When a wimminz (or indeed anyone) asks you, “So, do you have any kids?” What do you say?
More to the point, why is the question “do you have any kids?” and not “are you a mum/dad?”
These are not two ways of asking the same question, they are two very different questions, yes I have kids, no I’m not a dad, not my choice, but, shrugs…
You can sit in someone’s home, even if they aren’t there, and just tell if they are a dad, but you can’t tell if they have kids, and the whole question is really a bit of deliberate mutual self deception.
Question such as these, that say one thing but ask another, and which normally expect an equally false and deceptive answer that says one thing but not another, are in many ways a dance, where the wimminz are concerned.
The dance is as deceptive as the questions, because the dance is all about the biggest unasked question of all…
“Look, we both know I am a lying slut, I’m just trying to work out what lies I can tell that you will know are lies, but which you won’t call me on, so we can pretend they are true for a little bit, and fuck, which is what I’m here for.”
Again, you see, the subtext or alternate text is the one that counts, and the uttered words are pretty much just dust in the wind.
So now I want to move on to something completely different, but in some ways with many similarities.
The manosphere is replete with example of wimminz saying one thing and doing another, hamster wheel rationalisations, and guys shaking their heads and saying…..
WHY WHY WHY, if only the wimminz did THIS instead of THAT, not only would they win, but we would too, and we would love them, and …..
Well, that’s not what Nature likes.
Nature likes dynamic and opposing forces and inherent instability, just like a high performance fighter jet, the high performance comes from the fact it is closer to instability than stability.
Ying and Yang baby, there is nothing wrong with making wimminz one way, and making men a different way, and having a recipe for sparks to fly.
The problem starts when you make the wimminz way legal, and the man way illegal, which is what we have today.
So the problem is not that wimminz do THIS instead of THAT, the problem is now we have laws that say wimminz can do THIS or THAT or any fucking thing they please, and they never get to suffer the consequences.
However, this isn’t a problem that can be fixed by whining about it, nor is it a problem that can be fixed by rolling back a bunch of laws…. you need a time machine too to roll back all the shit they pulled.
The fix is more like a blues song, we put it in, and it gots to come out, let that boy on his own….
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Fuck it, listen to the two track above again, they make more sense between them than I ever will, and if you think they were born out of anything but strife, you need to wake up and smell the fucking coffee.
The title is something I always repeat to myself like a mantra after pumping and dumping a slut, it is important because you need to reaffirm, not so much what wimminz are, but the categories into which they can be put, at every opportunity.
Someone asked me a while ago, “what’s the best way to ensure a wimminz goes away after you pump her?” and I sort of dismissed the question by saying that that was indeed the 64 thousand dollar question.
But the answer to that question is often very simple indeed;
demonstrate that you can read her like a book
prove this by giving her the best night’s sex she has ever had
Now to a guy you’d think giving a wimminz the best sex she ever had is a pretty much guaranteed to bring her back for more, the next night, and the next night, etc etc
To the wimminz, however, what you have done is the equivalent of visiting the hick in the country and finding the priceless 1922 Bugatti in the barn, wow, suddenly it is a treasure trove.
However, even the most inbred banjo playing red necked motherfucker of a hick, having sold the barn find 1922 Bugatti, does not look at the wreck of the ’47 John Deere model A sitting next to where the Bugatti was, and think that is also worth a million dollars….
To the wimminz however, the old tractor is worth just as much as the old Italian car, after all, both were sitting in her barn, therefore it is her barn that is bestowing the value on these things, not that any of these things might have their own individual and unique value of their own.
So to the wimminz when you gave her the night of best sex she ever had, you showed her the Bugatti in the barn, the barn being her cunt, so now she figures that there is no way you can ever top that, you already showed her the Bugatti, so if there are any more Bugatti’s in that barn, then you are the least likely person on the planet to find them, you peaked.
Instead she will embark on a desperate and frenzied search for lots of other guys, hoping they will also be able to find priceless Bugatti’s in her cunt.
They won’t, of course, they won’t be proving that they can read her like a book by giving her the best night’s sex she ever had, they will be what she had as her staple sexual fare before you found that priceless Bugatti in her cunt.
By then of course, she has lied to you, she told you she was visiting granny’s grave when she was desperately fucking anything that moved, hoping to find another Bugatti, and some part of the bird brain registers the connection between you being able to read her like a cheap trashy book, and your ability to find that Bugatti in her cunt, and the fact that she basically lied to you, thinking she was being sneaky and would be able to find a string of other guys, all of whom could find priceless gems in her cunt, but hell, that didn’t work out so good.
Admit she fucked up and come crawling back to you for more? Get fucking real.
You can read her like a book, remember.
Plus, there is always the problem that you already found the Bugatti in her cunt, and nobody else found anything except some old cum, so maybe there is nothing of value left in her cunt to find, even for someone who can read her like a book like you can, and THAT would be a real downer for her.
Guy’s, being practical creatures, may get item 1 above, read her like a book, easy enough, OK, AWALT, she is a filthy lying skank ho slut, gottit… but item 2, how am I supposed to be the best she ever had?
That’s actually dead easy, and goes hand in hand with her knowing you know item 1 well enough to read her like a book, she only has to believe that she is in for a sexual treat par excellence for it to come true.
This follows on from cock pics, sure there are ways to frame the pic so the same cock looks bigger or smaller, but ideally from cock height, e.g. the height of a wimminz on her knees about to blow you, and from that position, and just off hard enough that it hangs down under gravity, but not cold shower shrunk and limp.
Such a pic is what it is what it is, but enough wimminz will see that pic and decide, irrespective of reality, that you have a big cock, and want to ride it, where size doesn’t necessarily mean physical size, it means desirable size.
So the more she wants your cock the bigger its desirable (as opposed to physical) size, and the bigger its desirable size the more she wants your cock, and the above method of taking a cock pic maximises the cues and triggers for desirable size in what passes for a wimminz brain.
