Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

December 6, 2013

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 9:09 pm

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.

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October 12, 2013

Just how honest would you like me to be?

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 2:54 pm

With you, with myself?

How honest will you be, with me, with yourself?

There are plenty of things I won’t share, or talk about, and no, that isn’t code for being sodomised as a 7 year old or any of that shit, it’s just that there are some things that a me-centric enough that they are nobody else’s business.

But, while avoiding talking about specific things, some times we can talk about the paths we found ourselves on due to these specific things.

The feeling you get when you look at your family tree and actually realise for the first time you are a dead end, literally. And too old to meet and fall in love and marry and all that shit… so you are a dead end, literally.

The feeling a whole decade plus later, long after you have made your peace with the fact you are a dead end, when a wimminz deliberately and without consulting you or your wishes, gets pregnant by you, goes to term and delivers a healthy baby boy.

I suppose I could sit here and give y’all the proud and happy dad bullshit, but no, that ain’t true, it was duty and no more.

It is not the greatest day of your life, or the happiest, or any other fluffy shit.

Unlike the quiet day a decade before when you had had time to think and contemplate that you were a dead end, and be saddened by it, the day your son (commiserations if the womb turd is a mini slut) is born there is just too much shit going on for you to come to any honest answers.

I’m sorry, was I supposed to be a nice guy, a genuine solid man of integrity who was just used and abused and hurt by wimminz?8124529600_b3d6a8a504_z

I am the sum of my experiences, both at the hands of others and my own, if I am to take any credit for anything it is that I am not some crazed vengeful serial killer.

I am not a nice man, but I am a truthful man, and a fair man, and a stands by his word man, and don’t do unto what I don’t want done unto back, even when it is.

Said to a wimminz last week, one of the few who is honest enough herself to be able to have conversation with her, that in reality raising kids is like raising a dog, it’s not hard, it’s not rewarding, it’s duty, and your kids, however much you may love em, they are not companions, they are sovereign territories of their own.

She just stared at me in silence for several seconds, before casting her eyes down in shame and admitting what we all know, what I said was truth, that level of honesty with oneself is unsettling and disturbing in the privacy of your own mind, scary when it is stated openly.

When I was younger I wondered, and secretly worried, that I might one day be a paedophile, if I didn’t watch myself, you see I had these urges, and you can’t discuss that shit…. and then one day I met someone who I later found out worked with such kids and their abusers, very eminent, very respected, and so one day we had a discussion on the subject… turns out she knew before I did I wasn’t one, if she suspected I could have been we would never have gotten close, turns out that those feelings of awareness of the sexuality of some of the more physically mature 14 and 15 year old girls were just natural biological functions, and I learned new words like hebephile and ephebefile, and that I was neither of those either, being aware of sexual maturity isn’t the same as wanting to fuck… wanting to fuck was conditioned out of me by my family and society and the way I was raised.

Once I learned that I was none of these things because I was none of these things, not that I was none of these things because so far I had resisted urges and impulses, all the shame was lifted.

I had nothing to be ashamed about, looking at the St Trinians‘s girls (pic above) and thinking phwoar as a young man did not make me a paedo, it made me normal… I was not “in temptation” by mere proximity, there was no thin end of a wedge, there was no desensitisation, there was no hidden psychopathy, and then I in turn started talking to others, and found that they had had exactly the same “awareness” of sexual maturity, and the exact same thoughts of secret shame, because they went though the exact same mental processes of being scared to examine it, just in case they were sick in the head.

And suddenly all the shaming language used in society was water off a duck’s back, I knew it wasn’t me.

Sure, I knew I still had to watch my ass, not just do nothing wrong, but don’t get yourself in a situation where things could go wrong, but suddenly….

I was no longer participating in my own shaming and control and self loathing.

I didn’t come out the other side of it a saint, honesty to oneself is not a pleasant experience, but the people most horrified by my ‘gazing into the mirror’ honesty are those who set themselves up as custodians to society, and unease and awkwardness YOU felt reading the above disclosures is magnified a thousandfold by what those who set themselves up as custodians feel.

