I. Who is he. (and shouldn't we add a nice “who cares?” there?)
He has collaborated with Debaser since June 2009, and after a probation period invented by himself and passed (again, according only to him) thanks to a barrage of nonsense, he became in October of the same year the main political and historical storyteller of the site, thus compensating for a gap that no user, even the unregistered, unborn, or un-living on planet Earth, has ever felt over the past decades.
His contributions are unlimited in their ability to destroy human patience, dealing with cartoons or television shows of prime importance such as "X-Factor" or "Amici" as well as "Grande Fratello 46" for which he has already applied to participate (section: “Culistiche”) and with books, essentially porno magazines or classic gossip zines found at the hairdresser [section: “Interiora (di agnello)”].
Sometimes, to the dismay of the site management and the editorial staff’s stomachaches, he even publishes editorials, in which he addresses themes connected to the problems of our Mediterranean multimedia age and thus suitable for a seafaring or fishy audience.
In the past, he had, by sheer force, introduced a succinct 30-35 page handwritten biography to the site, later removed after a number of justified insults and to protect his own privacy (to avoid being recognized by the many creditors in his town), and to not cast any doubt on his personal identity (of which even he knows nothing anymore except for what others tell him), from which it emerged (and all this is as interesting as a blank unframed painting) that after graduating from woodworking high school, and military service at the Chinese Pentagon as a Russian interpreter with a mandate for interplanetary travel, he enrolled at the Faculty of Nonsense and Various Bullshit, later abandoned for personal reasons, i.e., a temporal-temporary-time confusion, privately pursuing historical studies (modeling Viking ships painstakingly hunted inside chocolate eggs), political studies (hanging posters of the UDC on the walls at home), and philosophical studies (trying to understand why his dog sometimes retrieves the stick and sometimes doesn’t, especially after the 750th throw).
Therefore, on this site he combines his own food phobias, his penchant for nibbling on polystyrene and communicating without anyone’s request, his desire to involve Debaser users, even though they flee from him as if chased by a herd of buffalo—which has leapt over the fences of musical specialization toward a generalist approach that makes it one of the most interesting sites on the entire network (since this is ass-kissing, let me do it well...) actually, I’d dare say of the whole Milky Way—sharing some pseudo-thoughts otherwise destined (as they ought to be) to remain private or restricted to a select circle of mannequins willing or forced to listen to him because they’re physically chained down or under house arrest.
II. Why (the heck) does he write for Debaser? Many ask him, especially while holding a De-Scure.
His role models are Filippo Galli, Donald Duck, Gino Bramieri & His Atomic Playboy’s, one of Iron Maiden’s guitarists at random, Knut the little bear from the Berlin Zoo, Inspector Derrick, Vega from Street Fighter II, Abdul Camel, Mikala Dogratis (his favorite Greek prostitute), Darko Pancev and Sbirulino, in other words, slackers and writers who have made circus balancing their purpose, overcoming the fences (fences? Boh, I don’t know what the hell I’m writing, copying from “Intimità”) of the "cosmic emptiness" concept spread in his stomach.
He takes inspiration from these drivers in his competitions in sidecar-motorbike or Ape, seeking exposure in the fractures (especially to his lower limbs) of the profound themes underlying films (like Albakiara), documentaries (Who Framed Peter Pan?), TV shows, essays, classics of thought, high-calorie cookbooks for rams, encyclopedias about bolts, and postcards of nude girls—using an arrogant approach at the edge of acceptability and as obtuse as a 200-degree Fahrenheit angle in reply to everyone’s contributions, leaving behind, by express will to avoid shooting too much nonsense, any preconceived thesis except his own 19th-century-style conservative stances, which are among his main amusements and a more than fair personal mockery by anyone crossing his pages.
He engages with any form of communication—whether unsolicited or lethal for the poor user—without ideological perplexity (but what does what I’m reading mean?) and conceptual doubt (What does reading mean?), pretending to grasp the positive and negative aspects of every manifestation of the human intellect (or philosophy of peanut roasting, it’s all the same) and measuring them with a ruler in search of someone who will insult him a little less than his peers, parents, teachers, tobacconists, gas station attendants, thus returning to himself and his unfortunate readers (who at their first review maybe expected a comedian) the astrological and humanist perspective of Pythagoras’s theorem, which identified man as “the measure of all things,” a message also picked up by his fans who shout, “we’ve had our fill of you.”
III. Past criticisms. (which will always be better than future ones)
The beginnings with reviews of the works of his personal God, that is, the upright, loyal, and honest Silvio Berlusconi, or concerning especially delicate issues in the current gastroenterological context, such as the Lega Nord, the c-132 of 1983, the (Panini album) trading card of Bettino Craxi, sexual relations between Horace and Clarabelle, the boundaries between Emilio Fede and his zeroed reason, have led some users of the site to the erroneous and unexplainable belief that De_Lorenzo is among the “right-wing” writers (i.e., not left-handed, according to him), having not promoted—in adherence to his funny but totally ineffective desire to appear neutral in his meteorological raccoon—views dear to some factions of the left or extreme left, but also to the center and even to part of the right, i.e., to people able to reason and to declare in bipartisan fashion that his reviews are as delightful as a mosquito inside your spacesuit.
