Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

December 9, 2013

20% of Broken Roads


I’m currently about 20% through Broken Roads (hat tip to DMJ) and I’m minded to write something.

Let me say this first of all.

Any ass-hole can find fault, being a critic is easy, lot easier than being a writer, and writers often of necessity have to employ things like artistic licence as a vehicle, if they strive for pin point accuracy it can kill the story stone dead before they start.

Star wars and just about everything else fucking piss me off because you have spacecraft performing AERODYNAMIC maneouvers in a vacuum, that shit is unforgivable, the writers need to be taken out back and fucked and dried.

Broken Roads you can tell, even 20% in, that the writer has fired a weapon, and been around what the yanks call a wrench / mechanic.

So I’m wondering, is it mere artistic licence and a vehicle for the story, or is it exactly what Rexx is talking about, that gives rise to the things I think when I read it, please bear in mind the following….

My father before me was an Engineer, like me, but a hundred times better than me, his era, he had a steam and electric ticket, otto diesel was still around, but dad’s first truck was a steam truck, made by Dennis.

95% of what I learned, I learned from my dad, so I learned how things were when HE was a boy apprentice, and later how the did things during the war, and in the jungles of the far east shortly thereafter….

Now, you can make acetylene easy enough, that’s just chemistry, but compressing and getting it into a bottle (not an empty one, but a bottle filled with a porous solid like a sponge) at high pressure is a completely new ball game, y’all try feeding a three stage diving compressor with acetylene and not air sometime, I’ll be the guy watching from 2,000 yards away through the fucking telescope…. but post apocalyptic Rexx grabbing a gas axe? (oxy acetylene torch) 40+ years after the breakdown…

The protagonist riding around on a motorcycle? Grease in a sealed tub might last 40 years, lube oil won’t, and that shit is harder to make than gasoline, many a time my old man told me the two great advances since he was a boy were pneumatic tyre technology and lube technology, the metals and engineering they had, but those two, no way.

Something no fucker talks about now, Brake Mean Effective Pressure, back in dad’s day they’d run a tuned side-valve engine at maybe 6:1 compression ratio, often 2/3rd of that, they had 100 octane gas and sub thou engineering and great steels, but no lube good enough.. if they had lube good enough, no way to get that power down as the tyres weren’t good enough.. this shit is hard limit stuff.

Gasifiers and steam power and sidevalve shit, the main protagonist might have been able to get a Model J Harley running, it was appropriate tech, the US Army used them to try and chase down Pancho Villa in real life, but what sounds like a 4 cyl jap bike with 12mm spark plugs?

Like I said, any asshole can be a critic, maybe DMJ knew all this but needed to write it his way to make the story work, and tell the story he wanted to tell, and not the story of the incredible technical challenges the real protagonists would face 40 years after the apocalypse.

So, this isn’t an appraisal of DMJ as an author, or Broken Roads as a book, rather it is about something that reading the book made me think, something that is in-line with what I have read so far.

That is that if you found yourself in that world, in reality, you would find that the reality as described in the book is a fucking fairy tale land of plenty and abundance and ease, from a purely engineering / technical POV.

I have seen with my own eyes a hand made arc welder, made in the 1990’s in africa, I have a picture somewhere, you can smelt copper and hammer it flat, but insulating it…. if you have high quality industrial weaving kit and cotton you can weave an insulator, I can remember this as a child, if you don’t, as these african’s didn’t, you hammered thin wall copper pipe flat, used hammered iron bed frame and leaf spring for the cores, and wrapped the hammered copper around the cores, using fucking paper from magazines for an insulator, an old set of jump leads worked both as the high current side and as the torch, and THEY STILL NEEDED INDUSTRIAL MADE AND COATED WELDING RODS.

This shit is orders of magnitude harder to do than anyone realises, this sounds easy, but it depends on that, and that depends on the other, and the other depends on something else, and you need all that shit in an unbroken line before you can do this

I used to run a single cylinder static lister diesel generator, it would run on diesel, or lube oil, or ATF, and this 1.4 litre displacement single cylinder engine would produce a whopping 6 bhp @ 650 rpm, each of the twin external flywheels weighed around 300 lbs….. I personally wouldn’t even consider anything more technologically advanced or high tech or with a greater power to weight ratio for a Broken Roads scenario, we are literally talking steam power.

Similarly, 40 years after the apocalypse, my money is on the only kind of rifle the main protagonist would be able to run would be a muzzle loading flintlock, flint, black powder and lead you can do, and again, with low barrel pressures you can cast or wrap a barrel, there is a huge correlation between being able to make an engine barrel that will handle 200 psi peak pressures and a gun barrel that will do the same, to scale…. hell, the logo of BSA motorcycles until they folded was crossed rifles, Birmingham Small Arms

But making brass, smokeless powder, and especially percussion caps… fucking hard stuff to do… so is making a rifled barrel

First you need a lathe….

But you couldn’t make that shit unless you have access to a fucking good blacksmith, and a metalsmith, and a gear cutter, all separate trades and skills, and they in turn depend on miners and smelters, brickies to make the kiln, it goes on and on, maybe when your community gets to 50,000 inhabitants you’ll have enough supporting trades and such to start making crude rifle barrels and steam engines and early internal combustion engines, Harley J stuff, assuming you have the fucking plans, and the measuring tools, and so on.

