Much of this is going to appear to be self evident and too obvious to even talk about to many, but, with the passage of time and the gaining of experience, you will realise that while the thing itself is self evident, the baggage it carries, and the reach of its effects, are vast beyond imagining.
Fucking up is like debt in two ways;
There is the capital cost
There is the interest rate and term (schedule) of repayments
Capital cost of course varies from person to person, position to position, and society to society, but, crucially, so does the interest rate and term of repayments.
This is what Anatole France was referring to when he wrote “In its majestic equality, the law forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges, beg in the streets and steal loaves of bread”
To any man the debt incurred by killing another citizen is far greater than the debt incurred by damaging their property, but this debt is not incurred equally by all men, nor charged at a rate of interest equally by all men, nor is it to be repaid within the same term by all men equally.
As we all know, nor is it equal across the sexes.
Nor is this debt owed to anything as fleeting as society, or the state, or community, instead, it is a debt owed to life itself.
For the youth, particularly the youth born to common stock and holding no wealth or power in his own right, this does not merely mean that he should avoid massive capital cost items like armed robbery and abduction and murder, these being the equivalent of the liar loan for the 500k McMansion, but ALL items have a cost, that bust for 1.5 grams of grass, that job you fucked up and got sacked from because you were always too hungover from the night before to start work on time, that qualification you failed to get because you were more interested in chasing cunt, sure, they are 5, 50 and 500 dollar purchases against the 500k McMansion scam, but the point is, they all add up.
So the 20 year old youth with the relatively clean slate with regards to debts owed to the bank of life, turns into the 25 year old, with significant debts owed to the bank of life, who turns into the 30 year old, with massive debts owed to the bank of life.
And here is the red pill.
It is too late, you can never be righteous enough to clear that debt by this stage, instead you have to be as righteous as you can be just to service it, if you don’t make as righteous as you can be, the debt grows explosively, your life turns to total shit, and because you are in denial, you are the last one to know it.
This is essentially what we independent men are talking about when we look at, for example, the skank ho single mom in her 30’s who has a 3 digit cock count and at least two kids by 2 different fathers, neither of whom is in her life now.
She is so far and deep in debt, because of her lifestyle, and subject to such high interest rates, because of her lack of status and influence, that the only future choices she has are the metaphorical workhouse or the gutter.
In street speak, at this point in her life it is absolutely guaranteed that everything she touches will sooner or later turn to shit.
But the reason is the baggage and reach of that “debt“, and the only reason she and you do not know this, is because some time around the mid 1960’s we started punishing everyone who tried to instil this in their children.
The lesson that you can either fuck up by making one or two large mistakes in life, or lots of very small ones, and get to a point where future options vanish, and your feelings about that are immaterial, tough fucking shit.
“You are going to throw away your life boy” is not something that is said to teenagers now, because there is nobody left who understands the lesson to tell them, and there is no point either, because unlike the society *I* grew up in, where your parents actually ensured that you got to 16 without owing the bank of life one red cent, the kids growing up today are often underwater in debt to the bank of life by the time they HIT their teens.
For bank of life, substitute the bank of karma, the bank of zen, the bank of righteousness, bank of shit, whatever suits you.
Essentially, you then find two things, one is the class of people who say oh shit, this fucking sucks, but still, spending the rest of your life in the workhouse is better than spending it in the gutter… and those who attempt to avoid paying the piper, guaranteeing that (as happened in real life back then) even the fucking workhouse would not take them, so the gutter was the only option there was.
Guess which type of person will always drag you down with them?
However much we as a society might revile the pasty skinned wimp who stays at home all day beating off to free porn on the internet and playing GTA-V because he “can’t get a girlfriend” and who is “billy no mates” and so on, the chances are that, all other things being equal, he is NOT incurring debts with the bank of life at any great rate, he just isn’t making any deposits in his savings account at the bank of life either, so he isn’t in great shape, debt to bank of life wise, but neither is he a lost cause when it comes to the future.
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It’s quite a quandary, let’s say my sons turn up out of the blue on my doorstep when they turn 16.
What advice do I give them? Really.. given that advice is useless until the hand is burned by the flame and the lessons learned, and it is different for everyone and every generation, I can’t give advice… it is pointless.
I’m probably doing them a greater service by standing there in silence, saying nothing to them, but wishing them well and hoping they survive long enough to understand their old man.
You want the bad news son, or the worse news?
The bad news is the bank of life exists boy, the worse news is your psycho skank ho mommy already opened an account in your name, and you are already overdrawn…. a lot…
Back in the 70’s, easyriders kicked ass, one of the things that kicked ass were the stories, usually with a Dave Mann drawing somewhere in there.
I remember one about a guy going to buy a “74 Harley” that was advertised, when he got there it was a 1974 Cagiva/Aermacchi 250cc 2 stroke single branded as a Harley Davidson, which was a legit thing at the time, and anyway the guy is a wannabe and promptly wheelies the thing straight across the road into another house and ends up in hospital, talking shit about the panhead he is gonna buy next.
One of the other stories that struck me was a biker who got the “right to reply” on a local TV cable channel, he was given 30 minutes of airtime, so he prepared himself and comes up with eloquent and dignified things to say and impart, you know, he was going for the thing that DMJ does in his videos, so he gets there and goes on air and the red light comes on and he has his 30 minutes of airtime.
So after wards he goes to the bar and asks everyone what they think, did he nail that fucker or what… grins…
Baffled faces all around.
Dude, you were stood there in silence for 30 minutes, looking like you were about to pop a fucking artery, both arms extended towards the camera, both middle fingers raised… you didn’t *say* a fucking word.
God help these cunts if they ever get a look at my (whole disk bit-locker encryption) work laptop, which has amongst other things all the details of all the sites of all the corporate customers, which is probably 75% of all the high street and FTSE 500 names, and a bunch of other businesses and companies you have never heard of, like the ones running your schools and hospitals.. not to mention carrying around the physical keys and pass-cards to walk into basically any of the telecomms hubs or local exchanges, and BTW the bigger of these masquerade in plain sight like CIA fronts, The United Fruit Company and all that.,
I walk around with this fucking info cos, you know, I need that fucking info to do my fucking job…
Leaving aside for one moment the hilarious irony that you get handed all this shit when you join the company, in the same way a sales guy gets handed a company car, it is an essential tool to do the job, and yet you can for whatever mysterious or not so mysterious reason fail one or more of the various security vetting procedures required to work on certain sites, OK, so you don’t trust me to (for example) go and do some work in the civilian / clerical section of the local police station, but I am walking around with access to the backbone itself… way to go sherlock…
As one commentard said, quite correctly, even though he posted anon, which means he is in the same game as me
Why people are under the illusion that ISPs knowing their email passwords is some kind of scandal is a mystery though. Of course they do. Sky knows what programs you watch, LG tv’s report home with the filenames of videos you want on your network (seen midgetpr0n.mkv lately?) OpenDNS knows every single site you browse, companies you’ve never heard of who provide transit to your ISPs routinely analyze your email messages to cut down on bandwidth wasted by spam, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, YouTube support can access every single thing you have ever posted or written on their sites. ISP support being able to check your email account is no different, it’s not some conspiracy to spy on you. If a company provides support for a service which you subscribe to in some way, then they have access to your account. Support doesn’t work without it.
