So, there was a funeral in the morning, a small crew of attendees wearing rented Elvis gear, a surreal moment at the service when at the warm up, the last track played was an Elvis track, just not like the other Elvis tracks, this was Elvis Costello, I don’t wanna go to chelsea.
Quite funny really, especially as Jim’s skank ho ex was called Elsie.
Last night was bizarre too, it felt more like being in a first person RPG than walking down actual streets, I guess satire and marketing jumped the shark when lots of stuff in real life is more unreal than lots of stuff in video life.
So breakfast (coffee and smokes) this morning is a bunch of guys dressed like Elvis, all of whom work in IT, all of whom have at some point failed the modern security clearances to work on certain government / education / police contracts, not because they were security risks, but because they weren’t nice blank sheets of paper and had actually done some bad things at some point in their lives, or been near those who had, or been accused of it by “people” like Elsie, discussing the debacle of the guy who was security vetted so well nobody noticed either his criminal record or the FACT HE COULD NOT EVEN FUCKING SIGN before standing him literally in arm’s reach of Obama for Mandela‘s funeral.
Way to go NSA / CIA / FDA / WTF
The whole morning, and the service itself, went like that, if anyone else had been invited I am positive they would have said it was totally disrespectful, but the fact is if Jim had been there he would have been participating in every single one of those conversations, and the only moment of doubt I suffered was last night when one of the other guys tried to start a bar tab in Jim’s name, “he’ll be along in a minute…” LRFH
Anyway for one reason or another one of the lads asked about my sex life, oho yet another one kicked to the kerb is it, and they picked up on something I hadn’t, there has been a series of these the last couple of years, and, from one perspective, you could say I fucked them all up.
From that perspective, to not fuck them up, or at least to not fuck them up at that time and place, all I had to do was keep my fucking mouth shut, but when you don’t do that, when you adopt a louder and more forceful tone and do a whole WTF, that is outrageous, that you should do that, and that you should expect me to just buy it… they all got fucked up.
I hadn’t actually made the connection, it was always after I called them on their shit, my problem apparently is I do so in such a way, with logic and reason, that it doesn’t give a way out for creatures who simply will not ever admit to fucking up, much less atoning for their actions or personally bearing the consequences of them.
There then followed a bunch of discussion about whether I was really a callous bastard who seized upon such moments to GTFO while the going was still good and you’d had all the best that that particular wimminz could offer, or whether I was really an autistic bastard who didn’t even know what he was doing… at the time…
Y’all aren’t allowed to smoke inside in the UK no more, so it was after this I’m outside for a smoke, and there is this young chick there, seen her hear us inside so she doesn’t have to ask what’s with the elvis shit or funeral talk etc, “to Jim, cheers” etc she has overheard it all.
Now, at any other time I’d have fucked the ass off her, youth has a certain beauty all its own, but my mind isn’t really on that as it isn’t possible, so with no warning at all she walks over to me and gives me a big kiss on the cheek and a hug and says what we are doing is so sweet… takes a final drag on her smoke, throws it to the ground and starts to walks away.
I say hey girl, what gives, and there she is, all of 19 or so, and gives me the saddest smile, and she says if a woman dies can you imagine a bunch of her friends desssing up as Madonna just because she was a huge fan, and having a night out to celebrate her? and she walks away into the night and the sodium light… I finished my smoke, went back in, and forgot all about it, then there is teh service and blah de blah and we go our separate ways, and I’m sitting in the train writing this on the tablet, because I can’t get what that girl said out of my head.
Other times, other funerals, other wimminz, all I can remember is them wanting to play dress up, and I don’t mean Tina Turner, I mean LBD and heels and make up and hair do, and that little girl is right, I just can’t imagine the fuckers doing what we did, all I can see is vicars and tarts, and hen nights, and a big gap, and other dead wimminz, like my grandmother, who was a battleaxe bitch, but who remained a single widow for 30 years and only ever wore black as a widow, and that shit has gone forever.
“No man is an island”
maybe, no wimminz is ever anything else but.
Wimminz, I know your answer to what I’m about to say might be something along the lines of, “Shut up kid, It’s not for you man, it’s me. I gotta write. I gotta let this stuff out.” But I’ll say it anyway since I gotta let this stuff out too.
I was very, very, very, lucky to be born into an intact family with good mum and dad in the yoo-nited states. My dad is an engineer, he’s a hard man (in blue pill language, “controlling”). My mom is a sweet lady, and of course she’s a woman she has her crazy moments and whatnot, but she always put us before her career (which was only part-time, during school hours). They’re not perfect, but as parents they are, in my eyes about as close to perfect as one could ask for in this day in age. The reason I bring that up is because even though they’ve done an exemplary job as parents, they are still very blue pill, and as such, there are aspects of life that they were unable to prepare me for. I’m not blaming them, and considering that we were all born in a blue pill pharmacy, only those with the most vigilant thirst for reality will ever question The Official Word. In fact, it’s a bit of a paradox. In these times, would the household I grew up even be possible if my dad was not dyed-in-the-wool blue pill, would he still put up with my mum’s moments of craziness and still assume the role of beast of burden? So there’s that. OK, OK, getting to the point.
For many of us youngsters (I’m in my mid twenties), we simply don’t have ANY mentors on the red pill, ESPECIALLY when it comes to women. At best, there are some generic brand red pill packages that on closer inspection, are more like purple pills, there is clearly still a lot of blue that went into the manufacture of said pill. That is why this blog has become a most valuable insight into the nature of wimminz. Not the nature we’ve been taught since birth, or by our parents, or even the one we desperately want to believe to protect our ego/worldview/whatever. It’s red pill, reality, this is wimminz motherfucker, NAWALT, wake the fuck up. That is something many of us have NEVER heard before, but desperately need to have pounded in our heads so we don’t do something that could fuck up our entire lives. I’d buy you a pint, but I’m not in suburban England that often, maybe someday. So, I just wanted to sincerely say, THANK YOU!!!
Comment by Phoenix — December 14, 2013 @ 5:52 pm
Ain’t got no reason to tell you to shut up, you don’t judge a man by his circumstances, you judge him by his behaviour, given the set of circumstances he find himself in.
Say you are literally on the bones of your ass, clothes you are stood up in, no money, no place to stay, nothing to eat, those are your circumstances, I’ll judge you by how you react, if you steal food, what do you steal and who do you steal it from, did you have any practical alternatives to stealing that food, etc.
I have news for you though, *I* didn’t have any mentors in the red pill, I had (some, a very few) mentors in what is *right*, I’m not here to be a red pill mentor, I’m here to say what is, I believe, right, if I am wrong then my arguments will be easy enough to de-construct and refute using simple logic and observation of actual fact.
If it walks like a duck, quacks, etc…lol
Comment by wimminz — December 14, 2013 @ 6:30 pm