In my secret family court case the judge, lawyers, social workers, court shrinks and assorted hangers on quite plainly looked at me with absolute hate and loathing, not because of the various things I was maliciously and falsely accused of by my psycho skank ho ex, but because I stood up and looked them all in the eye and had zero internal doubts, I was no longer able to participate in the attempted shaming of me, and I could not be manipulated into making any kind of concessions or admissions or twists of language or allowances.

I was powerless, but I was a fucking rock, unmoved, unaffected, unable to participate in the circus and play my appointed role.

I didn’t *have* to be honest with anyone else, but I *had* to be honest with myself when looking in the mirror, I had to turn over rocks, pull out all the worms, give them a post mortem, and then examine everything for consistency, all the while fighting the urge to just turn my back on it all and ignore it all and pretend none of it is true.

I am 100% responsible for putting myself in a situation where the psycho skank ho ex could make false allegations of DV and FRA etc against me.

I enabled her to do this, I gave her the opportunity.

I kept doing it, even when I had several opportunities to bail, and I am not talking opportunities to walk away, anyone can do that any time, if they are prepared to pay the price.

I am talking opportunities to bail where I deliberately put myself back in the target zone.

She is 100% responsible for making malicious false accusations.

I am 100% responsible for putting myself in a place where she could, and then staying there.

The difference between then and now is now I have faced that internal mirror some more, and turned over far more rocks… not them all, but far more.

Some of those rocks include;

  • Being scared of being “alone”
  • Being scared of being a dead end genetically
  • Wanting to see myself as a knight in shining armour
  • Not wanting to accept that my initial impressions of someone were mistaken, there was no good, hidden deep with them, that would come out if only they were given a chance.

Yeah, it was the last couple that really did it for me.

Wanting to be perceived by others in a certain way is a folly.

Wanting to be perceived by yourself in a certain way is the greatest folly.

In a strange way, I am grateful to the psycho skank ho ex, if she wasn’t so psycho I would still be trapped in a prison of my own making. I know it is an anathema to say such things, like those who are grateful to shit that nearly killed them for giving them a whole new perspective and lease on life.

Finding and analysing and eliminating these rocks was key to ridding myself of the poison of anger and hate and loathing that dwelled within me, and I could see that same anger and hate and loathing in the judge, lawyers, etc etc

Don’t make a career out of keeping these rocks alive, Tamagotchi style…

In ages past they would have been called inner demons, and keeping them alive would be demonic possession, and of course da wimminz, well, that was where the word hysteria and hysterical comes from innit….

Guys often ask me why I still associate with da wimminz, and fuck them, why don’t I ghost.

Yay, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, not because I am the meanest motherfucker in the entire valley, but because I am that valley, and I am done fearing me.

I never did fear others, it was always me that scared me, not what I was, but what I was capable of.

No longer, I have met the enemy, and he is me.

We have come to know each other, and come to a truce of sorts, not all of the rocks have been examined, but at least there are none left in our shoes or in our eyes.

How honest do you want me to be, I am a deeply flawed human being, but there is no malice in me, and I am content to get by trying to do unto others as I would have them do unto me, and avoiding them if they aren’t happy with that.

How honest do you want me to be, that son that was taken away from me and his paternal family, I’ll do something as / when / if enough factors change so that I can actually do something, until then I’m not going to beat myself up, or allow anyone else to beat me up, about being a deadbeat dad.

Don’t let this be you.