Which is all true, it is just funny that it is a minority opinion and not blatantly obvious accepted fact on what is purported to be a tech specific IT specific website….
But oh noes, it is a bweach of my pwivacy, I want a password that NOOOOOOBODEE else ever knows, so that when I log into my fuckbook page and update the NSA/CIA/GCHQ database with my latest private information the nasty ISP staff cannot spy on me….
We get handed spreadsheets containing everything we could possibly need to know for all 950 ACME corp sites in the country, for example, for one reason and one reason only.
It’s easier for HQ to keep all the field guys updated with the latest revision of said master spreadsheet, as opposed to some droid in HQ going through said spreadsheet and only sending me today’s work/job details… a scenario that frankly I personally would HUGELY prefer, I fucking hate spreadsheets, especially ones that scroll 4x screen width left and right, in tiny text.
As one commentard said “Do you know how CHAP works” which whooshed over everyone’s head, sure, the plain-text password may not be actually sent in plain-text over the network, but the user-land device has to KNOW the fucking password to generate the hash, and unless the user-land device is a fucking psychic electronic mind-reader, some poor cunt has to type it in, and generally speaking to be able to type something in I have to know what I am typing.
Any additional levels of security provided by HQ only sending me that specific client’s details on that day, and that data itself as a password protected file, is utterly meaningless. Utterly. Fucking. Meaningless.
You know, if you really want to, to keep you safe from terr’rists and paedos and suchlike, we could make a car powered by mystery meat with all the powerplant and controls and drivetrain all welded shut, factory only access, hell, rolls royce did it back in the day, but the weak link in the chain is still YOU and the door and ignition keys that YOU hold, and do not secure adequately.
You want to live in a fucking technological world where shit like t’internet and telephones and computers just work, mainly… well you have to have a bunch of guys like me wandering around with the tools we need to do the job, and those tools are going to grant me access to all sorts of data.
One of our “clients” is a place that deals with vulnerable youth, deals with as in houses them, I turn up at one site last week and the person who answers the door remembers my face from another one of their sites that I visited previously, now THAT is authentication and security… I know this man.
I’m not going to go all Cryptome on your asses, that is Bruce’s job and he does it excellently, but the fact is, as the title says, 99% of people are too dumb to be allowed anywhere near the internet.
Back in 2000 there was a story doing the rounds, I have always liked it, some bitch calls Dell technical support, the poor bastard on the end of the line spends 45 minutes going through shit, or trying to, with this dumb bitch, so he eventually asks her a question, madam, do you still have the boxes the computer came in? Oh yes, she says, well that’s great says the support droid, I need you to pack the computer up and send it to us, oh, she says, is it that serious, oh yes he says, so what is the problem she says, what do I tell them when I send the computer back, and he says tell them you are too fucking stupid to use a computer.
Let’s say you’re a man, and you have three separate friends, Tom, Dick and Harry.
One night you’re talking to Tom, and he says to you, hey, how about we hang out next weekend? You say OK, what are we going to do? Tom says he doesn’t know, let’s just hang out and see what’s what, you agree.
You spend the next week thinking about things you and Tom could do, there is a bike show in this town, there is an electronics expo in that town, or you could both do a road trip to go see Dick, or you could just hang out at yours and listen to music and shoot the shit and grab a few beers.
You drop a dime on Dick, hey, me and Tom are hanging out this weekend, we might come up and see ya, is that cool or are you busy?
Meantime, Harry drops you a line, you fancy helping him move his boat this weekend, sorry Harry, already made plans to hang out with Tom, maybe we can both come and help, maybe we are going to take a road trip to see Dick, maybe we are just going to hang out.
Dick and Harry are both factoring everything you have said into THEIR plans for next weekend, and of course YOU are factoring everything Tom said into your plans, you are putting some things in the to do list, like maybe go see Dick, while passing up other opportunities, like go help Harry.
This is all OK, y’all are guys, there is only one of you and so many hours in the day, and basically you work it out between you.
Mean while, back in the real world, along comes Jane.
Now Jane ain’t Tom, or Dick, or Harry, nor is she anything like them, Jane is more like the weather.
The weather forecast for next weekend says it is gonna be fucking cold, and stormy, not ideal for a road trip or moving a boat, but the thing about the weather is you have to wait and see until the day, you can’t make plans.
Jane is like the weather, what she says she will do is right, or close enough to right, JUST OFTEN ENOUGH for you to listen to the next thing she says she will do, or the next weather forecast.
Jane is NOT like Tom, Dick and Harry, what they say they will do is right, like a train timetable is right, sure, sometimes due to unforeseen circumstances you get last minute delays and cancellations, but even then, you know they are working 24/7 to TRY to keep to the timetable, and the timetable itself, well that is trustworthy enough you trust keeping your job to it, or meeting your plane to it, or anything else that involves the fact that you have put a significant amount of trust into it, so if that trust fails to materialise the hardships you suffer as a consequence are also significant.
You see the FUNDAMENTAL difference here.
Tom, Dick & Harry feel OBLIGATED to come through on whatever it was they said they would do, and if they cannot, they feel bad, they let you know as soon as possible, and most of all they apologise, and mean it.
Most of all, because you and Tom and Dick and Harry discussed all this shit, you will discuss any changes and try to reach some consensus, where everyone still know what is going down, you do NOT unilaterally change YOUR plans, and then NOT bother telling Tom, or Dick, or Harry, they will figure it out when you ain’t where you said you would be…
Jane is like the weather, sure, you were expecting a sunny day, and made plans to go to the beach and all, but what you get on the day is what you get, and she ain’t gonna tell you, after all you’ll know soon enough when the rain starts falling.
Frog and Scorpion, you can’t change wimminz nature.
Your problems only start when you forget that.
If Jane suggests spending the weekend bouncing up and down on your cock, well, that would be nice, as would a sunny and warm day in winter, but if you bet on it, you’re a fool.
On the day, Jane is either going to turn up or she ain’t, and if she does, you are either going to be there or you ain’t… No PLANS mother-fucker, no timetable, no WEIGHT given to stated intentions.
Treat Jane like the weather, be prepared to take advantage of the warm and sunny day in winter, when you wake up that morning and find it warm and sunny, but do not under any circumstances place *any* weight in advance on that being a warm and sunny day.
Do not in any way base your decisions or actions or plans the preceding week on the basis that you are hoping for some warm and sunny weather, and have any expectations AT ALL of it coming to pass.
The bird in the hand, eg don’t pass up a blow job now from a 3 in the belief that the 6 who had made firm plans (which have been confirmed every day for the past two weeks) to spend all weekend worshipping your cock will actually show.
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There is a down side to this of course, if you treat Jane like this, instead of like a blue pill niggerz, Jane may decide she prefers someone else, in which case I will ask you what you have lost, yeah, you lost the chance to get the jackpot prize of 1,000 bucks you were after for your gratification, but you also lost the pain of paying 100 bucks a week for 12 weeks to be eligible for the draw.
The other down side is Jane respects you for it, and starts making amends, and efforts to improve the quality and accuracy of the weather forecast she gives you, while accepting your refusal to make firm plans based on a weather forecast.
The issue with this second downside may be unexpected to you, you won’t be able to look at Jane and see the same person you saw back when you treated her weather forecasts with equal weight as the train company timetable.
