarked on their hoes of Kawasaki; horrible rednecks who talked of football and car prices people with whom she drank pernod handsomely to sneer and denigrate the contemporary avant-garde, he is heard almost mock the "masturbation", and "taken the head, spit up their mediocrity on the" culture "boring" and "blowing" ... He realized he
rambling. There was no reason for it fréquentât such types without telling her, and even none of the papers found in his closet was no evidence any extramarital concubinale. Why would it be stubborn in a double life, a partnership false, then it did not derive any material benefit from his cohabitation with Jean-Claude, they shared the costs of strictly equal manner?
Thirdly, and this was the most painful event, what he took for great orgasms was perhaps to her than going back and forth viscous and monotonous, and its external manifestations of pleasure a fuss to get it earlier. She quietly sought the satisfaction of the senses from any male raised in boxes like the one he had found the box, and stayed with him through inertia, conformity and idleness.
was an idea quite intolerable, she caused him unbearable pain, so much so that his eyes were blurred, his temples throbbed, and a migraine lead him weighed down her head, like a cartridge of buckshot lodged in the lobes of his brain. The idea was very probably wrong, because she had never complained and nothing mattered more in the eyes of Jean-Claude Verdot that the fullness of sexual partners (the Parisian Observer does he not joined Marie-Sheryl to assert that man was created to lead the woman to orgasm?). He did not hesitate to put the time needed, using all sorts of stimuli and sometimes drugs, not hesitating to adopt positions more complex risking her health. Orgasms very suitable to his girlfriend were not a comedy, but the result of his commendable efforts obstinate. These considerations did not prevent this misconception to torture as well as if she were real.
Especially that sexuality was another aspect, the desire . There, Jean-Claude Verdot should recognize that it was cold and lacked spontaneity. It was always him who initiated the foreplay. It was generally docile, but it was still harassing her a bit to qualify for coitus. Maybe it was a constant of female behavior, although officially it - pure social convention - obeys no law. But maybe, horrible doubt, a woman did not want a man like Jean-Claude Verdot, which was very unfair to him because he considered himself a man model. Perfectly
educated and cultured, and not from any culture, that which was decided in the department and move to France. Do
suffering from any of the flaws of traditional male brutality, drunkenness, boorishness, irresponsibility and bluster. Showing a great enthusiasm
sex, as we said, at the service of women and their orgasms. And not for macho
a penny, respectful of the autonomy of his girlfriend , often leaving him the lead, finally in favor of strict parity both financially and on the sharing of household chores.
Always volunteer to wipe the toilet, change the vacuum bag, stalk crumbs, scraps and sweepings, ironing shirts, mending clothes, rinse the bottom of the trash and get on all fours scrub the floor of the bathroom with a mop under the supervision of his girlfriend . And with all that, she did not want him!

He carefully sorted garbage as directed his girlfriend . There were five tanks that occupied half the surface of the kitchen. Received the blue glass, which according to the new regulations should be cleaned from impurities (labels, capsules, sugar residues in soft drinks or spirits, dead insects, spider webs) - and Jean-Claude Verdot cleaned carefully every pot, every bottle, before filing them. The yolk contained plastic packaging, which must be disposed of in the same state of cleanliness as glass. Welcomed the green paper and cartons, and - consequently membership of Jean-Claude Verdot to the bourgeoisie and secular intellectual fonctionnariale - he was filling faster than others. In an ideal world it would have been greater, but the authorities had calibrated the size of each bin from a French-type whose daily production of each category of junk equaled the national average. There was no French-type, and French had to fight against each filling its asynchronous garbage bins, and yet the method of French-type was probably the most rational way to democratically manage the size of garbage cans, and the concept of French-type was not without beauty, she exhaled a fragrance of old-fashioned clean slate revolutionary, youthful enthusiasm for the metric system, and feverish quest of perfect proportions. In the blue bin piled scrap: capsule, scouring pads scoured the dishes, glasses frames broken, and cans of soda. Parliament had spared the task of cleaning household waste, because public opinion was not yet ripe. But the Department of Collective Health and the Department of Attention to the environment were about to launch an advertising campaign to encourage people to conduct citizen's content blue bins. Tray Black - black as the plight of Third World - contains unnecessary and unworthy objects that lacked both the poor countries of Africa. There was a jumble of tubes of lipstick advertising, toiletry airlines, videotapes sold with regular, old packets of noodles that would not leave for vacation, threadbare shirts sleeves, tights Yarn ...: A bunch heterogeneous, variegated like a pop-collage art of the sixties. Solidarity associations were responsible for collecting these objects and send them (with financial support from the state) to the needy of the planet. But traitors took advantage of what the black bins hosted various objects to throw unusable waste they should have been sorted, cleaned and leave the other boxes. The humanitarian community demanded strict controls and penalties copies.
It fell to Jean-Claude Verdot file each of these five categories of trash in proper bins that the city fathers had placed on the sidewalk. The enthusiasm of the population for the sorting of waste had exceeded the forecast, and it was not uncommon that one of these bins was full. In this case, Jean-Claude Verdot, with a cynicism touching, carrying her trash to another dumpster same color, which was sometimes several hundred meters. But he was proud to spare no efforts to this new challenge that was the sort of garbage.