And the more she believes you can read her like a book and will be a sex god, the more she feels like she is being fucked by a sex god, and lo and behold here is a 1922 Bugatti in your cunt, it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy.
She will fulfil her part of the bargain by being your obedient no holes barred I will do anything you want you are the best ever I love you I love you I love you master fuck-slut you could wish for.
Of course, 10 seconds after you part company that is all history, all irrelevant, all the last chapter in her life, all the found but now sold Bugatti, so she needs to find a new one, and a new finder, and absolutely nothing that she said last night is worth a damn thing this morning or ever again.
Learn these things my son, and cunt/cum dumpster diving will never trouble you again…
You KNOW FOR A FACT that the days when that barn / cunt contained ANYTHING of ANY VALUE WHATSOEVER are loooong gone, if indeed they ever existed, and so it stands to reason that if the barn / cunt contains nothing of value, that value judgement must of necessity also be applied to ALL words and ALL actions made by the owner and proprietor of that barn / cunt.
“This barn USED to contain a 1922 Bugatti, of course, there ain’t much here now but rat droppings and dead pigeons.” and that is the exceptionally rare and unique ones… most never contained anything of value, and the only intrinsic value they had was way back when they were new and fresh….
…and let’s be honest, that’s pretty much novelty value, because the nature of the beast is that the instant it starts to get used, it becomes used cunt, and then it is just a question of when, not if, it becomes like all the other multi-cock used cunt out there.
Some stupid cunt in Japan paying three quarters of a million to fuck a virgin, I had that for free buddy (and yes, genuine tear the intact hymen teen virgins) and that’s all it’s worth.
Paying three quarters of a million for EXCLUSIVE ACCESS to virgin cunt, that is a different proposition entirely, we used to call that “marriage”, but nowadays it is a contract that cannot be enforced by the buyer.
Demonstrating you can read a skank ho slut like a book, and giving her the best night’s sex she ever had, all for free, and then having her of her own volition bail and dump you the next morning in search of new Bugatti’s, that my friends is fucking priceless.
To 99% of the population this would not be a gift, but the very worst curse, undoing the very thing they spend most of their lives doing, trying to get others to see us as we think we should be seen.
My name is Clint Thigh and you may now form an orderly queue to kiss my ass.
Take the image on the right, a well used and totally bladdered ass and cunt, so what the fuck is the point in the slut false nails, which in any event are a huge turn off for me, how is a fucking manicure or a $200 hairstyle going to help?
What does SHE think we see when we look at this, or does she give a fuck as long as someone buys the video, or her current boyfriend is saving all that money on gloves for the winter…
But Burns wasn’t just talking about vision and sight, he was talking about perception and worth, so we have a situation like the slut above, and the way she is trying to get us to see her, and what we see when we look at her, and us.
If you look at that critically it is PersonA <> Filter <> Filter <> PersonB, so the only shit that makes the journey from one side to the other is stuff that just passed through two sets of filters.
If PersonA is Barry Manilow and PersonB is founder member of the Barry Manilow Fan Club then those two filters aren’t very challenging, which doesn’t mean they do no filter like a motherfucker, it just means both filters are pretty similar in what they will pass.
If we make PersonB Charles Bronson (no, not that one, this one) we may then make quite different assumptions, and we may be completely wrong, because our assumptions are, you guessed it, based on the filtered and pre-conceived impression we have already made.
Problems and hurt feelings usually ensue about 2 nanoseconds after PersonB fails to perceive PersonA in a way that PersonA would wish for.
One of the thing you learn when you start playing with dating sites is that a long and detailed personal profile vs a short and sweet personal profile just means you attract a different set of people, all of whom make a set of snap judgements of you, all of which say more about them than they do about you.
The real you? Nobody gives a fuck, they’d much rather you bought into their vision of themselves, and that tends to go one of two ways too… you tend to agree with their self perception of themselves and they dump your ass as boring and compliant, you disagree with their self perception and they dump your ass as creepy and nasty…. what they are looking for are opportunities to reinforce their own opinion of themselves, the gallant lady in distress needs a knight on a white charger, just long enough for her friends to notice the attention and status….
MGTOW? It isn’t the rejection of the company of others on life’s journey, it is the rejection of the illusion of the company of others, and the acceptance of the reality that we all are alone when it comes down to it and the rubber meets the road.
We are wandering nomads, some strangers are to be avoided, some you can talk to, some you can trade with, some you can fuck, some you should rob, some you should kill, some you should help, some you should save, but only ever because you want to, because of your filters, never ever ever because they want to, or for their filters.
There is nothing more futile or less noble than the temporary adulation or praise of the others, like ships that pass in the night, no matter how wonderful and exhilarating it was, soon enough it will be a receding glow and soon after that just another point in the blackness, never to be seen again.
I’m driving down the road, looking into the sunset, and remembering the dream I was having when I woke up that morning.
So in this dream I have gone back to a house I used to live in, and in the interim the village has changed, some houses have disappeared, some new houses have been built, and in the back yard of where I used to live someone split the house from the yard, property wise, and built four horrible art deco style townhouses, and it looks like it should be a studio set or a record album cover.
Someone beside me says “Yeah, those houses have been empty since they were built 27 years ago“… and at that point I wake up and the alarm is going and it is time for me to move my ass.
So 10 hours driving later this “…empty since they were built 27 years ago..” is still floating around at the back of my head, and I start doing mental arithmetic, and realise after a few minutes of that would have been in 1980, so that means that that would have been 1982, so sort of stuff, and I come to the conclusion that I left that house with the big back yard, wait for it, 27 years ago now.
So my fictitious characters in dreams have instant access to facts that I, in my awake state, have to sit and think about, not something new as revelations go, but this one struck me, because it struck me how much the world fucking changed in that period.
27 years ago was 1985.
The big house with the huge yard set in the idyllic countryside was UK £25,000 on an 8% mortgage from NatWest, which at the time my bank, Midland, manager called “financial suicide” on the part of NatWest, so banks were changed, mortgages taken and property deeds altered.