This metamorphosis in YOU is talked about a lot in the manosphere, but I don’t actually think any of them either really get it, or the implications.
We talk about swallowing the red pill, not being able to un-see things we have seen, not being able to un-ring a bell.
None of these things are an EPIPHANY, and that is what I am talking about, and that is what you NEED, you need an epiphany to see that Jane is a weather forecast, and Tom and Dick and Harry are train company timetables.
There is a slut 45 minutes drive away from me, she is a 3, but she will do anything I want, no limits, none fucking whatsoever, anything and everything I want, on demand, and call me sir and master and my lord while she does it.
So I sit here on a Saturday morning and I haven’t had my balls drained, and the fact is, she can drain them a lot better and a lot more pleasurably than I can by having a wank, and just out of arms reach is my mobe, and all I have to do is pick it up and text the bitch.
I haven’t.
I won’t
*if* the weather blows that way and she contacts me, I’ll think about it, but the moment may well have passed by then, probably will have, in truth.
This is not the effects on not being able to un-see something, this is a post epiphany perspective, I can never see this bitch, or any other skank ho slut, the same way, ever again.
I mourn this, but I cannot change it.
So Jane, post epiphany, ceases to be a fellow human being like Tom and Dick and Harry, someone I can have meaningful communications with, and make plans with, and rely on… instead Jane is reduced to utility, she isn’t CAPABLE of loving me or respecting me or considering me etc etc etc, in the way that I or Tom or Dick or Harry are capable of doing those things for her.
So, what’s the point in me doing those things for her?
Absolutely none at all.
Sure, she can “comfort” me, the way the sun warms my back, but it doesn’t love me just because it warms my back, so I use the word “comfort” in exactly the same way the Jap’s referred to “comfort women” for the troops.
None of those guys thought those wimminz actually loved them or cared for them or gave a shit about them or had their back, but, they could give them comfort.
Jane can tell me she loves me and worships me and wants to spend the rest of her life under my total control, but coming from a weather forecaster and not a train timetabler, that isn’t such a fantastic gift, even if it does actually turn up on the day.
I have no way of knowing if it will come to pass in 150 days time, any more than I am able to say in 150 days time it will be hot and sunny and dry and yummy.
Since I plan on being around and alive in 150 days time, I can do no more than wait and see.. literally, I can NOT DO ANY MORE THAN WAIT AND SEE… ain’t gonna be placing any weight or bets on that.
Sure, it will be “nice” if it comes to pass, but not great, not fantastic, not mind blowingly amazing, not the earth moved beneath my feet.
So Obama wins the election, Germany wins the world cup, Schumacher wins the paralympics, Digital Dirk Bogarde wins 27 oscars, and why should I give a shit, outside of hysteria, which is what all sports and media and politics is, really…. vesting interest and weight into something that may or may not come to pass.
And as if when it does come to pass, the real reality will be a sodden damp squib, compared to the megaton Ivan that was hyped up in order to get me to make that emotional investment.
I got another “female” in my life, that in reality means as much to me as Jane ever will, Black Betty (bam a lam..lol) and Black Betty is a bobber, Black Betty was a bobber before there was such a thing as a bobber. (BB ain’t an HD btw)
Black Betty came about by taking stuff away from a street motorsickle until there was nothing non essential left, and then taking some more away, and playing with and altering everything else.
Black Betty only ever had one seat and one set of foot-pegs.
Black Betty only has any value at all to me because she is my property.
(and no, I’m not getting side-tracked into some list about why motor-sickles are better than wimminz…lol.. you can do that yourselves)
I’m sentimental about Black Betty, but not overly so, I ain’t gonna be throwing good money after bad, and one day she will be no more than scrap.
Black Betty is the old farmers cow, when she ain’t milking no more it’s time for the chop, cos you ain’t eating all my grass for no return. He loves his cows, but not that much they cost him money.
Jane is Black Betty, made flesh.
I got no use for the bitch any way except;
casual no strings cum-bucket like the one 45 minutes drive away.
my property, for me to control and use any way I see fit.
One or the other, that’s it.
All your appeals to my better nature, to be my friend, my confidant, my lover, my partner, a fellow human being, or appeals that how can I see these poor blameless wimminz and children starving and homeless, well, I don’t got no better nature no more.
I had an epiphany.
That’s like asking me to sell Black Betty so I can raise some money and go spend it giving new paint jobs to wrecks that are already stacked 5 high in the scrapyard.
20/20 hindsight is a wonderful thing, my ex-wife who cheated on me with the lodger while I was in the slammer, hey, I don’t mind the cheating, I wasn’t there to fuck her, stands to reason someone else will be, but it was the rest of her poisonous personality that burned my ass… all came to a head one day, and I was still riding milwaukee back then, so she says to me 3 days before my birthday, cos she was pissed at the shovel being in the dining room while I rebuilt it, she was about done by this stage, only chains and sprockets left, she says to me that I got to choose between her and the bike, so three days later on my birthday I saddle the fucker up and take off, get back to the UK ten months later to find she had filed divorce papers on me, my reaction, sure, as long as the divorce don’t cost me one single penny, I’ll sign.
20/20 hindsight tells you the epiphany was a long fucking time coming, bit like a dam that has been leaking small amounts for years, then one day the whole thing lets go, “without warning”, except the years of lack of maintenance and small leaks *were* warnings, they were just ignored.
20/20 hindsight tells you to this day you couldn’t pick a single tiny thing and say this here was the keystone event, exclude this one thing and it would never have happened, no single straw was unique enough to break the camel;’s back… you just have two era’s in your life, pre-epiphany and post-epiphany.
The world hasn’t changed one iota, YOU have, you now know the difference between a train timetable and a weather forecast, and they now occupy utterly different and mutually exclusive niches in your life.
And all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men, can’t put the two together again.
You’re sat at home with the bitch, both online doing different shit, she starts saying OMG OMG OMG, someone she is talking to tells her to turn on the TV, we do, just in time to see the 2nd plane hit the 2nd tower.
At this time, you do not know the bitch has had 8 abortions, that not too far in the future she will falsely accuse you of rape, domestic violence, paedophilia and a desire to fuck your own kids up the ass, you will know it in the future, but at this time you neither know it nor suspect it.
The bitch doesn’t even have any friends of relatives in the USA, much less in NY, much less anywhere near the WTC, the bitch doesn’t even like yanks.
You do know the bitch ain’t as pure as driven snow, having known her long enough for some of the bullshit about her past to become exposed, and some of the illogical and mutually exclusive stories to come out, but, you are content to live under the same roof still, at this point…
So, what happens next?
The bitch starts sobbing, crying and shaking.
You would think someone known to her personally had just died.
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Presented as is, subsequent to a conversation with someone else that triggered this memory, as illustration that even apparently genuine behaviours exhibiting kindness and compassion and empathy, really aren’t worth shit as an indicator or predictor of future actions or genuine personality.
It’s something wimminz just don’t get, maybe because wimminz are profoundly stupid, but…..
What is next in this series? 1, 4, 10, 19, 31, _ 36
Should evolution and creationism be taught side-by-side in school? No, evolution has no place in schools
Which is bigger? (earth or sun) The earth
Jealousy: healthy or unhealthy, in the context of a relationship? Healthy
Do you Google someone before a first date? Yes. Knowledge is power!