In a sense, though I am only 20% of the way into Broken Roads, I sense that this is at least one thread of the narrative that DMJ is telling a story about, our ignorance of our dependence on technology.

If he is, I find myself wondering, in 1978 the BBC did an excellent 10 part documentary series, narrated by James Burke, it was called Connections, and delved into this very subject, back in the days before TV was dumbed down into x-fuckedher I’m a celebutard.

Maybe you should all watch it.

Maybe you should download it, while you still can, in a post apocalyptic world a hand cranked charger would power a laptop and allow you to view it, and marvel at the moving pictures.

Here is episode 1

December 6, 2013

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…


Pinky just got kicked to the kerb, FoffI was supposed to be going there to bone it tonight, but despite the lack of a hamster wheel there was no lack of the usual wimminz fare of say one thing, do another, and frankly my life is too short, no matter how good and kinky the sex was, so kerb time it is.

So… sitting here having just discussed it with a couple of the lads down the pub. Nothing of value was lost, because there was nothing of value there anyway, if there was, she would not have said one thing and done another… QED

So… further to a comment one of them made, it’s all about the feelings, and channelling Derek & Clive, you got to have fucking intuition mate, and channelling AfOR (because you almost certainly DO have fucking intuition mate), you got to fucking listen to it.

I had *that* feeling last night, that hard to describe feeling, that combination of being kept in the dark and fed on shit, and knowing something ain’t right, and wondering why you’re the last one at the party to get the joke.

Ask me to explain it, or justify it, or back it up… and I can’t, I can’t give you anything except I had that feeling, and knew it was significant, and recollected other times I had had that feeling.

It’s not a feeling that just applies to your dealings with wimminz…

This guy

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2518874/Father-receives-photo-XBox-One-duped-Ebay.html

He had that feeling, in his own words.. “It came in a brown envelope. When the postman gave it to me I kept asking him if he was sure this package was for me and he kept saying it was.”  he KNEW…

Like I said, justification, explanation, supporting evidence, I can’t give you any of that shit when I get that feeling, all I can tell you is I have that feeling, and that feeling has ALWAYS BEEN FUCKING RIGHT.

A guy asks you “do you think my wife is cheating on me?“.. he already knows the fucking answer, he has that feeling.

Thing is, Pinky that just got kicked to the kerb, she could no more adequately explain her actions and choices than I could explain the feeling, I do not mean I will never know what went on in her head, I mean even if I had a nanosecond by nanosecond replay of whatever did go on in her head, I would be none the wiser… observing the process in her head is as much use as observing the feeling in me.

None.

Every guy I have ever met who gets that feeling starts playing what if scenarios in their heads, looking for an answer or explanation or enlightenment, they will never get it, that urge to look for answers is the “dark side” of that feeling.

If I had listened to the dark side I’d have gone to her place as planned, and maybe been greeted by plod, maybe been greeted by darkness and locked doors, maybe been greeted by who knows what, the dark side of that feeling wants knowledge, explanations, answers, understanding.

With experience, you get like me..

As DMJ says in a current piece, I get that feeling, I go snake eyes, people do what they wanna do, if da bitch wanted me to know where I stood or what the fuck was going on, nothing would have stopped her from making sure I knew… NOTHING…

The very fact that I did not know is the feeling, is the reality, do not be attracted by the dark side Luke, come over here to the light side, go snake eyes with me, turn that car around, drive home, edit your contacts on the phone to move the skank from “current” to “skanks” + “blocked“, turn your back, walk away, she is literally dead to me.

There is no animosity, there is no hate, there is no desire, there is no wanting to know, there is nothing, there is only memory, fun while it lasted.

Past tense.

Move on, chilled, take the opportunity to do something you want, play Skyrim, go down the pub for a pint, walk the dog, anything, as long as you are snake eyes.

Snake eyes, stopped me going to her door, stopped a possible altercation, stopped possible po-lice involvement, stopped me continuing to feel that (unpleasant) feeling, stopped me giving a fuck, stopped me seeing her as anything except past tense.

No good EVER comes from ignoring snake eyes and going to the dark side and embracing that feeling, none, ever, not ever.

DMJ’s article was spot on, snake eyes != (is NOT equal to) Mr Nice Guy

Mr Nice Guy gets fucked over and loses, every time, BECAUSE he is trying to be Mr Nice Guy.

As I discussed elsewhere here, when I was arrested for my alleged FRA from the psycho skank ho ex, the initial reaction was to convince the po-lice that I could not have raped the bitch because I am a nice guy and rape is alien to me, the fact that I didn’t rape the bitch is irrelevant, I wanted the po-lice to SEE that I didn’t, and the only way to prove a negative is to try to make the other guy like you, and to do that you WILL lie…. you will, for example, deny any sex happened, and the DNA will prove you lied about that, and at that point you’re left with admitting you lied about the sex, but maintain you never raped anyone… good fucking luck with that.

Despite the fact that the FACTS are that early this week Pinky wants to spend the rest of her life with me, *some* fucking thing happened while I was 200 miles away, I dunno what and I never will, all I know is I had that feeling and next thing I know I am being blanked.

*IF* I had been dumb-ass Mr nice Guy enough to turn up at her door, and *IF* plod were there, there is no possible thing that I can say to them that will do me any good whatsoever.