Back then the multiple was 4 x your salary, I can’t remember car prices but I can remember NOT buying a new with dealer miles MHR Ducati Mille Miglia for £4,500 (which gives you some idea of house prices relative to top of the line bike prices) because that and £500 gave me the 20% deposit of £5,000 on the house, which allowed me to sneak under the mortgage multiplier of 4 x with my £5,000 salary, or approximately £100 a week.
I can tell you that £100 a week wasn’t an especially good wage for 1985, remember I was more interested in partying evening and weekends, and would never have considered overtime or anything like that. From memory the dole was about £25 a week at that time.
I can tell you that is was five short years from 1979 when my dad said he would “stop driving when petrol got to one pound a gallon” and there we were five short years later in 1985 (forgive my maths) and there it was just about to go through two pounds a gallon.
(today at £1.44 per litre and 4.54 litres to the (imperial) gallon it is £6.54 per gallon)
I can particularly remember this as on the last trip up to see the MHR before I passed on it, I stopped to fill the twin tanks on the old shovel, it was on reserve and I handed over a TENNER and got some change, and the guy pumping fuel (manned pumps still in 1985) said “come next year it will cost you more than a tenner” (to fill that motorcycle up with fuel…) which was insane… I only earned £100 a week before tax…. and here I was splashing £10 into a motorcycle to fill up dry tanks!
Here is another way to look at it… in terms of gallons of petrol…
In 1985;
I earned 50 gallons of petrol a week before tax
A top of the range exotic sportsbike cost 2,250 gallons
A LARGE house with a LARGE yard in the country cost 12,500 gallons
So lets take our £6.54 gallon and work that backwards;
A mid twenties guy should have no problem finding a job that pays £6.50 x 50 = £325 a week, no overtime, no nothing, £325 a week is £17k per annum, local city bus drivers make that, just, if they work overtime…. so by any meaningful metric wages today are 25% to 50% lower in gallon of gas terms than they were in 1985… the average weekly wage is nearer 250, which at £6.50 a gallon = 39 gallons of gas
A top of the range sportsbike £6.50 x 2,250 = £14,625, closest my local dealer, the same one I was going to buy the MHR from back then, has on their website price wise is a 2013 Kawasaki VN1700 Voyager custom at £14,599… a 2012 VMAX is £21,499, so we aren’t a million miles away really.
A LARGE house with a LARGE yard, £6.50 x 12,500 = £81.250…. this is where it gets fucked.
The actual house in question, you can go there today and and see not four art deco creations in the back yard, but one large detached freehold, which according to http://www.nethouseprices.com sold in April 2009 for £325,000…. the original house, now minus the huge yard because the above mentioned extended £325k place with outbuilding was build in it, so it now only has a moderate but still large by UK standard 1/8th acre garden sold in June 2011 for £277,000
You have to remember that while what I did in 1985 was just about financially doable, it was considered by my own bank manager to be, and I quote, “financial suicide” on the part of the lenders, NatWest, and myself, racking up that much (£20k, I had £5k deposit) debt to buy a big house in the country.
There is a sound reason for referring all these things back to the gallon of gas / benzine / petrol / essence / whatever…. and that is that a gallon of gas = a pretty much fixed quantity of energy, and energy is the lifeblood of a modern technological society.
That house with that land (eg building plot) has to be what the house went for in June 2011, which is 277k, plus minimum 100k for the plot the 325k house and outbuildings now sits on, plus 20k for the long strip of land sold the other side to give access to the land at the bottom, which was never ours, but which now has yet another executive house built on it, so 277 + 100 + 20 = 397 lets not mess around and round it up to 400k
It is also worth noting that in 1985 this house cost 12,500 gallons of gas, today £400k / £6.50 = 61,538 gallons of gas…. 61,538 / 12,500 = 4.92, call it five times the fucking price in energy terms.
£400,000, now I had a 20% deposit and took a mortgage for the remaining 80%, today that would represent a £80k CASH deposit and a mortgage for the remaining £320k….. like fuck, what mid twenties guy has that kind of loose lying around today.
We have already seen that if you are prepared to put in the overtime, our modern mid twenties guy can drive a city bus and pull in £17k…. 320/17 = an 18.82 times multiple, get a liar loan for the full 400k and 400 / 17 = 23.53 times multiple.
We went from a 4x multiple, which my bank manager said was financial suicide, but hey, it was my funeral, to buy a house worth 12,500 gallons of gas, to the EXACT SAME MOTHERFUCKING HOUSE now costing 61,538 gallons of gas.
So financial suicide for FIVE GUYS IN THEIR TWENTIES WORKING AS A TEAM.
But wait, there is more.
While I looooove my technology and teh intertubez and my mega LED flat screen and 1080p HD did-yit-all moovie cameras and all that shit, all that shit didn’t exist commercially in 1985, you could spend half a weeks wages on a Sinclair 8 bit micro, you could spend a lot of money on Hi-Fi, you could buy a stupidly big 26″ colour telly… monthly bills were pretty much landline phone rental plus light and heat… there just wasn’t anything else.
Credit cards were also very rare, as indeed were debit cards.
People who travelled to foreign countries or worked abroad might tote a Diners Club and an AMEX card, they might, emphasis on might, most didn’t.
Mostly you wrote a cheque or paid cash.
Cash was king, because everyone had the legal right to be paid weekly in cash, and 80% of the population was, and if you are in ANY doubt that removing that legal right (Thatcher government) was anything other than a planned and necessary step on the road to personal credit / debt for everyone then you too are fucking dreaming of 1985…
A £20,000 mortgage for 20 years at 8% interest is £169.75 a month, getting on towards HALF of my gross wage in 1985….
IF I had stuck it, and all other things being equal, which is by no means certain, I would have been mortgage free seven years ago…. and my last year of mortgage payments would have been 2005, and a mortgage of some 40 quid a week in 2005 would have been peanuts…. especially compared to the new “Council tax” which in reality is something you pay in exchange for getting your bins emptied once a week, and for that house, which was LARGE, the council tax in that area is £2,200 a year, or £42 a fucking week.