I’ll spare your eyes the profile picture(s), it/they don’t matter, they really don’t, they could be the hottest chick I had ever laid my eyes on, and these sorts of answers would still kill any incipient boner.
These sorts of answers come in two general classes.
The first class is the downright retarded stupid, people who think the earth is bigger than the sun, sure, in some ways they are living on the same planet as you, but they literally do not think they are living on the same planet as you, they either think the Earth contains 99.99% of all the mass in the solar system, and the sun is just a fairly big industrial heat lamp hanging up there by the power of Barbie, or, they do not think at all, they just say what they see, from their own perspective.
The second class is the downright poisonous to be around stupid, jealousy is good and googling a potential mate is mandatory, after all, everything on t’intertubez is true, and by definition if it ain’t on yer fuckbook page it didn’t happen.
My mind literally does not compute the warped excuse for a brain and intellect that can firstly hold such bizarre views, and secondly see no issue whatsoever in publishing them for all the world to see, often becoming some of the very first things everyone else can learn about you.
And then having the simply incredible stupidity to think that this display of total and complete airheadedness is in any way going to contribute on the positive side of any scale measuring anything at all about you, from marriageability through fuckability to gee, I’d like her as my bestest ever friend…
Any thinking and reasoning being knows that sooner or later mother nature is going to intervene and redress the balance, not because of a lack of intelligence, as that doesn’t actually play that great a part in Darwinism, but because any creature that fucking dumb is unable to indulge in any activity more intellectually taxing than bovine grazing, albeit a bovine grazing of entirely artificial fields provided by others of her species.
So, here is a thought.
What if many of the claims of the wimminz and feminazis were not without a kernel of truth, they just see the future more clearly than we do.
What if Nature sees all that “energy” going into creating female human beings, and 99.9% of it being wasted, after all, if no functioning brain is required, now that we live in an artificial technological society, why waste all the energy generation after generation after generation, equipping wimminz with a brain they are simply not using?
What if no female human being born today is ever going to be the intellectual equivalent of her grandmother?
Provided DNA gets to make more DNA (since it is male genetic material that is responsible for evolution anyway) then as far as Nature is concerned, a steadily falling female IQ is not just not a problem, not just a non issue, it is a win-win situation, all that energy saved making and supporting a complex brain that is not used.
Well, we get to a place where da wimminz evolve into a reproductive creature, a sexual creature, a menial task creature, and by menial task I am talking of the order of things you can teach a dog to do today, but with opposable thumbs.
Cattle, basically.
Yeah baby, never mind the Earth, my cock is bigger than the sun, because you can blot the sun out with your thumb, but my cock will choke you.
Looking back in my life, and I have lived long enough to actually do this more than once, and regret it afterwards, the biggest mistakes I ever made with wimminz, which means the biggest personal cost and shite that I suffered at their hands, was wimminz who when I met them, you could show them their weekly pay packet, and tell them the national minimum wage, and expecting them to correlate the two and work out whether or not they were being paid at or near or above or below the minimum wage was a challenge on a par with expecting them to design a modern replacement for the Saturn V rocket.
And what did I do?
I spent the next several years educating them.
You could make a comedy sketch about it, I meet them and they are all like cee (pause) aaaa (pause) teee (long pause) cee aa tee spells CAT! (triumphant grin) – time passes while AfOR educates them, ceee ohh enn teee arrr ohh ellll ellll eye ennn geee –spells– CONTROLLING BEHAVIOUR, yaaaaaaaaaaay!!! let’s take the old cunt to secret family court and fuck his life up. Where’s my prize??
I was dumbass.
Now I frown on wimminz trying to ejumakate themselves, hey baby, you don’t need all that boring shit, you just need to perfect your blowjob technique on me innit…
Saudi only had it 1% right with no allowing the bitches to drive, they shouldn’t be allowed to learn to read or write, no education of any kind at all, except the useful shit, how to sweep a floor, how to iron a shirt, how to make me a sammich bitch, and any sad fucker who tries to teach them gets stoned to death.
Worked for the wogs, we built an empire on that shit, then lost it as soon as we educated them.
Of course any species intelligent enough to overcome the awesome scientific challenges that interstellar travel poses will have this shit down cold, if they come here and set up shop we ain’t gonna get shit, stephen hawking types might get enough training to be the equivalent of “do you want fries with that?” press button with tick, or press button with cross, but the rest of us would be fucked.
If they landed today, we’d deserve it too, we are demonstrably assholes.
Not just permitting, but encouraging the continued metabolic processes in something that thinks evolution has no place in schools, fine, that is your belief, you have no place in any society I am a part of, outside of the cattle pens anyway, and that’s my belief.
And then declaring that they are in every way equal to me, in fact their equality to me is guaranteed in law on so many levels that they are in fact to all intents and purposes superior to me, I couldn’t pull that shit and still get housed and fed by the state, I wasn’t born with a cunt.
Fuck it, yeah, I know, I make Goebbles sound like a tree hugging libtard, but at least you can put a bullet in my head, and Goebbels, and sort the “problem” that way, just make it all go away, thing is, you can’t put a bullet in Nature.
Nature is the ultimate Fu, the more effort you put into fighting it, the more effort it turns back against you, fighting the inevitable instead of learning and adapting just make the inevitable come harder and faster.
Back in the day, the day being the late seventies, two guys who were most visible behind the magazine Easyriders were JJ and Spider, one of them, I think it was Spider, did a thing where he interviewed a bunch of whores, and the whores classified / categorised the Johns, and there were about ten distinct types.
This is a list of the types of wimminz you find on swingers / fucking sites, and you may well say it is no use to you, as you don’t go to those sites, but everyone on a swingers site also has a PoF account, a cupid account, an escort site account etc etc, and they all have day lives and day jobs, so yes, you do meet them, you just may not be aware of it… AWALT.
BTW, none of these are mutually exclusive, a wimminz may be predominantly one, with a smattering of two or three others for seasoning.
The Black Cock Slut – A fairly self evident description, a white wimminz who prefers black cock, and it isn’t because wogs have bigger cocks, they don’t, it’s because they’re wogs, and it’s taboo, and you’ll hear all the horseshit about black and pink looking so sexual…. These are quite often wimminz in a relationshit, but not exclusively, and quite often hitting the wall looks wise, but not exclusively, etc. Avoid like the plague, not because they have tasted black meat, but because they are the biggest racists going, ps they also hate Chinese and Asian guys… not just whites
The Greedy Girl – Greedy as in wants lots of cock at the same time, no MMF or MMMF is good enough for her, but, she also falls some way short of the gangbang girl, greedy girls are almost always obese, so the greed extends to food intake too. Greedy girls will happily spend all night with their mouth at a gloryhole, swallowing cum like it is chocolates
The Gangbang Girl – I’m talking about the girl who does these regularly, not the girl who pulled a train one time, or had a couple of orgies… the gangbang girl likes at least 25 separate cocks in one session, some more, and will do this any thing from once a month to twice a week, in more extreme cases you are looking at an annual cock count way north of 500
The No Single Men Girl – This one is usually in a relationshit, secret or not, will fuck single men, but only those who really can keep their fucking mouth shut about it… she may do couples or groups, the main reason she isn’t into single men is she doesn’t do 1 to 1, she has enough of that shit with whatever poor bastard she is in a relationshit with, and she has no intention whatsoever of keeping up the same mask of pretence in her leisure time.