Snake eyes, now the FACTS (verifiable by GPS and extensive digital records of texts etc etc etc) are that early this week I was there and everything was perfect, and I ain’t been within 50 miles of there since, and when whatever it was happened in the last 24 hours happened, I still did not go there, and I will never go there again, or attempt to contact her again.

Bottom line, I may well get “that feeling” again, but it won’t be Pinky behind it.

The last ship on that route already sailed.

If I get that feeling again, even if I get it 1,000 times, it will be 1,000 different causes / people, and in 1,000 cases snake eyes will kick in, and in 1,000 cases within 24 hours it will be ancient history… that is a scab I will ***NEVER*** pick at again as long as I live, I just discard it like a lizard losing its tail…. or a turd I send off to the coast with a flush.

October 14, 2013

Love = ownership


Got this skank, she has been proclaiming undying love for me for some 18 months now, thing is, to her, her “loving” me means she should be able to control me.

I am not talking about “I love this person so I don’t want them to hurt me” which can be a huge grey area depending on the definition of hurt me, but I love you so you should do x to please me.

I had this discussion, what is love anyway, with a FWB over the weekend, and I had to admit, I had no idea what love actually is.

It’s not that I am a robot or psychopath without feelings, it is that no definition I can come up with carries any more meantingful, empirical and semantic content than Meh, bleugh, wibble… though I was able to tell her that every time I had felt what I would have described as love, I ended up getting hurt, often badly.

So, what is love, other than some sort of catch all code used to cover and express the indefinable and inexpressible?

I can remember that ache in the chest, “such sweet sorrow”, but I am always reminded of something my dad used to say, that yawning wasn’t a sign of tiredness, but a sign of not being well, he was right, I yawn when I’m running on empty, grab more oxygen the body says, not when I could crash out 10 seconds after putting my head down… but looking back that is what that ache was, the realisation that something wasn’t as I wanted it to be, the ache was because my dog was gone, not because I loved him.

They also say love and hate are two sides of the same coin, I’m not sure what hate is either, but it sure isn’t the inverse of love, I’d toast the great spaghetti monster if the psycho skank ho ex had a long and painful battle with cunt cancer, but I don’t feel great that those I care for are healthy.

I literally wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire, but it is an apathy and a refusal to participate, not a participation in her downfall.

I conclude that actively seeking her downfall is going to be down to one or both of two things, anger and obsession.

Hate is a word that is abused as often as love, “I hate broad beans” no, I don’t, I just don’t like the taste of them.

It seems that in fact both words are used to describe a state of irrationality, of being absent from your senses, and therefore absent from a state of both rationality and sound judgement.

Back in the day, one day Queen was unheard of, then a week later they were all over the radio and telly, seven seas, my dad took one look at them and said “Queen,. Queer more like”… and thirty years later people were still debating freddie’s sexuality, and not debating the rest of the band, someone who should be in the know once told me that deaky was the only band member never to have sucked on a cock… but to the female fans, which was most of them if we are going to be brutally honest here, boys were more into Purple / Foghat / Zep / Yes / BTO, falling in love with a lead singer who preferred cock was a state of being absent from reality.

I fail to see how something that defies description as well as love does, can play a functional part in POSITIVE evolution, and I fail to see how something that fails to play a functional part in POSITIVE evolution can be anything else but NEGATIVE evolution.

Positive evolution is me fucking the psycho skank ho ex and creating a son to carry on the DNA

Negative evolution is me not reproducing.

Homosexuality is negative evolution, save for those rare cases when faggy uncle chris can save the life of nephew joe.

Homosexuality is not eliminated by evolution, therefore it is an artefact of evolution, and it is not the fact that fags are created that we should be focusing on, but the fact that fags (by and large) do not reproduce, DNA don’t care what you are, just what your genetic legacy is.

And when I say homosexuality I mean homosexuality, only being with one sex, your own, not people who put “bisexual” on a profile because it makes them sound trendy and everyone else is doing it too.

Loyalty and bonding, they play a part in DNA, and are therefore real.

Love and hate, no, don’t buy it, so they are just “noise”, plenty of signal, but no valid data.

Which ties in with the fact that I can quite easily explain and point to examples of loyalty and bonding, no difficulty whatsoever, unlike love.

In the final analysis it always appears to me that “love” is used as a get out of jail free card to justify actions and behaviours that would otherwise be beyond the pale.

When a child does something unforgivable, and that act is then forgiven, it is always love that is used as an excuse… whereas loyalty and bonding between a parent and child can be destroyed totally by that same act.. never darken my door again.

The skank that started this off, who proclaims undying love and then gets all upset when I don’t dance to her tune, she will never get the fact that it is the very fact of her getting upset when I won’t dance to her tune that puts her firmly in the “have fucked, won’t fuck ever again” category.

Her self declared love for me survives all this undiminished.

In effect her desire to remain irrational and absent from her senses remains undiminished.

My failure to comprehend love, is, I feel, not exactly unlinked to my failure to feel guilt and shame at being a deadbeat dad.

Only someone who is irrational and absent from their senses would feel guilt and shame over something that he would nether wish for nor make happen nor had any control over.

Grief, yes, I feel grief and sorrow, as I would if my dog was run over by a truck that crashed into the garden, something I am neither responsible for nor have control over.

With the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, it is telling that a phrase that was mentioned a *lot* in secret family court, along with “the child’s best ‘interests” was love, “duty” was only even mention as something belonging to the court, and “loyalty” didn’t get a look in.

