Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

I make lots of small bets with myself, like “that’s it, that bitch ain’t gonna ask me for another fuck” and so on, and often times I find myself wishing I was a much bigger cunt than I am, so that I could name names, post SMS history, use actual images.

It would be a lot easier to explain what I am trying to say that way.

For want of a better moniker, jane49 falls into this category, we met, we fucked like bunnies for a month or two, she pulled some typical wimminz dissembling bullshit on me, I called her on it, she went away with her feelings hurt, we still talk now and again, but she ain’t gonna ask me for another fuck, that’s my bet.

I’d quite like to fuck her again, massive tits, smells nice, good company, but that is just one aspect of her personality, the other aspect is the career girl…

Just this morning I was talking to another chick, this chick has been diagnosed as schizophrenic, but the ironic thing is, unlike jane49, this chick knows she has separate and conflicting personalities and desires, jane49 doesn’t, so as soon as her sexual life with me started to creep out of the petri dish that her career girl life imposed, everything got closed down.

It’s a fucked up world when those with severe mental issues are more honest with themselves and you than an apparently got it together independent career girl.

But it all serves to remind me of a simple fact of (my) male psychology, and that simple fact is that if a wimminz does not fuck me for two weeks, she is fading fast from my radar, and as soon as you start fading from my radar it is the good things that fade first, sure, I remember the GG cup tits, but with fondness not lust, meanwhile the negatives occupy more of the remaining radar plot, the skin that really should have been better on a 30 year old, the weight that really should have been 40lbs less, the way my bathroom stank of hairspray when you did stay over and got ready in the morning…

And then these fade too…

And then some months later I hook up with a chick who wants me to come over and use and abuse her, so the bitch gives me her address and zip for the GPS, and I think, “Hey, jane33 lived in that village, wonder what she is up to now” because the fact is jane33 fell off the radar, the same way jane49 is now, and so the road to oblivion and old age smelling of cats and piss is paved for all these wimminz.

There are a lot of janes’ out there that I simply pass on, unfuckable and nothing about them would induce me to waste an hour of my life in their company, and without exception if you could wind the clock back ten or twenty years, or cocks, or whatever, go back in time, they would have been different, they would have been a jane33 or a jane49.

I don’t even feel sorry for these janes’ any more, I don’t even sigh at the wasted potential… my life is too short to expend even that much time on their plight, because it is totally self inflicted.

But I am aware that there is a general social cost, a debt stored away for future redemption.

I am also acutely aware that I am living a lifestyle that is tailored to minimise my exposure, while living off the fat while I can, my current lifestyle is no more moral or high born than a crow, hopping across a battlefield and eating the eyes of the dead.

Fuck it, rather pull up some old David Allan Coe and chill.

But, I have to be honest, there is a nasty part of me that hopes he is still in contact with jane49 when the wheels fall off her wagon, ayup, “How’d that work out for ya?” and “Told ya so!” spring to mind.

See, let’s take jane49 as an example, the story and details will change with the jane, but the basic backstory and principle is all the same.

Jane49 has a house on a mortgage, but it is a modern mortgage, (back when I was a lad doing accountancy a mortgage = a debt = a liability, nowadays people call it a fucking asset… go figure) negative equity special before we even get a property crash, but thankfully for her she has some tenants in that are paying enough rent to cover the mortgage payments, so she just isn’t looking at what could go wrong here, or how wrong it could go, so her eye is firmly on the fact she just rolled a bunch of sixes in a row, and the only permit-able reality is she is going to be able to continue to roll sixes… you can try to talk to her about it, and she will accept that other outcomes are possible, dislike where that train of thought is going, and dismiss the whole issue, after all, she is rolling sixes.

She has a job here, some distance from her house, so she has a flat on a lease / rent, and her job is basically sales, and it is a foreign owned company, and 99% of what they sell is basically cheap imported crap from china.

Between this that and the other, despite the company car, she doesn’t save any money, all those salon treatments, nights out and so on.

So of course all it takes is a blip in the UK economy, which is tanking, or a blip in the chinese economy, or a simple thing like a blip in the exchange rate or shipping costs, and the whole business model of the foreign company she works for crumbles.

She isn’t going to get ANOTHER job elsewhere in sales, because the sorts of things discussed above hit the whole economy, it’s not like the kenyan coffee company goes tits up because of a civil war in kenya, so you can go work for the colombian coffee company instead.

The first thing the foreign company will do is drop the 9,500 chinese made things from the product line, and go back to the 500 EU made things, that’s called restructuring, and that means job losses across the board.

A “career” in sales isn’t a great thing when the economy tanks, and you have no savings, no transport when the company car is taken, no home because yours is rented out, and oh yeah, house prices just dropped 30% so you can’t sell as you owe £130k on a place that might sell at £100k, if you are lucky.

You’re now mid thirties, so your best reproductive years are behind you, and all you can do is wail that “Nobody could have predicted this!!!”

Me coughs politely… “‘scuse me bitch, I did predict this, exactly… so remind me, bitch, this career of yours that was more important than a relationshit with me, how did that work out for ya?”

And then we get to the nitty gritty… even if she threw herself at me, what’s in it for me?

It was all fine and dandy when the bitch had a disposable income and could feed and clothe herself and turn up at mine with a bottle and some eats, or I’d go to hers because she had a nice place and the heating was on and there was coffee in….

But NOW? Now you don’t have shit?

The really interesting thing, for the boy that used to do accountancy within me, is if you do a balance sheet for her life NOW, when everything is find and dandy and her career comes first, she is left with net liabilities, and if you do another one where she has lost her job / career, and her house is in 30% negative equity, she is still left with net liabilities, and to be honest, they aren’t THAT much greater than now.

The difference will be in the cash flow, income and expenditure department, she won’t be able to service those liabilities, or me…

And that little detail is what is going to screw up so many people that you won’t believe….

That little detail is why I can walk through the city centre, and see few people, and see almost nobody with bags of shopping, and all the shops are empty…. it’s not just a question of assets and liabilities, it’s a question of cash flow.

The greater your liabilities, the greater your minimum cash flow needs to be to keep you above economic stall speed, but the effects are the same when you hit it, game over and you fall out of the sky as an independent economic entity.

There is an old saying about being nice to the people you meet on the way up, because you will probably meet most of them again on the way down.

A lesson the janes of this world will learn the hard way.

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