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The present financial “dreamworld” that we live in is however anything but a dream, no fucker is going to wake up from this and idly run things through their head behind the wheel many hours later with mild amusement.
So far we have been inflating things in terms of a gallon of gas, when the wheels fall of that wagon and the actual cost of a gallon of gas doubles in five years, then doubles again in another five, which is what happened 27 years ago, all sorts of bed dreams and evil spirits come home to roost.
This applies to wimminz and niggerz too, by extension, if people do not do something, it is because they couldn’t be fucked, not because of any other excuse they gave you, or any excuse you are making for them…
If she doesn’t call you, it is because she can’t be fucked to call you.
If her responses to you are short and not so sweet, it is because she can’t be fucked to take the time to give you longer and more considerate answers
If she has only ever got real close to you when she wanted something, it is no coincidence that she is not around you when she does not want something from you, or worse still from her point of view, when you want something from her.
If she does want you to know she is thinking of you, caring for you, available for you to fuck, wild horses will not prevent her from letting you know this every single fucking day of your life, network problems, app problems, phone problems, email problems, work problems, money problems, sick kid problems, yadda yadda yadda, none of it will stop her letting you know, if she wants you to know.
Are you getting the fucking picture yet?
Here is what I do, I have two “historical” categories for wimminz, those I set my stall out for but didn’t fuck, and those I set my stall out for and did fuck.
The differences between the two groups are actually non-existent, apart from one, there is only one difference, and it is not that I fucked one group and not the other, it is the REASON I did NOT fuck one group, and that is they are totally unable to control their own bullshit long enough to get laid by me, the other group being those able to control their own bullshit long enough to get laid by me.
These two groups have one thing in common, I never contact them… they return the favour… if I tried to contact them I would be “creepy” and a “stalker” and end up with an injunction…
So I have two “groups” of contacts on my phone specifically for the wimminz, “bunnies” and “boilers“, every skank ho ends up in one or the other, the bunnies I fucked, the boilers I did not fuck.
In three years, three wimminz have managed to stay out of one or other of those two categories for more than a month, one of them has managed it for a rather astonishing year, by the simple fact that what they wanted to do was stay in touch and make sure I knew every day (while it lasted) that their cunt was available for my use 24/7.
Once a wimminz gets into either the bunnies or boilers groups of contacts, I will never, ever, ever contact them first again, I ***may*** respond if they contact me, which can rarely happen, but I never ever ever instigate contact, both groups are the morgue, the graveyard, the cess pit.
People do what the fuck they want to do.
If she has a threesome with the janitor and pool guy, it is because she wanted to.
If she walks out on your ass, it is because she wanted to.
If she takes your kids, it is because she wanted to.
If she trashes the car, it is because she wanted to.
If she falsely accused you of rape or DV, it is because she wanted to.
Are you listening buddy? All that crap about her personal problems and her history and her kids health and yadda yadda yadda, it is all bullshit.
She is doing exactly what she wants to do.
Judge her by her ACTIONS, not her words.
She is NOT making sure you know every single day that her holes are available for your use 24/7, that is an ACTION, to be specific an action she is choosing NOT to make, at least towards you.
The reason it took until a 2:30 phone call instead of a till 2:00 phone call was part two, convincing the guy that this shit applied to him too, be a man of ACTION, not a man of words, specifically do NOT bother writing one last email to the psycho skank bitch telling her she is too flaky and dishonest and skanky for you.
Be a man of ACTION, but her in the bunnies pile or the boilers pile, and forget the bitch ever existed.
THE FUCKING REASON for the bunnies pile and the boilers pile is one day, one or more of these psycho skank ho bitches IS going to decide that she WANTS to talk to you again and maybe hook up for a bit, and you being you will only remember the fuckable bits of that cunt, if anything, and you’ll be all “Hey how are they hangin’” because you never know, you might get laid or a free blow job… right…?
Wrong, they are in the bitches and boilers piles for one reason and one reason only.
So you can NEVER EVER EVER EVER FUCKING EVER forget that they all have one thing in common.
They all had one chance with you already, and they blew it.
It’s about time YOU did what YOU fucking wanna do, which is NOT sit around agonising if she got that text, if the network is down, if her car is broke down, if her ex is giving her a hard time, if her kid will make it through surgery, or even if she wants to fuck you.
Which inevitably brings me back to the three wimminz in three years who managed to stay out of the bunnies / boilers groups, the two who managed it a month were worth the odd casual fuck, and the one who lasted a year I got to quite like, but in a sexless sorta way, available to fuck and reasonably fuckable, but lets be honest, I’ve had everything she has to offer sexually, so where is the fun, so what was the fucking point…. beyond getting my ironing done.
All three fell into the bunnies / boilers just as soon as what they wanted to do was to not to let me know daily that they were there for me, because all three for something / someone more interesting to do what they wanted to do with.
Just in case you missed the point;
smokers smoke cause they want to
drinkers drink cause they want to
liars lie cause they want to
cheaters cheat cause they want to
thieves steal cause they want to
people do what the fuck they want to do
Judge them by their ACTIONS towards you, not their words, not spoken words, to written words, not SMS words, and not unspoken, unwritten or untexted words either.
They WILL get a babysitter / breakdown truck / train / flight / mobile signal / day off / what the fuck ever, WHEN IT SUITS THEM, when it is what they want to do.
You know the feeling, it doesn’t matter how bored shitless you are, you just cannot bring yourself to watch another cookie cutter star trek episode, or another walking dead, or another lost, or another any fucking thing.
Sitting there and watching a candle flicker is more interesting and relaxing.
I was entreated to go through my old bookmark.html files, created when I make my regular backups, going back over a decade and to click every single link.
server not found, server not found, server not found, ooh, it’s still there, server not found..
Some of them, simply because it has been so long, and also because they aren’t actually trying to tell me or sell me anything, are a pleasant nostalgic revisit..