I did a word analysis of the affidavits filed with the court by by psycho skank ho ex, in which I was accused of a decade of every manner of vile and disgusting and violent and abusive actions possible.

What was remarkable was the fact that until I did this, no matter how often I had read the documents in question, I completely failed to notice what words were missing.

World like pain and agony and bruising and uncomfortable and so on were either completely or totally absent, I’d run though the house waving a dagger and screaming I was going to kill her, or she would wear high necked and long sleeved tops to cover the bruises (used once) but no mention of the things a body feels when it has been subjected to such treatment.

Words and phrases that can be found in every other affidavit seeking child custody ever written were littered throughout, feelings and controlling and abusive and violent and scared and afraid, dozens and dozens of mentions of all of them.

What is love?

fuktifino

June 2, 2013

In the crib


So, a quiet weekend at home in “ma crib” just chilling, and going through the files ported across to the NAS box last week, no wimminz, no poontang, just me… smiley face.. blakes_7_gareth_thomas_2

And so it came to pass, sw something on the net about a remake of Blake’s 7, a seventies TV sci-fi thing by Terry Nation, so, thinks, aha, I am sure I have a copy of that on the NAS, ain’t see it for years… certainly not since my FRA etc.

Funny what you forget…

So the series starts with Rog Blake having his mind screwed with by the State, and when he doesn’t knuckle down like a good little drone, and witneses yet another State abuse f power, guess what the State does?

Yup, fits him up on child abuse charges, and so the now paedo Blake gets sentenced to transportation to a penal planet, and the series kicks off.

Authentic, and gritty.

I haven’t even visited the website of the rebooted version, but you just know that’ll be cut, and a bunch of strong empowered wimminz will be written in… not that the original series was short of them either, but they were portrayed as ice bitches, quite correctly.

Take 8 minutes out of your life to watch this bit of S1 E1

You can forgive the low TV series budget, the wobbly sets, the dodgy models and all the rest, because the plot is there and the acting is there, and remember folks, this was written for older CHILDREN, not adults or kidults per se… it aired just after 7pm.

In 1978 when this went out I was out of school and in work, but I watched it avidly.

There is really nothing else to say, I’ll let the clip above speak for itself.

 

June 1, 2013

the silence of the marketplace


As y’all know by now, I frequent several on-line poontang places, swingers / hookup sites etc, as well as PoF and all that jazz.

Here is the thing, to a wimminz;

  • in their face “you’re fucking delusional, bitch” = micropenis living in mum’s basement woman hating rapist and paedo
  • silence / non participation = agreement
  • nice ass = agreement
  • nice tits = agreement
  • fancy a fuck = agreement
  • etc = agreement

You get the idea.article-2286848-1861D1C2000005DC-223_308x367

So, on one of these sites, some skank ho starts a thread about what feminism has done for us wimminz, not thinking for one moment that all the single guys on there have been through the wringer, and most of the guys in couples have been through the wringer, and many of the younger guys have been brought up by heroic single mums so they have been through the wringer.

So the usual, few, and getting fewer as the herd senses which way the wind is blowing in society, wimminz join in with this wimminz in their praise of feminism.

And there is this lone voice, me, pointing out a couple of salient facts.

  1. guys are here to fuck, NSA (no strings attached)
  2. guys see little mileage in speaking out against, it might reduce the chance of a fuck
  3. any guy who speaks out in favour (and there was literally one), is clearly begging for some cunt, and will never get any

The most salient fact was this, on a site all about free NSA cunt, the very LACK of an avalanche of white knights roaring their approval SHOULD have been something that sent shudders of fear rippling through them from head to toe.

The party is over, nobody got up to go home yet is all, you freaks prancing about on the stage after the band and roadies left are not the main act.

And then a queer thing happened.

The skanks responses to me were not the usual micropenis stuff, no, they weren’t even replies, no misandry, no shaming language, no insults, more funny haha but we are being serious here and turn away to continue talking to the other grrrls.

A couple of years ago all you would have seen on these sorts of sites is limp dick mofos leaving verifications for these skanks along the lines of oomigod, this lady’s pussy is so sweet and juicy and warm and wet, you guys all need to treat this one with respect yadda yadda yadda, and if I had written what I wrote back then, I would have been drowned in a sea of jihadi white knights

Failing to worship the cunt is apostasy.

Then another funny thing happened, or rather, something usually expected to happen failed to happen, I didn’t get the usual 7 day forums ban for hate speech…

There is a simple formula, where T is the enjoyment of the time I spend with a wimminz, not fucking, and F is the enjoyment of the time I spend with her fucking, and the moment
F – T < 0
is the moment your skanky ass hits the kerb.

It’s a formula the silent masses of men on that forum were all aware of, perhaps only subconsciously, but it is there…

====================================================

Back in a previous life in the dotcom era I used to try to help people getting on the “our business needs a website” bandwagon.

There were some simple truths, the website should answer all the potential customer’s questions, the website will expose all your failings, so you should have shit in place to address what to do when things go wrong instead of making all your plans for when things go right, the medium itself should be as close to invisible as possible, definitely not intrusive to the user.. and the killer..

The killer was this.