The Safe Sex Girl – This is very common, in the adverts profiles, of course, they aren’t talking about safe sex, they are talking about a condom for fucking the cunt, , they’ll suck your cock and swallow a load no problem, of course what they (or their partner) is really concerned about isn’t the disease or the sex, it’s your sperm, which is simply not good enough to be allowed anywhere near the hallowed ovaries etc etc etc.. or sometimes it is because asking him indoors to eat he cunt when he knows other guys have been dumping a load in it is a cuck too far and he’ll walk… This one is a wannabe Cuck Cunt (below) but she hasn’t yet managed to emasculate her man sufficiently, hey, it’s a work in progress….. Oh yeah, when you meet them 1 to 1, just the two of you, condoms are never even fucking mentioned.
The Uniform Girl – Loves uniforms, not soldiers so much, but you need to be that type, eg young and fit, and wearing your uniform / camo’s / boots etc when you turn up to bone the bitch. My you cousin used to pull this one, claimed to be a Falklands vet, shame he would have been about 5 when that went down, never failed to work though… but stay within limits, Waffen SS uniform and a car battery and pair of jump leads ain’t gonna do the trick.
The Complete Slut – Often an older wimminz, will fuck one or two guys regularly every week, and also have another one or two randomly chosen and different guys each week. These are actually fine, just make sure you are one of the semi random guys and not the regulars, they will be expected to leave glowing references to her simply amazing blow job skills and tight sweet juicy cunt (ain’t none of them things after this boy has blown a load in it), as well as buy them drinks and shit.
The New Slut – New to the site, new to the scene, these always always always turn into one of the others listed here within three months, unless you are first or second to get in there and dump your load, walk away. Despite being a new slut who is new to all this, without exception they all have a mate (female) who is a best mate who is a complete and utter fucking slut and who is currently considering an offer from her boss to spend a weekend with him in exchange for cash… funny how new sluts have friends who are all full time sluts and have been for years.
The Newly Single Slut – Just split up with my yadda yadda yadda, husband / boyfriend / fuckbuddy / hamster, it don’t matter, these are cool because you know, gaaa-ron–fucking–teed, that you too will fail to meet her standards, so you really can relax with these ones and not always have to keep one eye on the exit and exit strategy. Go for it.
The Promo Girl – Every fucking post or message is about what a great time she had at Throbbing Gristle’s parties, parties that single guys get to pay to attend, you get the picture yet? Bitch is one step short of being an honest hooker. That step is around 4 stories high mind ewe…
The Moby Dick – the land whale, some fat chicks can retain some sexuality or sensuality, these ones are just fucking gross, the 300lb slug you have to fuck from behind while smoking a cigar to hide her face and mask the smell, often fucked for a bet, but, they serve as living proof that there are guys out there who will fuck literally anything warm and wet.
The Painted Tart – Covered in skanky tatts, piercings, coloured hair, often red, some of these bitches could actually be half decent looking, if you could go back in time and grab them before they started experimenting, they are all fucked up in the head, you just have no idea how long the fuse has to burn, because it is hidden under all the ink and iron, but it is there, and it is burning away.
The Flaker – Sounds like she got it going on, talks like she is keen, but you have to do all the running, and if you are dumb enough to do it, she will cancel / flake at the last minute because her cat has IBS or some such shit.
The Yo-yo – This bitch leaves the site regularly, and comes back regularly, repeats the same pattern of behaviour as the last time she was on, and will do so again…. and again… and again… basically can’t make her mind up to be the others listed here, so dabbles a bit in all of it. Again, only any use when just returned.
The Anti-geek – This bitch is always complaining that some other bastard has hacked her PC / laptop / tablet / phone / account, just run the fuck away, too terminally stupid and technically illiterate to fuck or to be associated with, even to message.
The Cuck Cunt – This one thinks she really is all that, because she rules the roost in her house, and her husband does what the fuck he is told, hold the camera and take pictures of me fucking some random guys in our marital bed being what he is usually told, and then he often gets told he is on clean up duty, with tongue… This one and the safe sex girl are mainly looking at the Bitch, below, and thinking thank fuck that ain’t me… Hey, the night is young, we can but live in hope.
The Bitch – Feminazi cunt basically, all of them without exception have hit the wall, and despite all the other protestations the facts are that unless they hand out in the same place as the Moby Dick then they ain’t gonna get any action at all. Do not fuck unless you are making some porno featuring a toilet brush as a dildo… and no need to go to the expense of a new bog brush, just take your old one, and keep the new one for your own bathroom.
The Chick with a dick – Advertised as TV/TS, I have only ever seen one that looked even remotely feminine, even remotely like a chick with a dick, all the rest look like blokes dressed up in stockings, and that’s what they all are, even the ones working their way through the sex change process….. often seen hanging around blokes who ask questions like are they bisexual if a guy gives them a blowjob, cos, you know, I reckon I’m straight really.
The Banjo Player – This one, you know, duelling banjos, you literally only have to look at her to know there are bats loose in the belfry, and some genetic issues too, not just fugly so much as just plain WRONG looking, swapped around chromosomes and mixed up DNA looking, mutants. And not in a good way. They often really are looking for some other cock, as a change from their brothers or step brothers, which is the ones they usually get…. daddy being outta town, and the uncles, well, they had her when she was young and sweet, and have no more interest now…
The Before I Die Girl– These are really looking for a relationshit, and also seeing the scene as a way to fit everything kinky they ever dreamed of in between this new guy, who will know nothing about it, and the ex, who knows nothing about it. Go for it, if only to give thanks you are neither of those two guys.
The Club Meets Only Girl – This chick lives in a pigsty, and she is lazy, she doesn’t clean her own house, she isn’t going to do it just because you wiped your cock on her curtains and took a shit between the cushions in the sofa, because it was more hygienic than using the bathroom. So she goes to a club, and someone else can wipe up the cum and piss.. sorry, gushing…
And of course, there are the genuine swingers, and they are cool, but in the minority.
When I was an older child, we had a television, a 405 line VHF job with a 12 inch black and white screen, and analog turn a dial tuning like a long wave radio, and two channels, BBC and a regional independent channel, each channel needed a different antennae on the roof too… different frequency innit.. we were *fairly* progressive in this, I watched the moon landings on it… but television was still new enough in personal experience terms that only a few years before my mother had been watching a cowboy film at her brother’s house, fight scene in a room, oil lantern falls off the table out of camera shot and smashes on the floor, flames leap up… my mother gets up and walks towards the set so she can look down and see the lantern on the floor.. of course she can’t.
I think I was 8 when we got that telly, before that is was just radio, a Hitachi job with “12 transistors” written on the front of it, transistors still being new and expensive things, the reel to reel tape deck, audio amp for the stereo (and many of the “long playing” 33.3 RPM records you bought were still mono too, and telly were all thermionic valves, as was the radio prior to the Hitachi. There was no compact cassete, or anything else, 78 RPM, 45 RPM, 33.3 RPM records, and reel to reel, and if you were dead posh you might have an 8 mm cine camera and projector, or one of the new “Super” 8 mm jobs, and the first cine cameras were clockwork…
If you flew anywhere, which we did, being of that breed of Englishmen who like mad dogs used to go out into the midday sun, and travel the world and former colonies plying their trades, it was British Overseas Airways Corporation, and long haul flights were (Lockheed) connies and super connies (Constellations), planes with 4 not even turboprop engines, piston propeller engines in other words… going places by sea was still viable, but as the suez was still shut it meant going around africa so 4 weeks in a fast liner and 8 weeks in a more usual cargo + passenger vessel, which compared to the mere 3 and a half days it took by plane, if you were going to Singapore say.
