Резултати претраге

Who do you think you are, little bastard?

Death, we had it exiled,
feeling safe behind our walls, and you,
you stick it back right under our nose.
Who do you think you are, little bastard?
 
You have nothing new to teach us.
We know all about killing already.
you: a few thousands individuals
us: half of the mammals.
 
Well, except cats. And cattle.
And a few other edible stuff.
Anyway, you're way out of our league.
Your 500.000 deaths are but a sideshow.
 
Granted, there will be a few more
unfortunate victims of the economics.
But those won't be accounted for,
they won't disturb us in the least.
 
Don't go thinking we'll stop
wreaking havoc on our planet
just because you reminded us
we're milling about like headless chicken,
 
You're barking up the wrong tree, lad.
Well, that's what you would do
if you could bark. Anyway.
Where was I? Ah yes: die!
 

Saying no is too much hard work

Granted, back then I was swamped by work
and pestered by these bloody customers
and all these little games engineers play
were starting to get old.
 
Whether you like it or not, you get tired eventually.
Saying yes is easy, but saying no is hard work.
And so you end up saying yes. To free overtime,
to the self-criticism sessions in front of the little Hitler,
 
to the distribution of stars and blames,
yes to the pity mingled with contempt for the weak
yes to the money that gags your conscience
and the management by nastiness.
 
And you end up laughing with the wolves
even finding the lewd little jokes funny
while trying to convince yourself you're on the winning side
in the war of all against all.
 
It took me this girl sobbing in my office
to realize that saying yes to all had also a price.
I must say I felt a bit of a shock being demoted in a sec
from exemplary team leader to common heartless bastard.
 
It's been more than fifteen years now and yet
I still feel like crying when I think of it.
Or maybe like screaming in helpless rage
at our infinite capacity to mess things up.
 
And I say to myself that, in other times,
I surely would have picked a gun
and eagerly shot at the bad guys.
Saying no would have been too much hard work.
 

Homo economicus

Golfs r gay, losers’ wheels
---
Better off with Audi bmw vw Honda Nissan Toyota Subaru not 2 crappy! The others are pretty shit ‘speshly the french there garbage and the interiors suck! Might’s well keep yer mini! & if you’ve the cash, Porsche for the win
---
Get yerself a series one beemer you can find em pretty cheap and with one of them you’ll be sweet.
Super economical that motor - 75, 90bhp or bigger (the 90 is well sound) + dealer network and no timing belt so unbreakable and no worries
---
My sis’s gotta yaris and I tell ya it’s dead reliable! but that’s like totally a chick’s car lika polo ora mini or them Audi a1s. Makes a guy look queer
---
Tsh so get a Megane 2. Or 1 of them old Beemers like the gippos..
---
A Megane 2? ain't that an old git’s car?
---
nah no way, I just picked one of em up it’s an ‘05 & looks mint.
For 2.5K It’s totally tricked out - original semi-bucket seats, side airbagz auto lights auto wipers, abs, loads of storage, good motor, key card etc...
 
Political economy does not concern itself with mankind except for his being motivated by the desire to possess riches, and capable of judging the comparative efficacy of means to acquire this end.
 

The sheep look up

So here we are, seven or eight billions
of retarded children deluding ourseves
with science and religion while
the four horsemen champ at the bit.
 
Life vanishes around us,
as if eaten away by a cancer
while we endeavour to squander
the last treasures of the Earth.
 
But the oil era is coming to an end
and soon we'll have to fight over
the last ploughable fields
under the whims of a weather turned mad.
 
Your way of life is not-negociable
but nature doesn't care, it doesn't negociate.
When there won't be enough left even for the rich
the four horsemen will come back and do the cleanup.
 
Wake up. Go back to sleep. No matter.
The best we can hope for
is a bit of pity mingled with the hatred
the survivors will feel for us in a hundred years.
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

Nothing beats pedagogy

Before, I used to smoke. But on the packs
you could see people dying from cancer
and poisoning little kids too.
That's how I realized it was time to act.
 
And now life is great. No more dog breath,
my fingers are all pink again and my lungs all white,
and when I'm a bit stressed I can still chew my nails.
Thank goodness, I finally got it.
 
Before, I used to drink. But I saw an ad on TV
where they said drinking makes you kill people when you're driving
and won't help you score with chicks either.
That's how I realized it was time to act.
 
And now life is great. No more bouts of delirium
or stomach burns. I'm still a bit doddery but that's ok.
I even stopped beating up the wife and kids.
Thank goodness, I finally got it.
 
Before, I was a polluter. But I got wind of
these trash bins: yellow for plastic, blue for paper.
Not sure about the blue ones though, we don't have these around here.
That's how I realized it was time to act.
 
And now life is great. No more fear of global warming,
and as a reward for saving the planet
I treated myself to a trip to the West Indies.
Thank goodness, I finally got it.
 
Before, I was unemployed. But Mr. President explained to me
that lazybones and idlers only got what they deserved
and I only had to pull my finger out to fix the problem.
That's how I realized it was time to act.
 
And now life is great. No more embarrassment in front of my friends,
I'm nearly done repaying the moped's loan, and I can proudly declare
that I risk my life delivering pastries to old farts for a living.
Thank goodness, I finally got it.
 
Before, I was a Lefty. But on the forums they told me
about the 20.000.000 dead of communism
and all the nasty things going on in North Korea.
That's how I realized it was time to act.
 
And now life is great. I no longer give a rat's ass about the poor
and when I'm the one in need of money
I put my basin out and wait for wealth to trickle down.
Thank goodness, I finally got it.
 
Nah, just kidding. I never quit smoking nor drinking.
I'd rather eat bricks than become a lackey on a moped,
I don't give a damn about waste-sorting and I'm still a Lefty.
That's the problem in this country: some people just don't want to understand.
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

Nunky Jeannot dreams in German

Nunky Jeannot speaks in French, but he dreams in German
The other night I heard him again, yelling 'Maynee maynee'.
That couldn't possibly be French, and since Lorraine accent
is just like German, that must have been some German.
 
Tonight Unkie Jeannot invited a buddy of his.
They laughed together during the whole meal.
Then Unkie fetched the plum hooch and filled two glasses
now they're into grown-ups things I have no clue about
 
You needed five tanks to get the iron cross
And then he drew his Panzerfaust, right under the Russians' noses
and he started yeilling 'Mein Knie, mein Knie'
but his leg was gone
 
So that's what he screams at night, Unkie Jeannot.
The cry of a kid who got his leg torn off
playing the soldier to get a medal
and died screaming three feet away from him.
 
And Jeannot bleeds his story of a child
seeing other children being slaughtered
and the snow gets strewn with children corpses
and dying children calling their mothers
 
And I'm standing there, staring at him,
but he doesn't see me. He's gone back there
wading in mud, blood, terror, madness,
just like every night, except tonight he doesn't sleep.
 
Unkie Jeannot had a rotten luck.
He was born a bit too close to the German border
and in '41 it was his turn to serve the Great Reich
and go to die for Hitler in the plains of Ukraine.
 
And I think a part of him really died there
and that is what screams at night and speaks tonight.
Or maybe it's all these kids who cry through him.
My nunky speaks French, but his ghosts suffer in German.
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.