Imagine your website is a virtual shop, I can pull statistics on almost anything you like out of that once it has been running a while, how many single geeky women living in Madrid accessed the site…

The ONE SINGLE THING I cannot tell you is the thing that is the most important by far, who took one look at your web-shop and went “nah, not for me, and walked on by, taking their wallet with them, and why did they walk on by

Because this is the thing that decides whether you become fuckedcompany.com, or not.

Feminzism, like all memes, is basically a web-shop, it’s a virtual space for the mind, blogs didn’t exist in 1995, but websites did, and a wesbites devoted to men’s issues in 1995 would have made the average Geocities home page about the contents of your desk drawer look like AltaVista when it came to hits.

The early sex sites came in two categories, those that existed solely to extract your credit card details, and the minority that actually catered to the hook up culture, this hasn’t changed.

What has changed is back then the latter group were all the church of the most holy and wonderful vagina, cunt worship central.

As Dylan sang, the times they are a changin’

The thread I posted to, and the utter and complete lack of all white knightism, would have been frankly mind blowing in it’s impossibility.

You see the “F” in that equation above had been inflated out of all connection with reality just like the Dow Jones or AAPL stocks… whereas the “T” was undervalued to the point of being a junk bond… it was like putting your pension on Moller skycars…

I dunno that there is a causal relationship between the economy/society and feminazism, but there sure as hell is a lot of correlation, and as one falls apart the other falls on stony ground and hard times.

I have just, for the first time ever in my life, been dumped by a wimminz who came right out and said that I was too mean with money for her, why, I had the audacity to let/make her take her turn to pay for shit.. and went on to list all the times it was her turn to pay… lmfao

  • hey, *many* will have had this as a reason, but she is the first to actually SAY it to me.
  • I am *not* the kind of guy you say that shit to, it’s like cussing a bear for his fur coat when you’re both naked in alaska
  • the force wasn’t strong in this one, but the fear was.

See, it was a case of a wimminz getting on in years, looking ahead and seeing the stark reality of the wall, cats, piss, and financial ruin, so she put it all (sexually) on a plate for me, nothing held back, nothing out of bounds.

The clock is ticking.

And she used up a portion of that little remaining and ever diminishing time trying to snare me into her trap.

THAT is why she was pissed at me and dumped my ass.

*I* was applying F – T < 0

*she* was playing bait and switch.

But, she was playing it for real, like the silent white knights in that thread, like the quiet feminist skank ho’s in that thread, more and more people every day are waking up to the fact that the party is over.

Security has not yet turned up to evict everyone from the venue / marketplace after the main event is over and all the acts / stalls are gone, but we all know they are coming.

April 25, 2013

Love and Covet


two quite separate things, that to modern wimminz be one and the same thing…

It’s a bit like the dichotomy between team cunt and men, wimminz fall out with their “best” friends over them both fucking the same man, some time passes and before you know it the two wimminz are best friends again…

I have lost track of the number of wimminz who declare their “love” for me, and then proceed to demand something that love would never grant, but covetousness would… had it yet again today, a wimminz who I grace with my cum on occasion who declares her “love” for me, who is *quite* aware of the fact that the feeling is anything but mutual, then demands to know, on the basis of her “love” for me, who else I am fucking.abbi-secraa-super-busty-sexy-school-girl-with-overdeveloped-breasts-12

Just for shits and giggles and because I like watching the hamster wheel try to precess, I explain it this…

AfOR – “So, let’s say I decide to fall in love with Abbi Seccra, OK?

skank – “Yeah

AfOR – “But, she doesn’t love me, OK?

skank – “Yeah

AfOR – “So I call her up and demand to know who she is fucking, and I have a right to this info because I love her, even though she doesn’t give a shit about me, right?

skank – “…well, err, no, BUT THAT’S DIFFERENT… yadda yadda

I don’t even bother to point out that love involves respect for the other person, while covetousness involves your own avarice and greed, and that nobody who felt even a shred of respect for another person would make demands that certain private information be shared with you, JUST BECAUSE OF HOW YOU FEEL, IRRESPECTIVE OF HOW THEY FUCKING FEEL…

I didn’t bother because I was talking to a wimminz, and talking to a wimminz about concepts like respect is like talking to a termite about concepts like conservation.

Which kinda brings us to the seven deadly sins… so lets run through em for this skank ho…

  • Lust – check, she wants my cock.
  • Gluttony –  check, she is a fat bitch
  • Greed – check, give her an inch she demands a mile
  • Sloth –  check, see fat bitch above
  • Wrath – check, she hates the bitch who wants my cock but hasn’t had it yet
  • Envy – check, she wishes she was the bitch who stayed last night and woke me up with a hummer
  • Pride – check, she thinks she is a real catch, despite the fact even if a trawler netted her she still wouldn’t be a catch.

 

April 23, 2013

I always thought…


…that as you get older, young teen girls are supposed to look younger and younger to you, but that isn’t what is happening, and it kind of gelled in a Slog piece a few days back, where the author talks about wandering around Athens looking at the economic issues when a 10 year old girl walks up and says she will cost very little for his pleasure.

Hell, the Acropolis is well over 2,000 years old, it has seen all this shit before, indeed the Peloponnesian war was all about Athens becoming “too powerful and influential” in the region.