Turn your speakers and sub-woofers up and feast on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4MjC1Ywofg for example, some of them are stuck in amber, and some of them, well WTF happened here, and then there are the rest.
The rest are like soap operas, you can walk away for 5 years and walk back and sit down and within 10 seconds get exactly what is going on, which is why I don’t watch soap operas, or anything by star trek or lost or walking dead or dexter or csi or bones or storage wars or pretty much anything else.
Usually ten minutes into episode one I see it is just a re branded version of something else that is old and lame, and cancel play and delete, sometimes, just sometimes, it is fresh enough I watch the next episode, or maybe the one after that too, before I realise they just used all the fresh and new that they had in stock, and the rest of this series and the next three series are going to be indistinguishable.
Blogs are particularly susceptible to this, the need to create a new article every day, or 5 a week, or 5000 new words a week, or 50 new adwords a week, you don’t have to ask when you get there, you got there ages ago.
Then you get people who are quite interesting, but within a few minutes your realise that while their experience as a toll booth operator gave them enough material to be interesting as all get out for 5 minutes exactly, at 5 minutes and 1 second they start repeating themselves, because they have done nothing else in their life, they are a toll booth operator, mostly boring, and you just got all the highlights, from here on in it is all downhill.
I used to know this guy, you would know his name, axe player in a very well known band, lots of shit he could pretend was only temporary, but a 90 date tour cooped up with the same bunch of cunts and roadies and dealers and groupies and hangers on, doing basically the same session over and over, that was the hard times at the rock face / well head for him, and like a mantra running through his head as long as he could was “think of the fucking money” which was the only way he got through it every time, until he didn’t any more.
Whatever the dreams of rock and roll, by the time one album has gone gold you look at their eyes and all the guys and gals on stage strutting their stuff are about as into the gig as the duty proctologist down at city hospital, everyone else is just another boring asshole.
1080p is a pure bitch for this, not that the first Matrix film was all that good, but at least it was fresh, watch a full quality 1080p stream of the second matrix film and all you can see is the uncanny valley, CGIAgent Smith‘s and CGI Neo and CGI pretty much fucking everything else akshully, and whatever interest there was in watching the film just dried up… but then there was a film all about this… Simone…. amusingly it bombed, despite being orders of magnitude better than the matrix turdology.
And so for whatever reasons I started this little bookmark thing out, I have progressed to the point where my own little psycho skank ho decided to play the FRA card on my ass and my browsing and bookmark history took a turn for the more macabre and grim, I expect you see the same thing with people who have been diagnosed with cancer etc.
At that point things start to get a little like a diary, a little like scar tissue.
Scar tissue is fun, I can show you a small white mark on my leg, you probably wouldn’t even notice it unless I pointed it out to you, and even then, it is just a small white scar to you, or anyone else.
To me, it takes me right back, SWAPO (back when they were toting, not voting), tsetse fly, bilharzia, and a piece of barbed wire that just tore a gash in my leg, that was me, the same person, but not the same person, because I have done so much since then, gone so many places, talked to so many people…
… and that’s when you get THAT feeling, that realisation that while you may still be 16 inside, in some ways you are also 60 and in some ways 600, and THAT is what you didn’t have when you were 16… the older skin not so much, the inner 60 year old and inner 600 year old,that’s what you lacked at 16, that’s why you bought so much bullshit and wasted time listening to and hanging with assholes.
As a being, as a creature, I have evolved and grown… my life cannot be stripped of everything merely mundane and compressed into 300 seconds of anecdotes about weird and funny shit that happens to toll booth clerks.
Despite the lack of any plan, and often of any apparent guiding intelligence, and often contrary to all expectations, I have managed thus far to live and varied and interesting life, in the way that a varied and interesting diet is essential to good nutrition and a varied and interesting education is essential to a good intellect…
And so I go through the bookmarks, and I find that while I have, as usual, grown and changed and evolved since first coming across those MRA websites, many of the website owners and operators have been stuck in amber.
I am fucking loath to say it, but someone ought to, if only so that the idea can be analysed and reduced and dismissed, and naming no names, but some of these fucking MRA guys and their blogs, they are like the toll booth guy, if it wasn’t for their wife / girlfriend / judge / boys in blue giving them a kicking, NOTHING notable would ever have happened in their life…
Everything else is just a fucking repeat / re-run.
And I think this may be WHY there is in fact no such thing as an MRM, and those who got red pilled in the 80/70/60’s whenever see the MRM itself and nothing but a re-run, albeit with occasional interesting new bits of technology like the intertubez.
You can either let that cut on your leg heal and scar over, and forget about it apart from the rare occasions you notice it…. or you can sit there and pick at the fucker all day long and make sure it never heals.
I got a “friend”, more of a loose acquaintance really, so we get talking and it turns out they have a project bike, that has been going nowhere, no tools, no skills, no abilities, but they are willing to devote time and effort to the job, if only they knew how and where to start.
So hey, I have a “hobby” home workshop, every tool you can think of short of actual crank grinding / line boring, we can do this, I provide the expertise, my only rule is my workshop doesn’t become a dumping ground for your abandoned projects, or “your” project is going to end up in the skip and a big fuck you.
They are as keen as fuck and take notes and make plans, and much discussion and planning ensues.
And then I don’t hear from them for a week, then two, because when push comes to shove….. fact is if they got in touch now my response is that it was a limited time offer that has now closed, permanently…. that person will never get another first opportunity to make a bad impression on me.
I don’t care what, if anything, ever happens to their project, and I’m left the same way about 95% of the MRA sites out there, I don’t care what happens to their kids / fight against authoritah / whatever, not because of the project / cause in question, but because of THEM.
I have heard everything of interest that you will ever have to say.
When you decided to be dead men walking by not learning and growing and healing through your trials and tribulations, when you decided to defy reality (NAWALT), when you were offered the Red Shirt, and instead of telling them to stick the whole show you took it, because to you a bit part is better than no part, you became toll booth anecdote guy, and your 300 seconds are up.
