October 30, 2009 § 5 Comments
“Perhaps that was it, I kept thinking. Perhaps I was getting too old for the sort of jeezny I had been leading, brothers. I was eighteen now, just gone. Eighteen was not a young age. At eighteen old Wolfgang Amadeus had written concertos and symphonies and operas and oratorios and all that cal, no, not cal, heavenly music. And then there was old Felix M. with his Midsummer Night’s Dream Overture. And there were others. And there was this like French poet set by old Benjy Britt, who had done all his best poetry by the age of fifteen, O my brothers. Arthur, his first name. Eighteen was not all that young an age, then. But what was I going to do? Walking the dark chill bastards of winter streets after ittying off from this chai-and-coffee mesto, I kept viddying like visions, like these cartoons in the gazettas. There was Your Humble Narrator Alex coming home from work to a good hot plate of dinner, and there was this ptitsa all welcoming and greeting like loving. But I could not viddy her all that horrorshow, brothers, I could not think who it might be. But I had this sudden very strong idea that if I walked into the room next to this room where the fire was burning away and my hot dinner laid on the table, there I should find what I really wanted, and now it all tied up, that picture scissored out of the gazetta and meeting old Pete like that. For in that other room in a cot was laying gurgling goo goo goo my son. Yes yes yes, brothers, my son. And now I felt this bolshy big hollow inside my plott, feeling very surprised too at myself. I knew what was happening, O my brothers. I was like growing up.
Yes yes yes, there it was. Youth must go, ah yes. But youth is only being in a way like it might be an animal. No, it is not just like being an animal so much as being one of these malenky toys you viddy being sold in the streets, like little chellovecks made out of tin and with a spring inside and then a winding handle on the outside and you wind it up grrr grrr grrr and off it itties, like walking, O my brothers. But it itties in a straight line and bangs straight into things bang bang and it cannot help what it is doing. Being young is like being like one of these malenky machines. My son, my son. When I had my son I would explain all that to him when he was starry enough to like understand. But then I knew he would not understand or would not want to understand at all and would do all the veshches I had done, yes perhaps even killing some poor starry forella surrounded with mewing kots and koshkas, and I would not be able to really stop him. And nor would he be able to stop his own son, brothers. And so it would itty on until like the end of the world, round and round and round, like some bolshy gigantic like chelloveck, like old Bog Himself (by courtesy of Korova Milkbar) turning and turning and turning a vonny grahzny orange in his gigantic rookers.
But first of all, brothers, there was this veshch of finding some devotchka or other who would be a mother to this son. I would have to start on that tomorrow, I kept thinking. That was something like new to do. That was something I would have to get started on, a new like chapter beginning.”
Alexander The Large, in: Clockwork Orange, BURGESS, Anthony, England Version.
Sim, droogs… O Anarco está ficando velho. Há muito venho me sentindo bolnoy, minha brooko já não é mais a mesma, e meu nadmenny orgulho nadsat vem desaparecendo.
Pensando nisso… que talvez eu precise começar a pensar em construir meu futuro com alguém ao meu lado, decidi: vou me casar.
Obviamente essa decisão precisa resolver um problema imediato: minha inveterada solteiritude que não me abandona. Deve fazer coisa de dois anos que eu não tenho um relacionamento estável. I mean, uns dois anos que eu não namoro porque relacionamento estável, assim estável de verdade… hummmm… uns dez anos.
Pensando nisso, e me inspirando no Dick Masterson, decidi criar um sistema de rating de mulheres, o que eu chamarei de bride points.
Funciona mais ou menos assim: Todas as mulheres que eu pegar vão sair, de cara, com 1.000 bride points. Os atos praticados farão com que ela ganhe ou perca bride points, mais ou menos que nem um programa de milhagens. Alcançou 10.000 bride points, vira ficante. 50.000, namorada. 200.000, noiva. 500.000, esposa.
As formas de ganhar ou perder bride points são as mais variadas possíveis, passo a enumerar algumas delas:
Ouvir pagode: -500
Assistir filmes do Tarantino: +500
Ouvir Dropkick Murphys: +500
Sexo bom: +1000
Sexo ruim: -500
Ter alguma especialidade sexual: +2000
Não se interessar por mais nada além do papai e mamãe do domingo à noite: -1000
Gostar de praticar esportes: +2000
Só assistir futebol: -1000
Falar corretamente português: +2000
Língua estrangeira adicional: +1000
Mentir bem: +2000
Mentir mal: -5000
E por aí vai. Espero que vocês tenham percebido duas coisas na lista:
1) É mais fácil subir que descer, mas não se enganem: existem inúmeras coisas que eu não citei que acarretam numa perda massiva de bride points.
2) Sim, mentir bem é uma qualidade. Afinal, saber mentir bem é quase como falar a verdade: se a pessoa não descobrir a mentira, ela vai morrer como verdade.
Bom, agora que as regras estão (mais ou menos claras), com o passar do tempo, novas formas de ganhar ou perder bride points serão explicadas. Por ora, acho que está claro o suficiente.
E que comecem os jogos!