You might get individual humans who despite the kind of power discrepancy that existed between the author in the slog article and the 10 year old whore, will refrain from using that power, but corporations, states and armies will not ever refrain from using any power discrepancy they encounter.images

But Greece yet again provides an excellent lesson, there are 10 year olds whoring themselves in the streets and kids going to school with severe hunger pangs and pharmacies with empty shelves, but the State is talking about plans to jail anyone who owes the State more than 5k Euro in unpaid taxes…. good luck to those of you thinking an economic famine will cause the state to cut pointless crap like wimminz legal powers over men and fathers…. really good fucking luck… you’ll need it.

I have always heard a lot of people say “xxx are a bunch of cunts” where xxx is a country, to which I have responded “I have a lot of time for the xxx people” but of course unlike the speaker I have been there and met them

Many moons ago, due to a backstory that isn’t relevant, I found myself on the bones of my ass in the deep south peloponnese, if I could get my as to Athens, in 5 days time there would be a ticket waiting for me at the airport, but that was a 300 km walk away, and I hadn’t eaten anything for a day or two, and I literally had no money, and I had an injured leg, I could limp, and it hurt like a bitch.

I didn’t beg, I didn’t ask, I didn’t woe is me, but the fact is the simple human kindness and generosity of a couple of greeks that I barely knew from Adam go me to Athens with two days to spare and nothing to do but wander around. It gives you a different perspective from the author of the slog, the rich foreigner staying in the hotel with his credit cards and travellers cheques, and it was of course at the other end of the “euro” saga, when the coffers were opened and there was european money for everything, from owning land to popping out kids to building a vast subway system under Athens.

Athens had a good bus system, as far as I knew at the time 50% of riders (including me) never paid a fare, the only things you couldn’t really get away with not paying on were the hydrofoils, and even in those high times every family had members who had fucked off abroad for economic reasons, places like Canada and the States, but even then the Athens I saw was like the Venice I saw, like any other place really, go behind the streets of plate glass windows of the Cartier shops and keep walking and sooner or later you got to where people were poor and had fuck all.

So I’m not saying there weren’t 10 year old whores walking up to obviously (relatively) wealthy foreigners in the street and offering them sexual pleasure for very little money, but that they wouldn’t have been walking up to me, and in any event they would have had to be illegals from Romania or Abania or somewhere because if they were Greek there were other options… not that whoring or whorehouses were rare in Greece even then.

That’s the other thing about greece, it’s afghanistan or kurdistan with a few bits of stunted growth, olive trees and just big bonsai, they live a thousand years because there is only enough goodness in what passes for soil to grow a few mm a year, living off the land in Greece as a forager is HARD, will easily kill you hard, and it is a cold place in winter, and sunny enough for tourism in summer, and yes there is 2000+ years of history, but if you avoid the tourist groups and actually wander around the ancient places (Napflion for example) you don’t feel like you are treading in history, you feel like you are walking over a place that got nuked every 100 years for the last millennium, history is not a 10 year old whore, it is the same whore 80 years later.

The 10 year old whore is just the mark of the start of another cycle in history.

And that’s what gelled, there are no more young teen girls that look like young teen girls, because those times have passed, rather like when I went to school, there were no fat bastards in the annual school photo, and fat bastards were seen with scorn, because everyone else came from a common culture of hard times and austerity, and gluttony was despised.

 

April 9, 2013

I feel a disturbance in the force


I’m lucky enough to both be old enough, and to have taken the opportunity to ask, some now dead people some questions.

I’m also lucky enough that my family was integrated enough that some personal histories and stories survived in some detail.

It also needs to be stressed at this point that, for example, WW2 looks a lot different to an allied serviceman who probably never set foot in mainland Europe before enlisting, and some poor chump born and raised in Baccarat or somewhere similar.

WW1, WW2, the Great Depression, the “Communist emergency” in Malaysia, Gulf War 1, Zimbabwe, etc… in a couple of cases I didn’t have to ask anyone, my knowledge was firsthand.

The questions?

  1. Could you tell it was coming?
  2. Why didn’t you do something?

Q1 always got you are variation of “do you think we were fucking stupid… of course we could fucking see it coming

Q2 was the interesting one, “like what, the fuckers who had the most to lose were the first to sell us all out

In reality there were many variations on a theme, and many absolutely fascinating stories, I thought my own family’s stories were interesting and exotic until I started asking these questions, then I realised they were not, shades of the chinese curse about living in interesting times…

They had one thing in common, Barons, historically speaking it doesn’t matter if they are feudal barons, robber barons, corporate barons, financial barons, mining barons, shipping barons, political barons, they all did the same thing, which was pursue their own agenda, everyone else was just collateral damage.

Question 1 was the answer given BY people who for whatever reasons, found it very difficult to adapt to the changing climate when the barons moved some pieces on the chessboard, if in the good times everything you have is tied up within a 5 mile radius of where you are, and suddenly upping sticks and moving 500 miles away sounds like a doom laden nightmare, then when the bad times loom on the horizon what are you gonna do?

Question 2 was the answer given ABOUT people who probably could have upped sticks and moved 500 miles away, and taken the loss in wealth and status and security from being a question 2 person to a question 1 person… but rather than take that loss chose to stay in the game and sell out to the new boss, and call it “adapting”.

Question 1 is a question that many people are starting to discuss openly.

Resource wars are nearly upon us, cf the yanks landing troops in corfu etc etc etc

January 21, 2013

Fucking Crazy


I was, last night, fucking a crazy that is… comes from the school of do as I say, not as I do, I guess, but anyway, there I was, fucking this self confessed crazy bitch who fried her brain’s biochemistry years ago on ganja.

