Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

Chances are, if it, whatever it is, makes you angry, it is a shit test.

Chances are, if your responses upon feeling that anger are to express your anger, calmly, quietly, verbally, and then walk away, you just aced that shit test, by doing the exact last thing they hoped you would do.

Having a slow fuse is pretty much essential for beating shit tests.

Having a stiff neck too, because this prevents you turning your head while walking away so you can go back and check on the results.

It’s pretty much baa baa black sheep time, you have to deliver your response and walk away, you can’t lead a horse to water.

This is all relevant stuff, because as you get older you accumulate experiences, and these experiences reflect back upon your demeanour and attitudes….

If your dad died on the 17th December 2000, your son died on the 18th December 2001, your best friend died on the 19th December 2002, your wife ran out on you on the 20th December 2003, and your dog died on the 21st December 2004 then right about this time of year you are not in a good frame of mind.

Any shit test life throws at you now is likely to unleash additional anger, above and beyond what the shit test itself incurs, and this is important, because you must only respond with the appropriate level of disgust that the shit test alone warrants, go over the top and you go at a stroke from aceing the shit test to failing it, abysmally…

Yesterday I talked about knowing what to do, but having to sacrifice something and not be able to keep it in order to actually do that thing, today I am talking about shit tests, and I want to round this off with a third thing, a quote attributed to St Francis of Assisi;

“Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change,
he courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.”

And so as it happens late last night / early this morning today I am granted another shit test in life, this time from a wimminz with a cunt full of my cum.

1. In the knowing what to do and being prepared to sacrifice it, it is a case of telling her that her shit test was insulting and demeaning and angered me, and walking out, and not keeping my access to a total slut bod with monster tits and a tight cunt.
2. In the shit test sense it is a case of allowing my righteous anger to flare, controlling it so it never gets past my eyes and tone of voice, and listening to that red pill that is the righteous anger in response to unjust treatment, and reacting accordingly, but with dignity and justice and maintaining the moral high ground.
3. In the St Francis sense it is knowing that I cannot change the nature of the wimminz, having the courage to walk away from the poon, and being smart enough to know which one is useless wheel-spin burning up my tyres, and which one gets me outta there lickety split.

As I tell my wimminz who hope to graduate from pump and dump one night stands to FWB to long term FWB, being with me is an IQ test, if you aren’t smart enough to want, of your own volition and by your own efforts, to be with me, then you failed the fucking IQ test and you are no use to me.

Me trying to be nice to them, me trying to accommodate them, me pandering to their whims, all just turns into counter-productive effort, I enable their bad habits while simultaneously weakening my own moral position.

When a child misbehaves and stamps its feet and throws a tantrum the worst thing you can possibly do is reward that behaviour by telling the child you love them, or that they are beautiful, or special, or lovely.

You have to chastise them and explain the error of their ways.

There HAS to be an accounting, there HAVE to be consequences for transgressions, there MUST be a net mean worth that is affected negatively by negative actions on their part, and positively by positive actions on their part.

In the land of the blue pill here will be much gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair, but by doing this you risk losing the very wimminz you say is potentially so good for you.

On the contrary, all I am losing is the ILLUSION of this putative good wimminz, if she was genuinely good, then she would see the justice and truth and fairness in my position, and amend her own behaviour and attitudes, and show empirically by direct experimental proofs that she is indeed as good as she is made out to be in my dreams.

I was 17 and desperately in love with a very hot, very special, very sexy motorsickle, my dad came along to look at it, and basically found every single fault with it, and shattered my dreams and illusions and fantasies.

It was a tough fucking pill to swallow, but the old bastard was RIGHT.

I lost my faith in that particular bike, (Benelli 6 with 3,000 miles) but I retained my faith in motorsickles in general, and in my father in particular.

The irony here is the red-pill motherfuckers like me who have zero time for the wimminz and niggerz of the world, are the very ones most likely to keep faith with the real women, and the real men, should we encounter them.

On that day that my dad trashed the Sei he just trashed bikes owned by assholes who rode everything like they stole it, and consequently taught me to feel compassion for every motorsickle and car I did subsequently own…. even to this day I am the only fucker who around here who goes out in December, starts the car at idle and runs it at 750 rpm until I see the temperature gauge start to move.

All I ever hear is people telling me I am either lucky or good with vehicles, because I buy cars for less than a thousand euros in today’s money and drive them for three or more years, doing essentially no work apart from fluids and filters and pads…

A vehicle that has been owned by someone who rode it like they stole it can only ever be ridden like you stole it, and can never be relied upon to complete one journey, much less the return journey as well.

Same shit applies to wimminz/women.