The old man’s sitting there, his head bowed down
Every now and then he’ll take a look around
And his eyes reflect the memory-pain of years gone by
He can’t regain nostalgic dreams he’ll never see again

With trembling hands, he wipes a tear
Many fall like rain, there’s one for every year
And his life laid out so clearly now, life that’s brought death
So nearly now life once he clung to dearly lets go

But spare a thought as you pass him by
Take a closer look and you’ll say
He’s our tomorrow, just as much as we are his yesterday

A lonely grave, and soon forgot
Only wind and leaves lament his mournful song
Yet they shout his epitaph out clear
For anyone who’s passing near
It names the person lying here as you
And you…and you…and you…

 

March 31, 2013

WTF part 997, or the art of Zen, part 997

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 2:01 pm

The trick with wimminz, at least, the trick with wimminz if you are going to be having some social interaction with them, eg fucking them, is to create a situation whereby you get what you want, a free fuck, and then they decide that you are just too much of an asshole in real life to waste their time with, and they dump your ass…. win win, thus avoiding the FRA extreme end of the scale, and the opposite clinger / stalker extreme end of the scale.

I always show wimminz the phone blocking app Mr Number, and how to install it, and I punch my fist into the air and say “YYEEESSSSSSS!!!” when they use it, or PoF, or a swinging site, to block me.

The trick to achieving this ultimate zen master state of being with teh wimminz is actually very very simple.

It is also incontrovertible proof that all wimminz, without exception, are mentally equivalent to a spoiled four year old.

(separate, but related, since the ultimate fate of any interaction with a wimminz is failure, never ever ever be tempted to share anything personal or factual about yourself, never give them any factual details, such as employer, ex’s names, financial details, and of course never ever let them even touch your phone / computer etc)

All you have to do is listen to EVERYTHING they say, and treat it as fact, and then the instant they say or do something that contradicts something they said previously, comment upon it, repeatedly.

“So how about all that stuff on your profile about liking group sex then” you ask, and they tell you they just put any old shit in the profile, to make the profile interesting.

“No, you said you would do anything I wanted, and I want you to do my ironing naked” you say, and they say they did do everything you wanted in bed.

“No, I told you to hold still, you kept moving” and they’ll have an excuse for that too.. I don’t bother explaining that if I am doing you from behind while they are kneeling on the edge of the bed, if they move it means the edge of the bed bangs my knees etc etc.

And don’t let up on this shit, the FACT that they are not doing this that and the other, all of which they have told you they will and do do.

Also very important not to let them gaslight you or put words in your mouth, get visibly angry (but not threatening) when they try that shit.

“You are not listening to a single word I say“, as though said to a sulky four year old, and equally as true and accurate.

Because, to a wimminz, all communication is the same as a politician or a lawyer, they actually have an agenda, this and this and this is how they are going to be, and there is no actual negotiation or movement possible, but words exist simply to nickel and dime the opponent one step at a time away from their starting position, to the point where the wimminz or politician or lawyer gets EXACTLY what they started out to get.

In reality, all I am doing is employing EXACTLY the same attitude, my agenda and position is non negotiable, but I take the absolute opposite tactic to achieve this, everything I say is literally true, and everything you say I will accept as truth and not cease to insist you make good on BEFORE we proceed any further at all.

This is the point where you must not laugh or smile, because this is the point where the mask falls away and the wimminz all look exactly like spoiled four year olds, they look hurt and upset, lips closed, eyes averted, sullen, non-communicative.

You are supposed, according to the wimminz, to break at this and offer support and unconditional surrender, because frankly speaking their own box of party tricks is now completely empty, but if you are a cool bastard you stick to your guns, and your lines, and don’t let that bone go.

Just in case you are a dumb bastard who did not get the memo, the wimminz will give you one final chance to be her own personal mangina and tampon, and essentially ask you if you would like her to go.

Since this whole thing started because she said she would do anything you wanted, so you said do my ironing naked bitch, to which she says I have done everything you wanted, so you said do my ironing naked bitch, to which she says I have done everything you wanted, so you said do my ironing naked bitch, so she said do you want me to leave…

It should be stressed that you did not ask her to leave, you asked her to fulfill the words and promises she herself made about herself, what she seeks and what she offered you.

You are quite happy for her to stay, but she said she would do anything, and I fucked her in all her holes so right now I’d like her to do my ironing naked…. that is what I want.

Since I did not ask her to leave, I do not give any response about her implied threat to leave, “stop putting words I did not say in my mouth, and start standing by the words that you did say that came out of your mouth” is the only clarification needed on her spoiled four year old act.