OK, I wanted a fuck, but really the reason was this, when I started talking to her she reminded me of a crazy chick I knew and fucked in around 1980, bitch would go moo and maa and all that shit and smoke some grass and then take a handful of mogadon, and then we would get it on, crazy bitch but an interesting fuck.as

So I took it in my head to do some brideshead revisited and fuck a similar ish crazy bitch 30 years later in real time, but 20 years later in crazy bitch time, as this one was 40 and had been hitting the pills for 20 years.

Shit that amused me back then was frankly boring as fuck when it came out of this bitch’s mouth, heard one delusion / psychosis heard em all, heard on tale of infantile sexual abuse heard em all, heard one vile attempt at poetry heard em all, heard one the aliens mind control nazis po-lice and coming to get me heard em all…

… and so it was that at 11 pm when I had finished plundering all her holes and dumping my cum, I did the whole make me a coffe bitch thing and got dressed, and set my phone to do the Fake Call Me thing in five minutes, drink my coffee, phone goes off so I give her the whole Babe-I-gotta-go-the-mothership-is-calling-we-are-moving-the-invasion-date-up thing and get the fuck out.

And so it is that as midnight strikes I am sitting in my warm german mothership listening to the muted beat of the straight six diesel at 2500 RPM on roads largely deserted because of the ice and snow, reflecting on the passage of 20 years of self medication on crazy bitches, and brothers, there are a lot of them out there..

And I move on to the other bitches on the production line and realise I have done it again, I have reached that stage beyond asshole game and arrogant asshole game and extreme asshole game and gotten to “meh” game, that cycle where my desire for new cunt is sub-zero, and any amount of pleasure extracted from dumping my cum is always exceeded by my distaste for the bitch involved.

As the miles hum by I come to realise something, the end of 2012 and the beginning of 2013 has seen a startling shift in wimminz, and I was too close to the cunt to see the trees.

Bitches are starting to get desperate and scared… it’s the fucking swansong and they know it.

In the last six months bitches have NO money, stories I have seen and heard, interest only mortgage (by definition, NONE of the capital paid off) with a year to run and ZERO possibility of a re-mortgage, bitches have to choose between buying food or buying heating oil, bitches have to choose between buying food or putting fuel in the car to come see me and get fucked, bitches being told their jobs are at risk, and they realise they have no savings and debt falling out of their asses, bitches considering getting back with their ex’s, because the ex is still working and has money, bitches who are accumulating broken appliances around the house, because they have to money to repair or replace, and so, in short, bitches who are getting more desperate and ironically MORE demanding, they less they have to offer and the greater their need.

Take back the night and take back the streets, the bitches are getting scared, because they can walk through the city in the day time in a week day and see less people about, less shoppers, very few people carrying bags from shops, and they are starting to feel alone and vulnerable, not a part of the crowd.

The city I was in last night fucking crazy is known for being an an area that paradoxically lost most of the native industry and so is poor, but also had a shitload of development money thrown at it, so there are gleaming new city centres and white elephant buildings, and out in the burbs it is all mass unemployment and petty crime and drugs.

The younger wimminz, in their twenties, can trade cunt for drugs, the older wimminz hand over their cash cards to the dealers who go to the hole in the wall every week and draw out the monies paid in by the state for child benefit and then hand over the dope.

Wimminz who fuck up have cash bounties put on their heads for s severe beating, and even I raised my eyebrows at the prices, spoke to one chick living in fear, she knew who put the bounty on her, and she knew it was £100, but she can’t even earn that sort of money on her back, not even at £10 a time because it is all she can do to get one guy to pay £10 to fuck her, mark to market economics at its best…. fuck me back in 1980 it was 50 quid for a good beating, and 50 quid in 1980 is worth at least 500 today.

I drove into the place at around seven pm, and from the motorway exit to the bitch’s flat I did not see one single pub or shop open, most of what I did see was not merely shut, but boarded up…. times are hard when not even the paki’s will move in and open a corner shop, and not even the chinks will move in and open a takeaway…

…and this isn’t even a sinkhole estate, this was a *good* area of the city in question…

To be honest this was largely why I decided it was time to do some fucking crazy, she lived in a city I hadn’t been to for a while and it was an excuse to go there and drive through it, thinking when she opens the door I can always decide no way and walk away, but when she opened the door it wasn’t that bad so I stayed and fucked it and got distracted from my alternate purpose by her crazy.

I’m glad I did, because otherwise the local picture is the only one you see, and you can end up with confirmation bias.

I’m also glad I did because fucking crazy was enough to tip me over the edge and complete another cycle of fuck / don’t fuck.

I’m also glad I did because the serenity of cruising back along deserted highways in the mothership gave me time to think and realise that lately the wimminz have been getting desperate and nastier with it.

I’m glad I did because all these things are feedback loops, they all play a part in my losing interest in fucking bitches for a while, and my losing interest in fucking bitches for a while allows me to see all these things a little more clearly than when dumping some cum is on the agenda.

As an interesting anecdote, fucking crazy is also convinced that 2013 is when it starts to go bad for real.