There is a thing that I find that wimminz are incredibly bad at, and mainly they are incredibly bad because everyone else LETS them get away with that shit, and that thing is accepting that actions have personal consequences.
Actions having personal rewards the wimminz are all over, no problemo there.
Actions having personal consequences, different story bro…
Housing benefit is a UK benefit paid to individuals who are either not working, or on a low wage, to go towards their rent etc.
Back in the day when almost anyone was entitled to this benefit, a lot of wannabe landlords and property developers realised that splitting a three bedroom house into three separate one room studios or flats would generate more rent money than leaving it as a three bedroom house, rent money that would ultimately be paid for by the state purse in the form of housing benefit.
Said one bed properties were all too small to swing a cat, and god help you if you owned more that two suitcases worth of shit, because the place would be crowded.
You can see how a single law can spawn a whole subculture of property developers, builders, rental agents, buy-to-let landlords, you name it.
So they change the law, from the beginning of this year if you were less than 25 years of age you were no longer “eligible” for housing benefit, so shared accommodation or bedsits for you, and from the beginning of next year they are raising this to 35 years of age.
Suddenly there are all sorts of one bedroom flats for sale, and not selling, as the buy to let landlords try to get out of the market, what use is a 33 year old prospective tenant and single person, who is no longer entitled to claim Housing Benefit, and thus be able to afford the huge and insane rents being charged by landlords…
At the simple stroke of a pen, a law dealing with Housing benefit entitlement affects landlords, property developers, builders and property maintenance, letting agents, mortgage firms, and of course prospective tenants and single persons, and indeed anyone else living on a street where three bedroom properties have been converted to one bed flats.
The legal definition here is having your own front door and key, you can put locks on each bedroom door and rent them out as bed-sits or studios or whatever, but if everyone uses the same front door and has a key to that front door then it is “multi occupancy”.
Multi occupancy has lots of problems, quite apart from the domestic arrangements of shared cooking and washing facilities and theft and dirt, it is not YOURS, so you cannot get contents insurance, you cannot enter into any agreements with a service supply company for power or broadband, and of course many of the legal protections that apply to TENANTS do not apply to you….
So a stroke of a pen changes who can get this Housing benefit from “anyone entitled” to “nobody under 35 who is single”
If you are a man under 35 this means you’d better enter into a relationship PDQ, and in reality this means a relationship with a wimminz, so one false DV accusation later and you’re fucking homeless again.
If you are a wimminz under 35 this means you’d better get pregnant PDQ, or have a series of guys every six months who you falsely accuse of DV once you’ve been assessed and granted your HB for the next six months.
Now, I am NOT leaping to defend the old system, which was designed to be abused, but when the efforts to save 3 billion pounds a year in Housing benefit alone are all basically targeted at ALL single males between the ages of 16 and 35, because the wimminz have a selection of get out clauses that the men can NEVER invoke, you just gotta ask, what the fuck are you thinking?
Are you TRYING to stir up social unrest?
Are you TRYING to start another glut of single skank ho mommies on state benefits?
Are you TRYING to help the devil find work for idle hands?
If that doesn’t float your boat, here is a complete, unedited, copied and pasted quote from Zerohedge
“I have a friend who is a department manager at Walmart. He and the other two department managers for that department have no employees. 80% of the employees are cashiers. I point you to JCPenney and their decision to go to RFID chips, and reassigned all of their cashiers.
In five years Walmart will not be the biggest private employer in the U.S., but they will be doing just fine. I’ll let you figure out why.”
The guy is right, this is what the world has come to, a store department with three managers and zero employees, and it takes me straight back to documentaries made in 1976 about computerisation and the word processor wiping out the thing known as the typing pool…. buggy whip manufacturers indeed.
You also have to remember that all three “managers” are in fact in reality no more than the most menial of clerks with no discretion or authority, just a job title, Orlando style.
You can go to my local supermarket and there is an analogy to the proper turner in the shop replaced by one guy manning six CNC tools, there is one chick manning 8 self service tills, every time a customer tries to scan both bags of sugar before putting the first one into the weighed tray, or when central programming gets the weight of an item wrong so when you do scan and put it in the bag in the weighed tray it throws up an error.
If you stick with standardised and bar-coded items, coffee, milk, sugar, washing up liquid, it works well, hell it beats the fucking tills with queues of obese wimminz, plus it has the advantage that if the system fucks with you or falls over, just walk away and leave that shit there, that’s the bit the programmers always forget, a human can walk away from a robot mid-sentence… of course the bit the human’s always forget is that machines and computers can be programmed to be sociopathic towards you.
Take the example of petrol pumps, the law states that when they say they have dispensed a gallon of fuel, they can not under read by more than a fixed amount.
Say for example that the law says a pump cannot under dispense by more than 1.5%
Say for example (I’ll use metric cos it is easier) the tanker delivers 10,000 litres of fuel to the filling station, that means that the pumps are allowed to dispense a displayed volume of 10,150 litres, given that it is child’s play to make a pump that meters accurately to 0.1% this means they can deliberately set every pump in the land to under dispense by 1.4%, on every fill up, for every vehicle.
This is a simple example of a simple mechanical machine that has been set up to steal 1.4% of your billed amount, every single transaction.
Back in the day you could use a CB “burner”, which might make the pump money display freeze, or scream through to 99.99
Your domestic electric and gas meters are the same deal BTW
By the time you get to advanced electronic self service POS, and more importantly the supermarket full of products designed to be compatible with same, you get screwed left right and centre, by design, by the programmed to screw you sociopathic machine.
Suddenly things like apples and oranges and cucumbers get sold by quantity, not weight, and it is only when you get back home that you realise that back when you used to buy by weight from that same supermarket a bucks worth of apples used to full the fruit bowl on the dining table, and now you are buying individually the 8 apples it takes to fill the bowl are now a buck and a quarter, or local currency equivalent.