Of course, just standing there and avoiding your gaze is too difficult for a wimminz, so like a four year old threatening to hold their breath unless you buy them an ice kweem, they will be in slow sulky motion, picking up all their shit so you know they really really really mean it about leaving.

Make sure you follow them around and be helpful, here’s your phone, here’s you car keys, but invariably they will “accidentally” leave behind a pair of stocking or panties or something, not to get you to contact them, but as a parting shot reminder of the “good times” you had, put them straight in the bin…lol

If you are truly blessed, as I am, 30 minutes after they sulk their way outta your door your boss will call you asking if you want some overtime, so I spend the next 11 hours 100+ miles away with my thumb up my ass mainly doing sweet fuck all but being paid double time for it.

Come 1 am and as bender said, my work her is done, fire up the car, crank up the stereo REAL loud, and check your PoF / swinging accounts and yippee, the skank has blocked me… re-sult… lol

 

March 23, 2013

February 16, 2013

Show me something new, for fuck’s sake

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 1:45 pm

Depending where you go, you will get a lot of shit about fucking lots of different wimminz, just a PUA loser blah blah blah….

In a not too dissimilar vein, a guy who has worked 10 jobs a year for the last 10 years knows a damn sight more about companies and employment and hiring and so on than the guy who has worked one job.

If there is one thing banging lots of chicks teaches you it is that the range of their bullshit is as limited and unimaginative as the range of the HR departments in the 100 different companies in the other example above… cookie cutter bullshit.shit

No pwintheth, your cwithith ithn’t sthpethial just because it features you in the starring role.

Nor is it new, different, interesting, entertaining, cute, sexy, sassy or anything else.

There was a bar I knew years ago, I once ever had a drink there, just to be the only customer, I used to drink next door, which was packed to the rafters, the first place used to open at 10 am and close at 3 am, so open for 17 hours straight 7 days a week.

They played Fawlty Towers, non stop, back to back, nothing else, so while I quite liked Fawlty, you have to remember they only ever made twelve episodes, each running about half an hour… so about seven hours of programming, on a loop, 17 hours a day, 119 hours a week, I subconsciously learned more Fawlty script sitting next-door in the busy bar than I ever did actually watching the shit or re-reruns on telly.

Sit me down today and put Fawlty on and it leaves me stone cold dead, bored fucking shitless, yo had better be PAYING my fucking ass a per hour rate to sit here and watch this shit, and it better be a lot, and fuck it I don’t need the money kthxbye

Yeah I know pwinthethth, you think your shit and your drama and your ass is all new, it ain’t, it’s just another tired old re-run, heard it all before, seen it all before, trust me I wish you did have some new shit to pull, I might stick around just to see it, out of novelty value.

But no, it is the same old same old.

And *****THAT***** is why, when you decide that you are worth more than I am interested in giving you or taking from you, your passing bothers me just exactly about as much as the fact that I am not sat outside that bar listening to fucking fawlty fucking towers re-runs all day long.

Bitches complain that guys pester them and just won’t leave them alone and all that jazz, but when you actually do do the KTHXBYE and move on and never contact them again, what happens is they go through a whole range of entitled princess shit, waiting for you to text, can’t believe he ain’t gonna text, fuck me he really ain’t gonna text, god-DAMN he really really isn’t gonna text, and now I have left it waaaay to late to text him cos he’ll know etc etc etc

Meanwhile back in the real world of my life all the drama is as unique an interesting as the dialogue in Fawlty.. “is no rat, is hamster”  ha-fucking-ha

No bitch, when I ask you what YOU have to offer ME, fawlty re-runs starring you as Sybil don’t cut it, but it’s all avoidance and same old same old subterfuge, because when it comes right down to it, and the question becomes what do YOU have to offer ME bitch, that’s the question they don’t want to acknowledge, because that particular piggy bank is quite empty, and always has been.

At that point they may try and emulate the little boy in the sweet shop with no money, all cute and maybe the shopkeeper will take pity, but what they are is the penniless hobo trying to gain admission to a good restaurant, it ain’t pretty.