Fucking crazy reminded me of an old story, allegedly true. (this is from before the days of mobile phones and breakdown cover)

Guy is driving along a road in the country, and THUMP, gets out and finds one wheel has fallen off his car, the wheel is easy enough to retrieve, but of course the 4 wheel nuts are all long gone.

Guy starts cursing and kicking the shit out of the wheel in question, when he hears giggling behind him.

Guy looks around and sees a brick wall “St Eustatic Mental Hospital” on a sign, and this fella leaning on the wall.

Fella leaning on the wall says “HI, I’m a patient here, got a cigarette

Guy thinks what the fuck, could do with a smoke myself to calm down, so pulls out the smokes, hands one to the fella and lights both up.

Fella says “Why don’t you take one wheel nut of each of the other three wheels, and use those three nuts to attach that wheel?

Guy is impressed at this, and says so.

Fella says “Listen mate, I’m fucking crazy, not stupid.

 

November 30, 2012

There are no good girls gone bad, only bad girls found out….


This (the title) is a phrase that I have heard so many times I have lost count from wimminz, and never ever from a man. It’s actually a quote from Mae West
(“A hard man is good to find.” & “It’s not the men in my life, it’s the life in my men” are others of “hers”)

One of the interesting things about Mae West is to my knowledge no nude photos of her exist anywhere, apart from a few infamous fakes, and of course the rumour is that “she” was actually “he”, to be specific a TV…. in fact it was allegedly the fact that she was actually a he that formed the foundation of the 1926 obscenity conviction that launched “her” career.

And so via Stan Boardman and the germans bombing our chip shops, I want to relate the story of two men I knew personally, now dead.

What they had in common was they both hated yanks.

The first guy was an RAF pilot, flying Mosquito’s in the pathfinder squadrons.

The way he told it, the yanks helped the war effort by sending over thousands of untrained young men in B17 Flying Fortresses to bolster Bomber Command, the problem was, these young yanks literally were in his eyes totally untrained, they lacked even basic skills and they lacked all forms of experience under fire.

This meant that their navigation was crap (no GPS back then, it was all dead reckoning and navigation by stars, the ground was blacked out, so if you couldn’t do that you flew by day) so the first few missions each new squadron of B17’s was sent on, Bob was sent in the Mosquito and the yanks played follow my leader to the target.

Of course all the Germans knew this so they tried to shoot him down, and the yanks knew this, so the forward gunners would try to keep the Germans off him, and often their .30 cal rounds flew straight through his plywood plane without even slowing down.

He was the only one of his pathfinder squadron to survive that tour, he lost two copilots and three navigators, two of them to .30 cal.

The second guy was in Korea, the French hadn’t quite left, and the yanks had only just arrived, of course this became “vietnam” later, but after his squad had been decimated several times over, his lasting and repeated memory / nightmare was the yanks on the flank opening up on full auto, cries of “more ammo” and that followed by “fall back”, meanwhile he and his lads with their single shot weapons still had ammo left, but had to fall back with exposed flanks, hence the regular decimation.

I was reminded of this because I met a chap who has been a professional soldier and then a professional merc for all his life, just back from afdiggastan, and he was basically telling the exact same story, the yanks sending in green troops and treating them as being as expendable as the ordinance they carried… which reminded me of the two chaps above and their stories… but this chap went on to say that the British Army troops he was assigned to were just as green and treated as just as expendable by their brass as the yanks.

He’s now been hired by the Chinese to go to north east Africa….

Like many professional soldiers he is very much the military historian, and says it is no coincidence that the lessons of the first world war were learned by the brass, officers no longer lead from the front and stand in front of “anonymous” ranged weapons held by the troops… at least in the west, he notes that many of the people he is fighting have an “officer” cadre equivalent that does indeed lead from the front, and has no fear of being shot in the back.

The difference between this chap, and the two above, is this chap is far more cosmopolitan, far less insular, than they ever were. When he was a boot he hated the French for selling effective weapons to the “enemy” he was fighting, and what changed wasn’t that he got older, he just got a lot more experienced and wiser.

You see the parallel here to the Mae West quote, the good girls did not go bad, they just got found out, and only a more experienced man who has taken the red pill is capable of finding them out.

In my own family we still have someone who hates the Japanese, only in the last 10 years he has allowed any Japanese electronics in his home, we had aa family friend who felt the same way. Our family member was ordered to stay behind when Singapore fell and report on the Japs activity, the family friend just didn’t get out, and was sent to the Burma Railway, where he had an especially humiliating experience, being a 6 foot 6 blonde… he was paraded around and used as an example.

The only time the family member got REALLY angry with me was when I, as a small boy, asked him why he stayed behind, after all it wasn’t the Japs that caused him his suffering (he was listed as MIA presumed dead for a year) but his own brass who basically handed him a suicide mission, stay behind and report as long as you can.

He flew into a rage about duty and honour and obeying orders.

Again, parallels to myself when facing an FRA and child custody battle with the psycho skank ho ex, basically we were both reacting with anger in preference to questioning the nature of the blue pill we had been eating quite happily up until that point.

It’s a bit like the video above, once you realise (it is a true story) that the Polish air ace whose life was being honoured (This Is Your Life) may well have spoken English with a foreign accent, but when he said Fokkers he meant Fuckers, because he had been there and knew the difference between a Fokker and a Messerschmitt, after all he had been shot at by both, it makes the misconceptions of the presenter of TIYL plain as day blue pill lack of experience.

 

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