In our region of the UK STD had just arrived for telephones, so not only could you direct dial anyone in your local town, you could direct dial someone in a different town, no operator needed to make the connection, that was assuming they had a phone of course, many many private individuals did not, even some businesses did not…. our phone number was townname 811… you could always tell directions from the telegraph poles that carried all the telephone lines too, the insulators and cross trees were always on the same side with respect to London.
School (primary, meaning ages 5 to 11) was almost exactly a mile away, there was a private bus, you either turned up for it or you didn’t, unless it was raining everyone would walk, especially after school, nobody counted you in or out, the bus could make the outward journey in the morning with 30 kids on board, and the return journey in the afternoon with 5 on board, nobody cared…. as long as you were home by teatime and your uniform wasn’t too messed up with grass stains and holes… nobody (kids) had watches either, if you needed to know the time you asked a grown up, or looked in a shop.
As you can gather from the radio with 12 transistors and thermionic valves for everything else, technology by modern standards didn’t exist, and it certainly didn’t exist for kids. In the real grown up world it meant businesses sent out bills and stuff that were all done by hand, pen and ink, some “city” businesses and lawyers and such would use typists, if the firm was big enough, from a typing pool..
There was Pounds, and Shillings, and Pence, (LSD) 12 pence to the shilling, 20 shillings to the pound, 240 pence in one pound, some stuff was quoted in pounds, it was quoted in guineas, which were 21 shillings.
You could pay a bill with a cheque, or buy a car or a horse or a house, but everything else was cash. There just wasn’t anything else. Wages were paid in cash, weekly, very very very few exceptions, city types might be doing the new monthly paid directly into the bank account thing, but not in the country, more people had telephones than had bank accounts.
If you were going to drive any distance outside the area you knew, you used a map book, it was that or get lost, period, none of this shit about I can’t read maps, if you did that you got lost too, and got lost = ran out of fuel, and then your problems started, because to get more money you had to find a branch of your bank, and they were only open Monday to Friday 9 am to 3:30 pm, and they would ring your bank in your village and ask if they knew you before allowing you to sign a counter cheque and draw money, assuming you even had a bank account…. routes thus selected weren’t always optimum, but they worked and you learned your way around from landmarks and such, and sometimes you picked up a short-cut or two, but even this, the roads and such, has changed so utterly that my own father, were he alive, would not, literally would not, be able to find his way around the country he was born in…. *I* have fucking difficulties, I can see the new roads and shit, but why did they put it THERE and cut across and cut off all THIS, so you try and go sideways to the next but, and that has been altered too..
Computers? Let me explain this to you, there were mainframes, massive fucking things literally weighing tons, and they were about as common and prevalent and likely to come across one in every day life as you were a nuclear reactor. You were just as likely to get access too or use of or contact with one as the other.
Cash registers and adding machines were just that, mechanical monstrosities that made a typewriter look as complex precision as lego duplo…. PROPER book keepers and clerks did not add up L base 20 S base 12 D pounds shilling and pence colums one column at a time, all the pennies then the shillings then then pounds, they did all three at once line by line, and they’d so 4 or 5 lines a second… these people were sometimes referred to as a computer, so if the word had a meaning in day to day like, that was it.
Book-keeping was just that, double entry ledgers, and you can’t fiddle a double entry book keeping system, except by keeping two sets of books, one with the real numbers, and one with the wrong numbers, and even the wrong numbers had to match and add up. Writing in ink on paper doesn’t allow you to hide any errors or typos either, you have to strike through the entire line and do it again.
If you were a proper engineer or a scientist or a university student, you’d use something called a slide rule, 3 digit precision, or, a book of log and trig tables, 3 digit precision, maybe 6 if it was an expensive book. A slide rules was a ruler with a middle bit that slid, left to right relative to the main bit, and it had a cursor that slid along too.
So “readin, ritin and rithmetic” (the “Three R’s”) were pretty much it, but even the worst and dumbest student had to do them with a facility that would stagger the very best students today, you had to be able to read “books” as in book keeping books, not novels, or bills of lading, or inventory, or invoice, you had to be able to write them, and you had to be able to do the math that was thus written and read as numeric values.
Literally everything else you can think of, didn’t exist.
Much of it wasn’t even “science fiction”, nobody had even thought of it at all, even theoretically, because the thing itself depended on three or more other bits that were themselves wildly fantastical and improbable science fiction.
“High Frequency Trading” (HFT) is one such thing, do not be deceived and think that all advances and effects are purely physical, such as advances in auto-mobiles or airframes, some of the most telling are far less exciting on the face of it, the loss of the typing pool (and associated jobs) for the new word processor computers is one such, it doesn’t sound like a lot, but it is a necessary brick in a society that has things like HFT, you can’t build HFT on anything that has a pen and paper anywhere below it, for every letter sent from a bank or company to a customer or supplier, two or three were sent internally, now that also was “automated” away from the clerk and ink well.
So much is lost today, not just a sense of how things were, but data itself…
This story, which everyone knew oh so recently when the www was new, has now all but vanished into oblivion… type the billion watt bulb into google and you get pages of crap and dead links… anyway… here it is….
Subject: The billion watt light bulb, or how I nearly got Darwined. Subject: The billion watt light bulb, or how I nearly got Darwined. From: “Keith F. Lynch” <kfl@ACCESS.DIGEX.NET> Date: Fri, 10 Jan 1997 18:55:06 -0500 Message-ID: <199701102355.SAA22638@access5.digex.net> Newsgroups: .mlist. DARWIN DARWIN@yorku.ca
A billion years ago, I got to work with a fourteen watt light bulb.
No, wait. That’s not quite right. Let me start over…
Fourteen years ago, I got to work with a billion watt light bulb.
It wasn’t a bulb, exactly. It was more of a candle. Except that instead of wax, it burned aluminum dust, which is sold in ton lots as a paint base. And instead of burning it in air, it was mixed with liquid oxygen in a supersonic jet.
I forget how many tons of aluminum and oxygen it used per second, but it never ran for more than ten seconds at a time.
The nozzle was about half a foot wide, and was made of some kind of durable high-temperature ceramic, perhaps fused lime. The flame that came out of it was much wider, and gave off slightly more than a billion watts of pure white light.
We used it in the New Mexico desert, about fifty miles west of Albuquerque, in a five foot deep concrete-lined trench, which is in a natural depression. The area is completely desolate, and looks just like the Viking pictures of Mars. It’s completely silent there when the wind isn’t blowing. There is no sign of mankind, or any other life whatsoever.
Nevertheless, calls were made to 911 from up to a hundred miles away whenever the thing was used. Panicky reports were made of UFOs, exploding substations, crashing jets, and nuclear explosions.
Attempts to photograph it usually result in the destruction of the camera. One person managed to do it, by using something like f22 and 1/1000th of a second through welders goggles. But that photo makes it look like it’s being set off at midnight, with nothing but darkness at any distance from the immense irregular white flame, and with a pitch black sky. In fact, it was taken at about noon on a sunny day.
