Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

October 20, 2012

Dream lover

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 2:18 pm

Dreams are funny shit…

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.

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?

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.

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

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.

 

Related articles

 

October 11, 2012

Xanadu

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 4:34 pm

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.

 

Related articles

August 20, 2012

I believe I can fly

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 12:56 am

When I was a small boy, I had all sorts of dreams and fantasies, X-ray vision, the ability to fly/levitate, being bulletproof, aliens coming down and recognizing that I was the smartest being on the planet and making me immortal and giving me a space station and a space battle fleet and a million robot army, building a super duper race car and entering and winning a world championship race, (dating myself here) being an engine driver for a steam locomotive, being a pilot…. you get the picture.

Of course, I was never in the slightest doubt that these were all pure fantasies, with zero possibility of ever happening, not a vanishingly small lottery jackpot winning possibility, but a zero possibility.

Now many years have passed, indeed, decades, and I could say the exact same things about any dreams of falling in love, being in love, the wimminz of my dreams, and all that crap.

Sure, I remember well the feeling of falling in love, and being in love, and it was fucking fabulous, but sooner or later it turns to shit and the pain that follows undoes all the good.

It’s a bit like the old joke about a guy fucking a wasps nest, afterwards, doesn’t matter what the hole was, the guy would poke it with a stick for a bit to see if any wasps flew out, before he got his cock out.

I will believe in the tooth fairly, santa fucking claus, and lucky rabbits paws, long, long, long before I will ever believe in love or NAWALT again, like santa and the tooth fairly, I grew out of them.

My birthday rolls around every year, as does Christmas, I don’t give a fuck, I don’t give anyone else presents, (not even allowed to give my kids any… lol) and I don’t want any myself, it means nothing to me, what does mean something is your company, hang out for an hour or five, that I appreciate.

Which makes me a motherfucker as far as toys-r-us are concerned, no belief in santa, and no access to anyone I give a shit about who does believe in santa, means toys-r-us can’t sell me a damn thing, at any fucking price, not interested.

You see the analogy between not believing in santa and toys-r-us never making a sale, and not believing in love / NAWALT and nobody pushing relationshits / marriage / respect for wimminz  all that crap meaning the wimminz never make a sale…

Beliefs and dreams are fairly easy to kill, and damn near impossible to re-install in a person.

The reason for this is that LOSING a belief or dream puts you waaay to hell and gone beyond the null point, which is having an open mind, neither believing nor disbelieving, losing a dream or belief means you will never ever buy that shit again, even if it is real.

Killer Klowns from Outer Space, I shoulda payed more attention to that film, and played it more often, it may just be correlation but every wimminz I have watched it with who was a psycho skank ho fucking hated it with a vengeance…. scared shitless of clowns… angered beyond belief that ___I___ found it fucking funny.

When the wimminz didn’t, there were shades of the disappointment a small kid feels when they know the grown ups aren’t really excited to see santa, they are just pretending…

That’s what all those dreams are, at heart, the illusion of being a part of something much bigger than ourselves, and that is what growing up is all about, the realisation is that there is no part of something, beyond a one way street from you to it illusion, part of the Army while you have something to give to it… part of a marriage while you have something to give to it…

In reality you are all alone, we all are.

I can’t feel your pain, or feel it for you, if I have been through the same shit, then maybe I can empathise and relate, but your hurting you do alone, and your overcoming it, or no, you also do alone.

Back when I was a dreamer, a believer, I might try and take that burden from you, hey baby, not to worry your car is fucked, you take mine, I will fix yours…

Now it’s “get that piece of shit towed and outta the highway.”

Now it’s “well you better get a taxi or bus to my place so you can suck my cock, or I’ll get some other slut.”

Now it’s “what’s that, YOUR dreams and beliefs are going up in smoke, who gives a shit”

Now I am all growed up I believe in my own personal experience and shit that I can t0uch and feel, and nothing else.

I’m a bit like the guy who fucked the wasps nest that one time, now I am gonna check first, every time, and if you don’t want me to check, that’s fine with me, I’ll just assume your cunt is full of wasps, and pass.

Some wimminz have looked at me, nodded in apparent solidarity and understanding, and talked about False Rape Accusations and the boy who cried wolf… I tell them, no, you still don’t fucking get it.

I don’t just disbelieve EVERY rape claim I hear automatically, but *perhaps* not those where the chick is on life support, I don’t actually give a flying fuck, even about the chick on life support.

NOT

MY

FUCKING

PROBLEM

You see I have lost the ability to believe that me giving a shit about anything to do with a wimminz or niggerz is ever going to be anything except a one way street.

That is a non-motherfucking-reversible, permanent, and profound change.

Wimminz and niggerz, like toys-r-us accountants, couldn’t give a fuck, after all, I am just one customer, and as P T Barnum said, there will be another sucker along any moment.