The argument appears spot on; a careful reading of his writings (maybe to have a laugh between typical proverbs, imperial edicts, Nissan pistons, and ostrich feathers)—which could flatten a grizzly—shows that he tries never to explicitly profess any gastronomic slogan, or any idea better than a pedal-powered chandelier, limiting himself to piling up phrases with the freshness and speed that can usually be attributed to a coma-sloth.
The very fact that he (unfortunately for users seeking humorous sketches) has rarely participated in the debates prompted by his reviews is indicative of the cosmic void lurking here and there and with respect to observations (or rather, the side effects) that may be generated by his writings (such as convulsive seizures from spasmodic laughter, diarrhea, pathological disbelief in the face of the absurd), in the belief that they, once reduced to first-grade musings and published online (since nowadays every stupidity is published online), cease to represent his own (or what they make him believe is his) opinion and instead become the property of Unesco, Fao, and even the stuttering DJ association chaired by Johnny Glamour.
This means, of course, that the author eschews debate (whether because he lacks the drive to turn on the computer or because of his limited linguistic and astrophysical skills), which he follows with attention and fear that someone might discover his address, intervening perhaps only to moderate the tone of the laughter or insults that sometimes wake people sleeping on other sites, especially appreciating the fact that his little sentences full of clichés can become occasions for promoting collective initiatives: for instance, a reprisal by English hooligans at his house or a scientific experiment involving immersing 50 tons of liquid helium in boiling water for which our reviewER offers his bathtub.
IV. They say about him. (apart from idiot, dumpling, %!!(&%$ and &”*==&!!, and other things that can’t be written)
Debaser users have not always been fair with De Lorenzo; perhaps they should have clubbed him back onto the right path, for the reasons highlighted in par.3467542 paragraph 5 of the law on wood magnetism and because of the distrust with which most members view authors like him, often mistaking them for worms, crazy viruses or "fakes" (that is, pseudo-users, which is what he actually is, except unfortunately he's not a fake, but sigh… real!) He’s about to mire the confusion, mortify an environment already made stale by himself where clichés and the usual suspects abound, often over-age university students (he, meanwhile, is competing for the 2020 keychain Nobel), endlessly talking like old-fashioned intellectuals, putting themselves in the position to judge what should or shouldn’t be done, while he always keeps calm with his tones of an emperor and a marines general, taking advantage of the anonymity provided by the Internet and the alibi that DeBaser’s people don’t actually know who they’re talking to or his address, otherwise they’d be in trouble.
Here are some of the most critical comments he has selected, reported in truncated form and partial length for an incorrect and false information:
- TITTI: “Oh oh. I thought I saw a sucker”
- IVAN DRAGO: ”I break you in two”
- I TRETTRE’: “To me… me it looks like bullshit!”
- ROB HALFORD: “AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
- HANNIBAL SMITH: “I love it when a plan comes together”
- ARNOLD: “What the heck are you talking about, Willy?”
- CREAMY: “Pampolo Pampolo Parimpampù”
- VUJADIN BOSKOV: “Penalty is when De_Lorenzo writes”
- MUCCA DI DEBASER: “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu”
- VICE MINISTRO DEI TRASPORTI SUD-COREANO: “???? ?? ?? ?? ??? ??? ??”
- UOMO DI NEANDERTHAL: “Ugh Uh UUGH Argh!”
- MARIO P., TRUCK DRIVER: “Get the hell out of the way, you're driving at 40 km/h in the fast lane!”
- ALICE COOPER: “He-He-He-Hey… Hey stoopid!”
- SABRINA F., SHOPKEEPER: “100 grams of ham? All right. Oh, I made 2.7 kg, should I leave it for you?”
- STEFANO M., 6 years old: “Mister, mister! Why do you have a broom stuck up your backside?”
- SEGRETERIA TIM: “The user you are calling is watering the weeds in the garden. Leave an insult after the beep.”
- GIANNI R., TAXI DRIVER: “Sir, for the umpteenth time, there is no airport in Pontremoli!”
- GOLD FISH: “………….. .. .. . . .”
- CHUN-HO, Pizza-Express: “iqi van hou du chi chi saaaaah”
- FRANCESCO AMADORI: “Parola di Francescooo Amadoriiii”
- BART SIMPSON: “Eat my shorts!”
- JOHNNY GLAMOUR “Fafa fa-fa-fa…good morning!”
- BOBO VIERI "Um...as far as I know...boh."
