Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

I find increasingly there is a lot in common between an independent high street shop and a man, unless you are involved it has just always been there, then one day you notice it is looking a bit tired, then one day it is just gone, death seems to be like that, and it is the ultimate leveller.

You may just pop your clogs suddenly overnight, or fairly quickly over a few weeks, or gradually over a few years, but once the end starts to set in, it’s pretty bloody obvious to all concerned it is the endgame.

There may be some life in the old dog yet, but don’t expect anything new, any action, any major changes, for the individual concerned if there was any shit they wanted to do with life, well, they missed the bus, and it ain’t never coming back, for the rest of us, well, you missed the chance to get to know that person when they were alive, now they may technically still be alive, but it is all God’s Waiting Room stuff.

I suspect countries are the same, when my dad was alive the USA was still a working man able to put in a 40 hour week at the steel mill and make shit, just a bit slower than it could when dad was a boy, back then the USA could come over here and work a 60 hour week and make shit that lasted 50 years, shortly after my old man died the USA was an old man in his chair, unable to do much of anything, not even do much about stuff at the end of an interstate in New Orleans, and now, now he is just a feeble old fool in his chair, dribbling and shitting while those who are acting with his power of attorney make way for the new boy king, whoever that will be.

By the time you get to my age, in your fifties, chances are you aren’t going to do anything new, it will most likely just be variations on a theme you already visited, all your completely new ground-breaking stuff is probably behind you… not that anything you did do was ground breaking, it was just new shit to you.

That first fuck, may have made a huge impression on you at the time, but in the great scheme of things it doesn’t register.

A man on a boat at sea, particularly a man on a boat he has built or helped to build himself, and I mean a boat with sails here, tends to get some perspective, much of human endeavour equates to trying to change the nature of the sea itself, in practical terms you have to take that boat and work with the sea, fight it and you sink and die, and the boat itself, again you’re pretty limited, change much and you sink and die, mainly it is a case of eating shitting sleeping and manning the boat, and trying to go with the flow of the sea and wind and hopefully go in the direction you want to go, but, you are at the mercy of all these elements, and you know it.

However many billions of us blobs of writhing protoplasm jerking around like puppets at the behest of our DNA is just another element really, I am bobbing around on the sea of humanity, currently the winds are fickle and there are shoals everywhere and I can smell a storm coming, but there is fuck all I can do about that.

I can sit here and list all the things that when you see them on a wimminz you know it has no future;

• tats
• piercings
• big hoopy earrings
• coloured hair, especially unnatural colours
• etc etc etc

… and there really isn’t any point, I could list all sorts of things about a boat that make it unsuitable, but at the end of the day you will never get on a boat, and a good sailor who knows how to go with the flow will get even a bad boat to some place else eventually.

And that’s the thing Jack, you can sail from say the UK to the Mediterranean, and take three months and go with the flow, so you can spend two weeks having travelled only 100 nautical miles from your port of departure, waiting for the right conditions to round Ushant, or you can run it to a timetable and fight the elements, and suddenly it becomes hard and dangerous work that is hard on men and hard on the boat, like fishing.

If you’re going fishing and risking life and limb and the boat, well boy, you’d better be making a fucking good living at it, else, why the fuck else are you doing it?

Same with life, if you’re bucking the flow, which is what 99.999% of people do, then boy you’d better be making a fucking good living at it, which maybe 0.1% of people do, else why are you doing it, when you could be living like me, going with the flow, doing fuck all, achieving fuck all, just getting older, slowly, a day at a time, with minimal levels or stress and aggravation in your life.

There was a thread recently on a forum, “Do you like your job”… I thought this will be fun, especially as I knew many of the names posting there and knew something of their lives…. grabs a coffee and a smoke and sits down to read…. what the fuuuuk…

“I love my job”

95% of the comments were about how they loved their job, you’re fucking kidding me…. 95% of you have shitty mcjobs that pay fuck all and all you do is work to pay bills, fucking kid last night at the garage I prefer to buy diesel from whining to a girl about how he just got his monthly salary paid into the bank, and it was £820 after taxes, and he has no money left, because he has paid his bills.

But he loves his job because he can go out Friday nights and get shitfaced, which he wouldn’t need to do if he did not work a 42 hour week spread over 7 days doing a mind numbing mcjob.

Then one day he finds himself in his fifties and life has passed him by and you know the rest.

Got a mate in his forties, he’s chomping at the bit because he ain’t where he feels he ought to be, career wise, which means wage wise, he’s got a wife and kids and car and mortgage and compared to many in his area he is doing pretty good, but he ain’t happy, I tell him his problem is he gives a fuck.