Suddenly, you’re buying the barcode, and getting for free the product attached to the barcode, and next thing you know you are being eased into the so called “multiple micro-transaction” model, which isn’t so micro… a minimum of 10% of shoppers at my local mart have already been programed to;
Pay for their groceries with the plastic at 14:04 hrs
Pay for their smokes with the plastic on the way out to the car at 14:10 hrs
Pay for their fuel for the car with the plastic (pumps set 1.4% under) at 14:19 hrs
Three transactions in 15 minutes at the same store in the same visit on the same plastic, and of course you are getting nickel and dimed at every step, and that is BEFORE you get talked into any of the options such as “cash back” at the till and so on.
Of course, as the IQ required by the customers drops, so does the IQ required by the staff.
IN shades of the Stainless Steel Rat, it is an ill wind that blows no good… I found myself wanting some 15″ diameter analogue wall clocks, the store had some on offer, seriously cheap, but the advantage is you go on with a good AA battery and a nearly flat AA battery which you palm, cos a nearly flat AA battery makes a clock mechanism / second hand jerk, but not advance, and you buy one “good” clock for 5.99 and get two “broken” ones for free after showing the department “manager” (see above) the broken stock… three clocks at 2.00 a pop.
It would be illegal to swap bar-codes on items, or to not swipe items, you could do both these things and get away with it, with some finesse, but they are both illegal and it just isn’t worth it, especially not for some product that costs 3.99…
But it is not illegal to game the system, by doing things the programmers never expected you to do, it is not illegal to take the 1 Kg bag of sugar and place it FIRMLY in the weight tray / bag after scanning, say 2 Kg firmly for a second or two… it is not illegal to wear a relatively large rare earth magnet in a wrist strap… it is not illegal to not know the difference between one variety of apple and another, and constantly ask the assistant for help… nor is it illegal to, as I saw on my last visit, wear a bracelet with a pendant with a bar-code enamelled onto it, which they only spotted when the security guard noticed that the “Error, call assistant” only came up when the customer tried to scan stuff with her left hand, the arm with the pendant.
RFID / NFC / NFC+bump etc is the appropriate technology to move us from where we are, to a real multiple micro transaction scenario where we can REALLY get nickel and dimed.
Which is great, until “Fred” comes along, Fred is as crazy as batshit, Fred was so convinced that all the RF pollution was fucking up his brain waves that he went out and bought a pocket size jammer from Asia, now he says he is much better, while being bathed in his own RF pollution…. I saw Fred this morning, buying his smokes (yeah, go figure) and the usual passer by looking at their phone quizzically and shouting HELLO!!!! ARE YOU THERE? at it, seems Fred decided to buy a new pair of trainers / sneakers, apparently he had a hell of a time, because the room temperature IQ staff were unable to just wave the RFID tagged product at the POS unit, and had to type in a 16 digit number by hand, which took about three attempts.
Fred didn’t make the connection, beyond “All this fuckin’ technology man….”
The interesting thing about the Saville story is that according to ALL the press, *everyone* at the BBC knew all about Saville’s sexual antics, and indeed Saville was just one of many…
…if this is true, given the relationship between media and press, then every journo at every newspaper also knew, and kept it quiet, so they are in fact a PART of this conspiracy that they are now screaming loudest about, and indeed methinks the lady doth protest too much.
In the UK you can run away to Gretna Green and get married at 16, or you can wait till 17 and walk into any register office… so these are part of this 51 million suddenly “child” brides… had thus argument with a slut recently who claimed that 18 was the age of adult hood in the UK, so how come they can fuck at 16 and join the army and get handed a gun and sent on deployment at 16… children aren’t allowed to decide to fuck or to sign up for the army.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2216381/Jimmy-Savile-Its-time-called-New-Tricks-squad.html – fan the flames, now it is a scandal, of course it is, a scandal the press would not stoip until it had created, while pointing the finger at the beeb, while studiously and hypocritically ignoring the fact that in the iniquitous world of journos, anything that was common knowledge within the beeb for the past 40 years has to have been common knowledge in Fleet Street for the past 40 years too.
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I’d like to go on, but I can’t, I can’t stomach any more, and yes I know they are not working hyper-links in the green text, sure you can copy and paste if you feel the need.
No, it is the what passes for language, that fucks me off the most, like the sluts I know who are always telling people what those other people “need” to do, till they try it on me, and I interrupt with “No, I do not NEED to do this thing, you just WANT me to do this thing, and you aren’t giving me any reason why I would want to do this thing, so you can kiss my ass.”
That of course leads into circular arguments with the skanks where if it suits them the 16 year old girl is an empowered pwincess, or if it suits them the 16 year old girl is a vulnerable child, of course what usually suits them is both simultaneously being true, the ultimate wimminz shit test…
Amusingly since my FRA and red pill on steroids event I haven’t even bothered to pay lip service to even being polite to these skanks, I hear shit like that I do not merely call it, I openly ridicule it for what it is, pathetic childish and nauseating, as a result they often fall in “love” with me.. go figure… of course the more unfuckably ugly and obese they are the more they are prone to use this kind of newspaper language, where everything is elastic, their wants become everyone else’s needs, and of course men are always creepy evil rapists and paedos…
Invariably, when I get into arguments with people over what I have written and said, the core of their position is never that what I have actually said, as per words actually uttered or written, and the dictionary meanings thereof, is something they are in disagreement with, rather it is always “what I really meant” or “what those words really mean”
It is the church of the committee, where what they call communication and dialogue, I, and the dictionary, call propaganda and monologue.
There is literally not one single paragraph, much less one article or one page, in any of the MSM that is actually intended to inform or educate me.
Instead 100% of the output as we can see above is intended to get me steamed up about something or other, some cause de jure, while simultaneously twisting and misrepresenting that cause to such a vast extent that it no longer bears even a passing resemblance to the truth.
When the MSM *is* a gas-lighting bunny boiler, chicken little, then all the politicians and businessmen and financiers and bankers and cops can do as they please, secure in the knowledge that the circus maximus is doing it’s job, and keeping the great unwashed as ignorant as ever, which is of course why they own the MSM in the first fucking place…
…then the man in the street is apt to grasp any old shite and cling to it.