I’ve calculated that it ought to be easily visible from the moon. Better yet, arrays of them could be set up on the moon, and used to spell out advertising slogans. Obnoxious? Sure. But less so than unsolicited commercial e-mail. Give Spamford Wallace the moon, if he’ll promise to leave our mailboxes alone.
About ten feet away were our test samples — heavily instrumented sheet metal covered with various types of “fireproof” paint, to see which ones would best stand up to nearby nuclear explosions. I ran the computer equipment that collected and analyzed the data, in a portable metal shed about a hundred feet away. The shed had a narrow window which faced away from the light source.
When the light turned on, the patch of desert visible through the narrow window lit up as if it had been turned into the stuff the sun is made of. At the same time, there was a noise and vibration like a jet taking off nearby, only much louder.
One of the people who ran the thing for us mentioned that he had gone outside during some tests. Darwin whispered a suggestion into my ear at that point, so I didn’t hear the part about how far away he was at the time, or how he protected himself.
I took Darwin’s suggestion and stepped outside during the next test, about two seconds after I had pressed the ENTER key on the LeCroy 3500 microcomputer, and two seconds before the light came on. I then took several steps forward to get a better view.
The light came on. I felt like I had stepped into a blast furnace. I couldn’t see anything but *bright* — as if someone had stuck a flashbulb in each eye and then somehow set them off in such a way that they stayed on instead of instantly going out again. On another Darwinian occasion, I had looked directly into a laser. This was incomparably brighter.
I immediately turned tail and ran back into the shed. I have no idea how I found the door.
When I could see again, I discovered that I was sunburned everywhere my skin was exposed, that all the tiny hairs on my hands and arms had gone up in smoke, and that my clothes were partially melted.
I was strongly berated for my “suicidal” stunt, and told that I was lucky I had a programmer’s complexion. If I had been black, or even had a tan, I would have made an ash out of myself.
I had been about 70 feet away from the light. A trashbag inadvertantly left next to the shed 100 feet away from the light had burst into flames.
The results of the experiment? All kinds of fireproof paint burn really well, when you give them a good start. Some of them explosively so. Sheet metal burns even better. Conclusion: If a nuclear bomb ever goes off nearby, be somewhere else at the time. Somewhere else very far away. Like on another continent.
I’ve been left with no permanent effects from my short visit with Charles. I do have a permanent ringing in my ears, but I suspect that’s due to earlier risk taking. Perhaps it’s from the time I manufactured some high explosive and set it off so close to me that it tore my clothes off. On the other hand, it may be from the time I unrolled a capacitor, used the resulting long thin foil as a kite string, and flew it across some high tension lines.
Short of winning the lottery, which is unlikely, seeing as I perceive the lottery and all its variations such as scratch cards to be no more than a tax on the stupid, there is one thing I can say with certainty.
I am never going to own my own home/house.
Neither am I going to pretend own one by keeping a bank rich by paying a mortgage, for many, many, reasons.
The first reason is basic math, and folks, exponential functions are basic math, if you find exponential functions to be more complex than simple arithmetic, then your basic math (and other) education was sadly lacking, possibly on purpose, and you need to clue yourself in pronto.
Take an hour and a quarter out of you life and watch this now
So.. the quick and dirty trick is this, 70
take your percentage rate, divide it into 70, and the answer is the number of times you have to apply that percentage rate to double.
a percentage rate always has two things, the actual percentage, and the time factor, which makes it a percentage rate.
1% a month, 70 / 1 = 70 “units” and those units are months, so 70 months is the doubling time, 70 / 12 = 5.83 years
2.5% a year, 70 / 2.5 = 28 units, and those units are years, so 28 years.
Now I can go out today to NatWest bank in the UK and apply for a mortgage, 4.99%, call it 5%, fixed for only two years, then it goes variable, so it ain’t going DOWN, 5% deposit with the new guvvmint help to buy scheme, and since I was just talking to a yank and we got talking about the Mayflower etc, here we go in *approximately* that area, eg commuting distance from Plymouth.
A 5% deposit is £15,000. That is not an inconsiderable sum of money, when you consider a bus driver doing all the overtime he can can pull in a gross before tax of 18k, so we are looking at saving an entire years worth of salary, and not spending one single penny of it on anything, not even council tax etc.
70 / 5 = 35, so we have a doubling time of 35 years, by the time we have paid off this mortgage, in 35 years time, in the year 2048, and I will be 90 then, and better still be working… and this is assuming, which is stupid, that for the repayment rate is going to stay fixed at 5%, it isn’t, basically I’m going to throw £600,000 at that house, not including property taxes and maintenance and light and heat or anything else, just paying off the original loan.
£600,000 / 30 year mortgage = £20,000 a year… so that shit I did to save up for the deposit for one year, I can do that for another 30 to 40 years to pay the fucker off…. and since I can live on air for 30 years, why do I need a fucking house.
But, being in my 50’s, I can remember AFTER the financial crisis of the mid seventies, when things settled down again, my parents went to Nat West bank (which is why I mentioned them) , and borrowed money for a mortgage, they went to Nat West because their bank, Midland, the bank accountant said that the rate of interest Nat west was offering was, and I quote “financial suicide (for Nat West)” in the current economic conditions.
The rate was 8%. 70 / 8 = the doubling time was 8.75 years, and that was considered financial suicide.
Some years before that, at the end of the seventies financial crisis, which is before AFTER it, but after DURING it, things had settled down a lot, I had an argument with my bank, and refused to take a loan to buy a new motorsickle, the interest rate was just too fucking high (even for a three year vehicle loan) at 34.7% APR, call it 35%, 70 / 35 = 2, doubling time of 2 years, that bike would have cost me two and a half times the cash price… my argument was because the mortgage rate at that time had just dropped, to 12%
70 / 12 = doubling time of 5.83 years.
Thing was, back then, banks were more honest about how impossible such loans were, and the rule was the ABSOLUTE MAXIMUM you could borrow for a mortgage, and this shit did not apply to first time buyers, but to established people in fixed jobs for years, was 4.5 times your salary, if you were a first time buyer it was nearer to 3.5 times your salary.
Deposits were also usually 10%
So, our £300,000 house.
Either way you would have needed a £30,000 deposit, and if you were a first time buyer 270,000 / 3.5 = £77,142 annual salary, or if you were an established person 270,00 / 4.5 = £60,000 annual salary.
At about this time, petrol was about £1 per imperial gallon, today it is £6.21, which should give you some idea of just how fucking huge a 60k salary would have been back then, never mind today, for yer average working stiff.
Back then, nobody would have been saddled with credit card debt, store card debt, overdrafts and such like either, cos that shit just didn’t exist.
If we work it the other way around….
Take our bus driver working all the overtime he can get, gross before deductions of £18,000, lets say he has been with a company a few years so he can get the steady earner rate, 4.5 x salary.
18,000 x 4.5 = £83,250 – that’s the upper limit.
If we take the gas price inflation, which is 1 to 6.21, and reverse apply that to the house price, 83,250 / 6.21 = £27,945 edit, as pointed out, bad math / typo, 83250 / 6.21 = 13875… point still stands though
Fact is, 25 to 28 thousand pounds is more or less what a house like that was selling for back then, and this is AFTER the crazy mid seventies shit, my folks bought a house for £2,800 pounds in 1972, and sold it for £31,000 in 1979.
