You’ve all been very patient waiting to hear about my stereos, so no more revelations on our impending doom at the hands of mutant aliens, for awhile anyway and besides, this is far more important that something like the extinction of humans. Such a boring species, Hieronymus Bosch’s portrayal of Hell was really just an average, everyday depiction of human behavior.
Yes, My Stereos. Well, after ebay belched forth an exact vintage replacement in prime working order for my sadly ailing power amplifier and it was hooked into the system with the other matching components and all was working properly, I decided to connect it to my old speakers, which are a pair of Qysonic Arrays purchased in 1984, same year the book was written about. And I have to say, as a prediction, it fell abysmally short. Anyway, My Stereos…
On doing so and playing a Jon and Vangelis cd, it was immediately obvious that there was nothing wrong with the speakers, so the distortion must have been all in the one remaining functional channel of the old power amplifier.
Since I’d already purchased a very nice used vintage Mitsubishi pre-amp through ebay as a backup, and I now have a new pair of high end tower speakers because I’d thought the old ones were farshimelt, like I said before only I didn’t say farshimelt, and now know they really aren’t farshimelt at all, it only made sense to find and purchase a matching vintage Mitsubishi power amplifier, a media cabinet, heavy speaker cables and so forth and so on, and set this all up in my bedroom so I can have fine stereo music in there too.
The speakers are in place, the cables are run, waiting on the arrival of the amplifier and cabinet to complete this project.
When you live alone and don’t support a wife who Thank God left me without demanding alimony, but no doubt her taking up with another woman was a big help in that, and the ungrateful kids are gone so no one is coming to me for help anymore, they all got married and are stuck with having to help themselves, it’s in times like these that we get to selfishly spend it all on ourselves and don’t have to worry about making anyone else happy, let alone put up with any of their happy horseshit.
Can you imagine if I was still married and had a kid or three running around, with a stereo system in the living room and another in my bedroom? The kids would be fighting over what horrible music they wanted to play, my wife would be playing some shit from some lesbian guitarist and I’d be running for the circuit breakers.
Lay? That would be nice. Bluddy older woment never want a bit of nudgy wink. Probably better to be gay, maybe I’l go to a poof conversion course. Anyway, not got my commenty thing working yet, can’t figure wot I’m doing wrong.
Well, keep me informed, your efforts will be rewarded.
PS Commenty thing ain’t working yet. Manana manana.
Oh yes it is, I defiled it with my presence only this morning.
Yeh. I just have my puppet parrot, not half the burden. Don’t half miss the late missus though, the old ladies I go out with ain’t the same, almost a full time carer for one of them.
The last lay I had was a nymphomaniac in her early 50s who still looked pretty good. For reasons I never inquired about, she’d lost her home on the coast and came to me to see if I’d give her a home and support her in exchange for pussy. This was 22 years ago, when I was still living in the woods and not all that interested in supporting some worthless sponge with nothing but crotch to offer. She should have been there 45 years earlier, she’d have had more success. Anyway, that kinda sealed my disgust in the other gender, I took a pass and have continued to do so since, and can’t say I’ve missed it. It’s amazing, really. Once you lose interest, their true feckless, conniving nature becomes transparent, that was impossible for me to see when I was playing that game. The freedom of not being on the hunt is liberating to the mind as well as the wallet.