IV-bis. The pseudo-Parodi (Cristina or Benedetta? interesting...)
An odd, triangular alteration to the writings of our scientific reporter was performed by a user who went by "De Lorenzo," author of a personal page that is both entertaining and forcibly serious, mimicking styles, piercing, and horns, turning them inside out at an eyewear shop in Formate (in Milan). It's said that the same author even reviewed the video game of Filippo Galli’s son, "Lucio Galli: Playstation 2." The initiative is as interesting as the metro schedules of an Armenian city where we'll never go, stemming from a phallic premise, an object of iron-man and stomach-turning inversion, among which stands out the obviously reactionary nature of De Lorenzo’s writings, whose suppositories and brooms are not, therefore, understood at all, nor the ledges mentioned.
In short, the judgment of this fake-user does not differ from the starting grid positions of the GP IV, sweeping up a synoptic philology that will, logically, be clear to the entire human and animal kingdom, which will be discussed at the symposium on September 31, 2016, titled "Life, Death, Work. The reason for a coffee break."
V. An impossible dialogue? (don’t you think a referendum is unnecessary to say: YESSS)
The above comments seem to testify that the dialogue between De_Lorenzo and the site’s average user is still far from reaching (maritime) shores of satisfaction and perhaps will never get there, unless mullets and geese start signing up to Debaser as well.
It should be noted, incidentally, that the arguments, randomly presented with the precision of a lumberjack holding a scalpel and the expertise of a milkman piloting a jet, are often followed by rebuttals that aim not so much to dismantle De_Lorenzo’s points (also because there would be little to dismantle), but to make jokes, share recipes for Afghan first courses, personal chats between users, shopping lists—that is, topics a thousand times more relevant than those thrown out there by the author.
An example of this is the review, as riveting as a Platinette striptease, of the classic by Carlo Mars (the chocolate guy) and Federico Angel’s (aka Charlie), "The Manifesto of the Consumerist Party": none, or almost none, of the over one hundred glosses on the review actually refute the historical drift of Marxist philosophy, but instead focus on the harmful health implications for the author caused by pretending to have read the book in question.
In all cases, the attack is aimed at the anonymous contemporary reviewer, mere symbol of the zeitgeist (understood as ethyl alcohol) of the dark times and the world’s condition due to the hole in the ozone layer.
The reasons for all this seem eye-related, but can be outlined as follows: for the totally biased arguments, or at least unreasonable and randomly stated, of De_Lorenzo, there often follow rational and convincing replies, which he pretends not to see or genuinely doesn’t see due to a disconnected monitor, hiding behind prejudices against the author or behind a wooden plank nailed over the webcam.
The apparent ways of refuting De_Lorenzo and the means through which this occurs are various:
i. mockery: jokes, wisecracks to lighten the pitiful state of his 39-inch PC’s derision.
ii. incredulity: amazement, bewilderment at the majesty of the sea.
iii. hate: threats, ill omens that would disappear if he stopped reading horoscopes.
iiii. haughtiness: insults, arrogance, discredit: though it’s not clear from whom to whom.
iiiii. helmsman: detachment, fleeing to the lifeboat. AAAH! NO! the iceberg! Turnnnnn!
For now, the dialogue—that is, the challenge irrationality-disconnection-bias vs tranquility-reasoning-passion—sees the former statistically succumbing, and with it De_Lorenzo.
But faith in disorderly reason—and in the truth dictated by the Forza Italia press office in collaboration with Rockerduck and Gargamel—abstention from all arithmetic and cheese logic (which would be the art of stacking cheeses in a dairy, something in which our guy excels and which leads him, in fact, to create apparent enemies where none would otherwise exist), are values that don’t discourage De_Lorenzo in his continuous search for liquid wood or the round ruler, always ready to rewrite history (especially that of Phinocchio), provided its erroneous nature can be demonstrated on a seasonal and mechanical basis.
VI. What does he expect for the future. (a one-way ticket to Greenland?)
To make the pencil randomly hop across the keyboard, reflect for 2-3 minutes a week, study children’s comics, defeat prejudices against cockroaches, overcome clichés in order to have no common ground with anyone anymore, instill hope for a better world by vanishing instantly, shed light on conveniently dark corners of history, reconsider apparent truths imposed by superficial thinking as dictated by some UDC minister, see whether the capybara Maria Berlusconi will succeed Scrooge McDuck as leader of the sleaziest Italian political party (and above all whether Ridge will still love Broke), start his own fortune-telling service based on psycho-philatelic discussions with the adorable Fido Berlusconi, the Illustrious One’s dog, plus—but that’s among the dreams in the chest—provoke tidal waves or landslides of letters and bytes on Debaser.
Rome, stardate 367384 / B2
De_Lorenzo Asdrubale.
THAT’S ALL FOLKS!