Go to Africa and there is a real problem, apparently, with AIDS infected men who think that raping a virgin is a cure, you see the difficulty…
The story itself is just more MSM bullshit
The story itself is true, BECAUSE of the MSM bullshit and failing to actually inform.
It’s a binary choice, only one of those two choices can be true, and whichever one it is, the consequences for us all suck.
I was shopping in Tesco’s earlier, and I rounded a corner in the aisle and bumped into Rolf Harris… “Hey Rolf..” I said “… I remember you doing “Two Little Boys” back in 1970“
“Fuck off you cunt…” said Rolf “… that was Jimmy Saville“
You know the story, guy wakes up with utterly amazing thing in his head, goes to write it down, someone or something interrupts, and it is all gone…. and that is my excuse for why this blog is mainly crap, someone or something keeps interrupting me.
See, here’s the thing, I have seen and heard many people place the blame for their own lack of achievement or greatness on the demands of others, if only I didn’t have a wife and kids and mortgage to support, I could have gone to medical school.
MGTOW however reveals another thing entirely, guys who spend most of their time doing sweet fuck all, sure, they may have half a dozen projects on the go, but none of them are a rush…
… be nice to get the motor-sickle back together and on the road in time for next summer… but that is a sentiment that has been expressed the last three winters, and a couple more won’t hurt…
… mainly the 16 hours of wakefulness each day are filled by doing sweet fuck all of note, but doing it in your own pace and at your own time and in your own way.
Living such a life Coleridge managed to produce three poems of note, a guy called Darwin went on a sea voyage because he was suitable intellectual company for another gentleman (that was his only role, he was not voyage naturalist) etc etc
Yet when we are told about MGTOW’s we are always pointed at workaholics like daVinci and Tesla and Brunel, guys who couldn’t sit still and contemplate the possibility of needing a fart or needing a crap, they’d have to build a machine to take care of both eventualities.
Give up wimminz and suddenly you will have all that free time, in which to be industrious for yourself, and in no time at all you will have a fleet of motorcycles, three cars, a 4×4, a yacht and a speedboat, and apparently no fucking time at all in which to enjoy them, or contemplate needing a fart or a crap…
Is that what the draft pony dreams about? Giving up the company cart to pull just so he can still be a draft pony and pull his own cart, or does he dream about just saying fuckit, throw off the cart and harness, I think I’ll wander over thataway and chew some grass..
Anecdotally and tangentially, PoF is seeing a huge influx in new sign-ups from wimminz in Wales, and as those of you who know anything about UK geography and economics knows, Wales is in many ways the canary in the coal-mine as far as employment goes, as for the wimminz themselves, I’m reminded of an auto maker who is convinced that the answer to the collapse is sales is to re-brand everything with some new badge engineering, take a whole slew of new publicity shots, and start a whole new publicity campaign, this alone will be sufficient to change something from “Boy, you can’t polish a turd” (Christine) to something that sells like Buzz Lightyear the first time around.
The Xanadu interruptions to sedentary navel gazing and lotus eating are not necessarily a bad thing though, the good thing about the sedentary lifestyle is that it IS open to impromptu interruptions, and these interruptions can be interesting and pleasant, in a very Zen kind of way.
One of these interruptions was while writing this, just such a wimminz, but not welsh, we chatted on PoF a few weeks ago and she didn’t seem to me to be making any effort to get in my pants, so I walked away in boredom and ennui…. turns out I was right, as she had another guy in the holding pattern, turns out he wasn’t as good at sex as she was hoping so she pops up again today, and fuck the “long term” in her profile, within 2 minutes she is talking about needing a damn good dirty fuck, can I oblige?
Who knows, it’s a three whorse (sic) race to see who is going to keep my balls drained this weekend, and it may even be that the race will be cancelled by me if don’t just see a clear winner, and that isn’t first past the post a book for definite on X night, but first past the post who also looking like they are desperate and will do anything to win.
That’s the thing with the sedentary MGTOW, because he is quite happy to spend 10 minutes contemplating whether he needs a crap or a fart, quite happy to be having three or four long term no rush at all projects on the go, he is the marketing department’s nightmare…
Trying to get him motivated and eager like an apple fanboi is next to impossible.. “you want me to pay how much? for what? and no new features or ability?” next thing you get is “nah, I’ll pass” and if you keep it up you’ll get “take your products, all of them, stick them up your ass, and fuck off, forever”
Passivity is actually an incredibly powerful thing, it is INORDINATELY difficult to get someone riled up or involved in something they literally no longer give a shit about.
Now, we are actually starting to talk, at higher levels of state, around the periphery at least, about the problems caused by the fact that we no longer make anything, we are a service industry run by and for wimminz and niggerz, and everyone else is a single mum on the state teat.
Trying to involve me in this debate is like a load of 3′ tall dwarves who have spent the last 30 years destroying the levees, trying to involve a 6′ tall Zulu in what should be done when the flood waters rise to 40″ high…
Sedentary animals don’t burn a lot of energy, but they are often capable of astonishing feats of physical prowess… wander into the African bush and if you manage to see a big cat without actually also disturbing them, chances are they are lying there half asleep, wondering whether to take a crap or just fart.
A rising tide lifts all boats equally (and as I said before here a falling tide strands all poorly crewed boats equally) but rising floodwaters kill everything that lives underground and can’t swim first, then everything that is very short and can’t swim, then everything that is slow and can’t swim… the red-neck motherfucker on the lilo with a cheap ass polystyrene (floats) cooler full of suds is better equipped that 99.9% of life to survive that flood, he has what he needs, and nothing that he doesn’t need.
Having nothing that I don’t need in my life is why I can live for so little, in monetary terms, so little, in effort terms, so little in stress terms, so little, in giving a shit terms, so little, in involvement in society or people’s problems, so little, in energy expended terms.