He don’t want to know, he equates my attitude with being over the hill, past it, achieving nothing…. bitch, I’m like the replicant in blade runner, telling the cop that there is no point trying to tell the cop the sights these eyes have seen, the things this body has experienced, and none of that came about because I had a gung ho attitude, itchy feet and burning ambition to achieve some shit.

It came about because I was a bone idle lazy mother-fucker who just drifted from one current in the stream to another and got carried along, I spend ages doing nothing, but when I do do something I achieve a lot, for minimum effort and fuss.

My school reports all said the same thing, “Could do better”, if I have an epitaph that is what I want on my marker, COULD DO BETTER. Laughing my fucking ass off.

Now and again I’d make an effort, and get 95% in everything, the rest of the time I would coast, and get 65%, why the fuck not, either way I was still stuck in skool, so where was the incentive?

If we were a sane society sailing in the sea of humanity we would know we can’t change the nature of the sea, all we can do is build good harbours, good boats, and know when to stay in port, if you go abroad despite that it is going to be hard on the boats and those who sail in them, and it better be fucking worthwhile.

Oh, wait a minute, some jarhead gets his nuts blown off by an IED so Haliburton can make a nice big profit, it would seem that Haliburton knows the nature of the sea, it’s the jarhead who doesn’t.

I didn’t work my ass off at school and become a straight A model student for two reasons, one, school bored me shitless, I’d rather have been running around the jungle fucking around, and two, I had no skin in the game, my lot would not improve just because my ranking at the end of each term was higher than it was.

Mind you, I went to a good school with teachers who both knew the subject and could teach, I can’t imagine what my boys are going through now, stuck in the local komprehensiv skool, it must be soul destroying.

I spent this morning sitting with a relative, he was going though his medals because they fell down off the peg, not a bad little list, Burma Star, Atlantic Star, Pacific Star, etc etc, none of them were great medals, but it was unusual one guy could get the whole collection and still be alive, and he throws his hands in the air and says it is unbelievable, that was 70 years ago.

He is a shop that is technically still open, but hasn’t seen any new stock or customers in 20 years, and one day you’ll go by and it just won’t be there any more… and what was it for?

But for all of that at least it was a real shop, what will take it’s place is his nephews and nieces, who basically can’t wait until he dies so they can fight over whatever is left, and the medals, they will be sold of course… I prefer the crusty old shop that hasn’t had any new stock since 1995 myself.

I read this story

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2389212/Hannah-Smith-sent-vast-majority-hate-messages-committing-suicide-claim-website-bosses.html

and feel nothing, no surprise, no shit, and…. so 98% of the abusive messages that this girl received were sent from a computer with the same IP address and configuration as hers, so she either sent them herself or a family member or close friend did…. probably herself, or her darling sister……

But the skanky little bitch is still classified as a fucking “victim”, and the poor bastards who joined in and account for the remaining less than 2% of abusive messages will get all the fucking blame, meanwhile the founders of the website who correctly point out that the real blame lies in the parents providing a PC and internet connection in a fucking bedroom unsupervised for the kid are fucking vilified.

See earlier comments about sailing on a sea of humanity.

Go and do something YOU fucking enjoy, now matter how stupid or worthless or pointless or heretical others will see it, get YOUR stress levels down, get YOUR eyes open to see new things, get YOUR body to places to experience good things (even if it is only a sunrise somewhere alone) and fuck the rest of the world, why not, we don’t give a fuck about you… >;*) Why are you so busy trying to impress us?

Soon enough your shop will be fuckedcompany.com, no new stock, no new customers, you may as well do something you enjoy now so when it comes time to sit in the dark and wait for 5:30 so you can lock the front doors for the night, at least you will have some shit or memories to occupy yourself with.

No man is an island, it was from a middle ages guy called John Dunne, and everyone knows it, another one everyone knows, almost nobody knows is the rest of no man is an island, and that is never ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.

Meh, not only can I not claim originality for the seas of humanity, I can’t even claim originality for not being able to claim originality, there really is nothing new about human nature under the sun.

That’s why you go to the grave of your father and grandfather when you are a red pill motherfucker man, you dunno how long you have left but given you been here for 50+ years you know damn well you’ve used up more than half, no matter what, so you go to the grave and wash the stones down and make sure the flowers are OK, and laugh at the old dead men, who laughed at you when you were a young man full of piss and vinegar.

They walked these roads ahead of you, they get the fucking joke, I’m starting to..