So by any SANE metric, our £300,000 house is worth £83,250.
£300,000 – £83,250 = £216,750 over valued.
83,250 / 300,000 = 0.2775 and that x 100 = 27.75, so the house is WORTH 27% of the asking price, so the other 73% of the asking price is nothing more substantial than a bubble, as in south sea bubble, Mississippi bubble, etc etc etc
Let’s say there are 100 houses on that road, and they are all identical, pricing them all correctly, you just wiped 100 x £216,700 off the “value” of that street, which is £21.6 million.
1,000 streets like that in the Plymouth area, you just wiped £21.6 billion off the “value” of that very small city, just a big town really, that is the last place the pilgrims landed on English soil before departing for The Americas aboard the Mayflower.
Start applying that to all the other towns and villages and cities, just in the south west of the country, and now you are talking serious money, and we haven’t even got to the rest of the country yet, much less London itself… this total disparity far exceeds any possible national debt or GDP figures by orders of magnitude.
Bernie Madoff starts looking like a philanthropist.
I will never own a house;
I don’t have enough to buy one outright
The sham masquerading as mortgages where you don’t own anything until the last payment is made, coupled with what you will have paid by the time you make that last payment, totally annuls any imputed “value” to the “asset” that is now legally your property.
It’s not necessarily a bad thing, imagine a scenario where my employer says to me hey AfOR, you’re a reliable employee and a single guy so we pay you fuck all which makes you a good and cheap employee, thing is, we’re dumping 25% of the workforce, now your salary means you are one of the ones we would like to keep, but your location, no work there any-more… wanna move?
At least I CAN.
Thing is, and this is where it gets all iniquitous and the mists shall clear for some of you…
Go back and look at that house I linked to.
(as an aside, I who remember houses like that being sold for £3,000, not £300,000, think THAT IS A THIRD OF A FUCKING MILLION POUNDS, FOR A FUCKING HOUSE, WHERE IS THE FUCKING PRIVATE ISLAND IT SITS ON???)
Forget all notions of comparing it to a house in your country, construction methods, square feet, style, forget all that, and look at what it is.
It is a FAMILY home.
No single guy is going to buy it.
It’s not the money, it’s the layout, between 30% and 50% of the construction is wasted, gimme a double garage, a workshop, and a den / games room, don’t need the dining room and two of the bedrooms.
Skank ho single mommy on state benefits ain’t gonna be buying it either, albeit she might rent it from a private landlord if the state picks up the tab.
SO, not only is it vastly overpriced, it is also not the ideal design to sell in 2014, any more than a 1970’s family saloon car is…. now we have “people carriers” for the people with more than one car in the driveway.
In fact, if only single guys are involved, your average house is going to be a steel frame construction box, with a combined garage and workshop as the open plan ground floor, and the living quarters up and over the workshop / garage / storage area.
My current (rented) pad is a place that was once not a million miles away from this in design, it was split horizontally into two separate small flats, and mine I can walk through the kitchen into my double garage / workshop without ever going outside.
Single wimminz and young lesbian wimminz couples and young wimminz and niggerz couples hate it, which makes it hard to rent, because all that garage and workshop space, which is at least 30% of the floor area, is useless to them except for the odd summer party.
Upstairs is suitable for a single niggerz, or wimminz, or a couple with no kids.
So before very long we have established a causal link between the breakdown of marriage and decades long co-habitation and raising families, and the actual stock of the housing market, and the alleged financial “value” of those houses, which is the amount of money floating around in “the economy”.
MGTOW is “bad for business”
Very fucking bad indeed.
Nor can you say, “Ah well AfOR, you are renting anyway, so you are in effect, with your fucking ridiculous rental payments, effectively subsidising the landlord’s mortgage anyway, so you are still paying off a mortgage, it just isn’t yours, lose lose…”
Not so…
Because rental properties tend to be “owned” by landlords that also “own” a bunch of other rental properties, a portfolio of anything from 5 or 6 to 20 is relatively common, as each one was used as collateral for the next “buy to let” interest only mortgage.
The Landlord is NEVER going to own them outright or pay off the capital, the buy to let business model is his “profit” is essentially a 10% take as a handling fee passing the money from the tenant to the bank, if you are renting out 6 properties at 600 quid a month each that is £3,600 a month, if your take is 10% then you are “earning” £360 a month for doing absolutely fuck all, easy money.
Well, easy money as long as you ignore the elephant in the room, the 6 INTEREST ONLY mortgages you took out, with your ONLY possible “plan” to repay the capital when it is due relying on some dumb-ass being willing to buy the property you paid 300k for, for 600k… good luck with that.. still, there is always bankruptcy eh…
The property will still be standing here, and the bank will need someone to pay some rent…
And that someone can stay 100% debt free and able to move at a moment’s notice to wherever the work is.
No captive workforce either… very bad for business.
So, the mists clearing yet? I have had a few guys talk to me about the possibility of the state enforcing marriages.
Marriage was only the vehicle, the cargo was the economic worth of the married working man, enforcing marriage isn’t going to do anything about the £300,000 house that is over valued by £216,700.
That 73% house “value” reset is the problem the state faces, not marriage.
The state itself as we know it cannot survive all property values being cut by three quarters of their existing numerical value.
And yet, the world itself is finite, and so it is inevitable that the exponential function of monetary lending must eventually hit a limit.
There are only two possible outcomes, I don’t care what you want or wish for or hope for or would like, in fact there are literally only two possible outcomes, now we have got ourselves in this mess, because we have long passed the stage where we could have dug ourselves out, however painfully.
A reset of property “values” downwards by at least 75%, (one fourth) so the 100k house becomes 25k or less
A reset of currency “values” downwards by at least 400% (four times) so the 250 a week take home becomes 1,000 a week take home or more.
Neither of these is of course acceptable, or re-electable, so all that is left is to do both, badly, at the same time, 125 “old bucks” is worth 10 “new bucks”
Every country in history has done this, repeatedly, first they devalue the existing currency to the point of uselessness, they they introduce a “new” currency, which is a lot less useless, and anyone who held any value that was intrinsically related to the value of the old currency, well, you just got fucked, big time.
The ONLY sums that matter are these.
Can I buy a gallon of gas (or equivalent energy) for half an hour’s wages?
Can I buy a meal for half an hours wages?
Can I rent a place for less than half my weekly wages?
Can I buy a house on a mortgage and pay it off completely (inc capital) in 15 years for less than half my monthly wages?
If THESE numbers shift, watch the fuck out…
it doesn’t matter what numbers you use or what name you give the currency, if these things are not true then you are heading for a world of hurt.
to make these things not true, to implement the greatest piece of indentured servitude and wealth transfer in human history, you need something else to be true, it must be true that most of the population remain entirely ignorant of the fact that interest is an exponential function, and the basic math required to understand what an exponential function is.
MGTOW, your “unmarried” status is not the thing the state is going to worry about, nor should you.
Your free time and mental disposition to cast off the reins and use things like the internet to expand your knowledge and education and cast off the yoke of indentured servitude for life is something the state is going to worry about, and so should you.
Answers?
I haven’t got a single one of em.
I’m not so fucking dumb I can’t see the writing on the wall, is all.