Until it stops… and between 30 and 50 thousand other fuckers are reading this shit every day, and this place is just one tiny pimple on the ass end of the MRA world.

You wimminz and niggerz, you have sweet fuck all to double down on with me, and my brothers, you are as dead to us as our childish dreams of X ray vision, flying cars, and NAWALT.

Related articles

April 25, 2012

Dreams, you can’t bullshit em…

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 10:59 am

I have long suspected that 99% of the dreams that I temporarily remember upon waking were only triggered by a pillow reducing blood flow to the brain and 5 seconds of what basically amounts to hallucination.

I don’t think you can categorise this as sleep apnoea as it is caused by pillows / quilts / whatever and not anything within my body itself.

Either way, dreams do not have an accessible script writer or editor, so maybe there is a link between finding a 2008 pic of my kids in the bottom of a box as I was tidying the workshop yesterday, and a dream about my ex still being a psycho skank ho some years in the future.

These “nocturnal dreams” are different from daydreams, I can daydream about all sorts of shit at will, but the nocturnal ones are directed and edited by something deeper.

Clearly finding that photo triggered some process that later manifested itself as a dream.

I’m finding sex is getting more and more like a night dream, or smoking, or, rather, not smoking..

Not smoking, also referred to as quitting, has many of these same qualities, up will pop some sketch in which you are smoking, shades of the dream in that you can’t direct it or deny it, but of course like a daydream you can dismiss it, and get on with whatever it was you are doing, and you have beaten another cigarette.

And that is true for smokes, drink, drugs, anything that you formed habit forming pathways in your brain for, the pathways are always there, and there will always be random shit that sends the odd dreamlike thing down the pathways, and you’ll get that urge again… all you have to do it tell it to stay buried and fuck off.

I am finding elements of sex in this.

I’d quite like a good [         ] now, the trouble is, while the fantasy [       ] is great, in reality it won’t be like that, and it will definitely have negative aspects, so do I actually want a [       ] right now, or am I just fucking bored? In which case I should get off my ass and do something productive and worthwhile and entertaining.

The [       ] of course being a blank where you fill in what you like, smoke, drink, fuck…

There is also the stated but often ignored “I’d quite like a GOOD [       ]…”  so ignored that you didn’t actually read that rider / proviso / word in the para above, and yet it was there.

A good [       ] is a good thing, but an average / mediocre [       ] is crap and a waste of fucking time and effort…. trouble is, we all know 99% of them are average / mediocre / crap, and chasing after that good one no longer has the magic allure / pull it used to.

Waking up next to a hot wimminz sounds good, in reality waking up alone, making my coffee, chilling, sitting here in my towel ready for my morning shower with my laptop on my lap and no fucker to nag me or get in my space is better.

I guess what really started this was talking to one of my skank ho sluts, because as you all know (if you don’t, you bloody well should have known this) all wimminz dream of a state wherein every man who has had them spends the rest of his life having no other wimminz but dreaming of and pining after them, and my throwaway comment that I could give up wimminz as easy as I gave up smoking.

What upset her was the follow on comment that since the pathways are there in your brain, you only have to give up one smoke at a time, or one slut at a time, and if you just stop and ignore the craving for even one second, and think instead how “good” that individual smoke / skank ho is likely to be, or not, not that good, not unique at all, not rare at all, not a grab it now or forever lose it opportunity, still available at the same cost in 10 minutes, suddenly it ain’t that hard to beat smoking… or skanks…

But, it is true, and the secret is a simple decision, do I control the pathways in my brain, or do I allow external forces such as nicotine or cunt to write pathways in my brain and THEN MANDATE THAT THEY ARE USED.

That’s the issue, whether it is cunt or nicotine or booze, once that pathway is written it becomes an autobahn, the easiest route, and every other route seems to have signs directing you to the autobahn, so it is oh so easy to give in.

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

So why, given that these pathways once written stay there, and once there are so easy to use, and given that dreams are so out of my control, but nevertheless triggered by real world events…..

… why do I never dream of having a smoke?

… why do I never dream of getting married?

… why do I never dream of having more kids?

…why do I never dream of banging some young incredibly hot chick who worships my ass?

No, instead I dream about my dad, and my number one son, and time and space and reality are all twisted so that we can all be “there” together, wherever “there” is, but apart from that it is pretty basic stuff, no flights of fancy, no impossibility, just doing ordinary stuff and having ordinary conversations, but conversations based upon a real awareness of the world, and wimminz, so for example we have my dad who is long since dead and my number one son who is far too young to have even heard of such things, discussing the PIIGS and the fall of the western economies and a world in which each one of us represents the very last of something, in my dad’s case the very last proper father, in my case the very last proper time served engineer, and in my sons case the very last born into the old western world.

Related articles

%d bloggers like this: