I am a 47 year old gun collecting civil engineer living 20 kilometers outside of Saint Petersburg. I have two dogs and family in the U.S. And I am not in a relationship, ladies. If found in reality I will repaint with your blood splatter. I am also a proud supporter of Cuil Theory, a lengthy description can be found beneath my life story, which is jam packed with errors and poor grammar. If you want more contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org
My Life Story
Born into a Soviet household in 1968 the military was always a family job my father served so did my grandfather. So it was only natural that I join. I enlisted rather late considering that I went to study civil engineering. When I did enlist they put this to great use as a combat engineer. At first they gave me some options of what I could do as a combat engineer and the fifth thing that I was told was working with a team of scientist that were working with nuclear weaponry and needed someone with some knowledge to build launch pads and such which were occasionally destroyed if a rocket failed to fire and detonated on the launch pad. This went well until the radiation sickness started to set in. It was absolute hell, and it still affects me today, I have thyroid issues and am sterile. The devices that they created in that facility are still classified today as far as I am concerned and do not think that part of my career is the best to give to the world (but everything I have given you has my approval) While on a temporary leave I flew to a larger base and got talking with an infantry man. He told me that he maid good pay with limited hazards considering that they mainly just trained on how to deal with an American invasion and if their was any unrest in the occupied territory that the Soviet Union had under rule. This seemed pretty good at the time and we had no real conflict at the time. I signed on for a transfer at the end of my leave time. In five months time after I got back the Afghan war had been declared and I was going south. I didn't see a problem with it at first; all we did for about a month or so was get ready to set up bridges and infrastructure if it was at all needed. The first to be sent out were the combat engineering groups and some infantry to protect us. I was trained on what to do if a firefight ensued and I knew how to build a Bailey Bridge and so did everyone that we were with. I thought that there wouldn't be an issue until the first bridge had to be put up. We started to unpack the steal girders when our first man collapsed from heat stroke. He was crushed and killed by the beam he was carrying. We went on to cross the mountain river that we were tasked with. Stories like the one of our crushed man were becoming more common. I heard one were a bulldozer driver went right into the river they were trying to cross where he drowned. Then the enemy came. With blinding fire power and guerrilla tactics we were never prepared for. They sent booby traps and mines that would compromise their own retreat path just to compromise ours. This went on until the war ended, right before I bribed a man and got my self an RPD machine gun and an AK-47 assault rifle. Two years latter the Union collapsed, I was out of work with a sister that wanted nothing more than to flee for the U.S. I had nothing in Russia. I had no family other than her and no excuse to stay. We went to the gate way to a better life, NYC, I got a job and started work on real bridges, ones that spanned hundred of meters across the Hudson and East rivers. Being a civil engineer I loved all of this and found it to be a true calling. This went on me enjoying my new career and expressing my assholery to the commuters of New York. My sister found and American and married him. He was a former U.S. soldier and looked at me with the look of hatred you get after you tease a dog with steak bigger than its self. About three months latter a man on my job site was crushed by falling debris. It brought back awful memories that broke me. I considered jumping off of that bridge. But instead I went to where I knew my past would be admired I went home to St. Petersburg. By then I learned English and really got into classic rock. I started working with smaller but no less beautiful bridges bought my self an apartment and two Caucasian Shepherds. I live in the same apartment with the same dogs, the same guns, and the same taste in music.
One Cuil = One level of abstraction away from the reality of a situation.
Example: You ask me for a Hamburger.
1 Cuil: if you asked me for a hamburger, and I gave you a raccoon.
2 Cuils: If you asked me for a hamburger, but it turns out I don't really exist. Where I was originally standing, a picture of a hamburger rests on the ground.
3 Cuils: You awake as a hamburger. You start screaming only to have special sauce fly from your lips. The world is in sepia.
4 Cuils: Why are we speaking German? A mime cries softly as he cradles a young cow. Your grandfather stares at you as the cow falls apart into patties. You look down only to see me with pickles for eyes, I am singing the song that gives birth to the universe.
5 Cuils: You ask for a hamburger, I give you a hamburger. You raise it to your lips and take a bite. Your eye twitches involuntarily. Across the street a father of three falls down the stairs. You swallow and look down at the hamburger in your hands. I give you a hamburger. You swallow and look down at the hamburger in your hands. You cannot swallow. There are children at the top of the stairs. A pickle shifts uneasily under the bun. I give you a hamburger. You look at my face, and I am pleading with you. The children are crying now. You raise the hamburger to your lips, tears stream down your face as you take a bite. I give you a hamburger. You are on your knees. You plead with me to go across the street. I hear only children's laughter. I give you a hamburger. You are screaming as you fall down the stairs. I am your child. You cannot see anything. You take a bite of the hamburger. The concrete rushes up to meet you. You awake with a start in your own bed. Your eye twitches involuntarily. I give you a hamburger. As you kill me, I do not make a sound. I give you a hamburger.
6 Cuils: You ask me for a hamburger. My attempt to reciprocate is cut brutally short as my body experiences a sudden lack of electrons. Across a variety of hidden dimensions you are dismayed. John Lennon hands me an apple, but it slips through my fingers. I am reborn as an ocelot. You disapprove. A crack echoes through the universe in defiance of conventional physics as cosmological background noise shifts from randomness to a perfect A Flat. Children everywhere stop what they are doing and hum along in perfect pitch with the background radiation. Birds fall from the sky as the sun engulfs the earth. You hesitate momentarily before allowing yourself to assume the locus of all knowledge. Entropy crumbles as you peruse the information contained within the universe. A small library in Phoenix ceases to exist. You stumble under the weight of everythingness, Your mouth opens up to cry out, and collapses around your body before blinking you out of the spatial plane. You exist only within the fourth dimension. The fountainhead of all knowledge rolls along the ground and collides with a small dog. My head tastes sideways as spacetime is reestablished, you blink back into the corporeal world disoriented, only for me to hand you a hamburger as my body collapses under the strain of reconstitution. The universe has reasserted itself. A particular small dog is fed steak for the rest of its natural life. You die in a freak accident moments later, and you soul works at the returns desk for the Phoenix library. You disapprove as a familiar looking man approaches the desk in a shirt advertising a local brewery that you know all too well. You flee from him to the safety of the break room, a co-worker cuts you off to the door. Avoiding her by turning thirteen-thousand degrees in the eight dimension, you manage to scuff your left shoe. You disprove. Your disapproval sends ripples through the inter-dimensional void between life and death. A small child begins to cry as he walks toward the stairway where his father stands.
7 Cuils: I give you a hamburger. The universe is engulfed within itself. A bus advertising hotdogs drives by a papillon. It disapproves. An unnatural force reverses Earth's gravity. You ask for a hamburger. I reciprocate with a mildly convulsing potato. You disapprove. Your disapproval releases a cosmic shift in the void between birth and life. You ask for a hamburger. A certain small dog feasts on hamburger patties for the rest of its unnatural, eternal endurance. Your constant disapproval sends silence through everything. A contrived beast becomes omnipotent. You ask for a hamburger. I give you a hamburger your body becomes an unsettled blob of nothingness, then divides by three. The papillon barks. The universe realigns itself. You, the papillon, and the hamburger disapprove. This condemnation stops the realignment. Hades freezes over. A pig is launched is launched into the unoccupied existence between space and time with a specific hamburger. You ask for a hamburger. I give you a hamburger. It screams as you lift it to your face. You laugh maniacally as I plead with you. You devour the hamburger as it pleads for mercy. I disapprove and condemn you to an eternity in a certain void where a certain pig and its specific hamburger are located. The Universal Space-time Continuum Committee disapproves of my irrational decision. You are locked away and are fed hamburgers for the rest of your natural existence. A pickle refuses to break down during the process of digestion. You die in a freak accident. A certain pickle lives the rest of its life in a comatose state. Your soul disapproves. Down the street a child cries as a hamburger gets stuck in, and climbs back up, her esophagus. You ask again for a hamburger. I refuse to reciprocate. You demand a lawyer. I remind you harshly that this is the new world order. Lawyers no longer exist. Only papillons. Your name is written on a list of sins. Blasphemy. You ask for a hamburger. The comatose pickle vanquishes your soul from this universe. Realignment occurs. You beg for a hamburger. A certain papillon's name is written on an obelisk in Egypt. Mumble. Peasants worship the obelisk. Your soulless corpse partakes in the festivity. Hamburgers are banned universally. The sun implodes. All planets cease to have ever existed. Mercury. Venus. Earth. Mars. Jupiter. Saturn. Uranus. Neptune. Pluto is the only mass in existence. Conveniently, you are on vacation here. Your need for hamburgers re-establishes space-time. Earth is recreated under your intergalactic rule. Hamburgers are your army. You wake up. Clowns. Clowns everywhere. Your dream rushes to meet you. You are kidnapped. You ask for a hamburger. They hand you a hotdog.
Apparently, people thought this was an interesting way to consider the relationships between objects. This website is an attempt to explain exactly how Cuil Theory is intended to work, so that in the future we can rate world on a scale of strangeness and surrealism that actually fits a standard.
For all practical purposes, the Cuil is represented by an Interrobang: Which cannot be displayed.
This is because the Interrobang is fearsome, awesome, and not in use for mathematical reasons to the best of my knowledge.
Anyone is welcome to join the site and help construct Cuil Theory, and we hope you use it while describing a drug trip in the very near future.
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