One of my common refrains to wimminz who try to get a little close is “I will not accept less than you have previously given away for free” which is all very nice and logical, but it is very tough, because it is only a few very short steps from nice young virgin, to has had a cock in every hole at least once, to has had two, and before you know it there is fuck all new to offer me, and you sure as fucking shit better not even THINK about offering me less, because that is a personal insult, because that rates me a lower than these guys you gave it away for free to, and where are they now bitch?

Again, a common feature of all these scenarios is when the penny starts dropping miss motormouth bitch who could talk for hours without pausing or drawing breath suddenly sees words like she is shitting cactus plants, the smaller the better, the fewer the better.

you get 4 and 5 word sentences, and short words, not many letters, not many syllables.

yeah, you can walk away, but it bothers me as much as the penniless hobo who didn’t get in to my restaurant, I’m going to miss you as much as the turd I flushed down to the coast yesterday.

Welcome to the brave new world, where there is no more play before pay, where there is no more liar loan self certification, or promises to pay that are never cashed in.

In this brave new world we cut out all the shit before you even get to sit down at the negotiating table, because my business model isn’t hurt one iota if nobody ever sits at that negotiating table.

Universally, if they ever get to this point, wimminz will all say the same thing, they will say “WHAT DO YOU WANNA HEAR?” well bitch, I don’t wanna HEAR shit, I wanna SEE shit, we are so far beyond talk…. some, will be self aware enough to know they have nothing of value to offer you, and will struggle with that concept.

But get this, this is still the negotiation table, ALL we do at this table is negotiate, there is no guarantee of any kind of deal or sale, all we have been doing to date is ensuring that the two people sat at the negotiating table are dealing honestly, and whether or not a deal is done, no hard feelings either way.

What, the wimminz cry, MORE fucking hoops to jump through… so don’t jump bitch, walk your skanky ass outta here.

The kind of guy we are describing here… he is the fucking anti-christ to feminazis… so think of it like being mosquito repellent, and the mosquitoes trying the shaming language, dude, if you weren’t so smelly and dirty you’d be sooooooo much more attractive to us.

Just because something got through the mosquito repellent doesn’t mean you want it on your skin, but, and this is an important but, almost 99.999% of those things that you would not mind at all being on your skin will be repelled by a guy they see associating with mosquitoes.

Fucking fat skanky hoes is like riding a Honda 90, it’s better than walking but no other fucker ever better see you do it…. if you ever do it in public the hotter wimminz will avoid you like the fucking plague you are.

I’m not saying any of these bitches are prize material, but at least you can sit down at the negotiating table with them, which is more than you can say for mosquitoes…

It isn’t new, but it isn’t as old and tired as the same old same old re-run dreck all the other wimminz come out with, and brothers just because you can make this classification / separation, don’t even go anywhere near thinking you are on track to the elusive NAWALT filter…. it doesn’t fucking exist.

It isn’t new, but it does give you time to get on with your life, and not spend it swatting mossies, or worse still thinking they are butterflies and chasing after them with a net…

It isn’t new, but at least you can go to sleep at night knowing you haven’t played a part in maintaining the entitlement pwinthethth  syndrome out there is la-la-land, which they hilariously call real life…

It isn’t new, but it does give you the time and patience to flick through some other wimminz channels, and see some other re-runs, some of which you have only seen a few times, perhaps few enough you have nothing better to do that watch this one once more, hell, it keeps your balls drained and your status in the world reaffirmed, that’s a good thing.

February 10, 2013

You don’t know jack shit

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 2:46 pm

You don’t have to know Jack Shit, or any other MSM journo, you only have to trawl some of the *very* popular websites, to know that the MSM journo’s also read those sites, and it is with heartbeat regularity that you find stories that ran on one of these websites running three days later on a MSM channel / newspaper / broadcast.

These websites in question are not visited by mere thousands or mere tens of thousands of people, nor are the people who visit them basement dwelling lusers with small penises, nor do they all deal with world or warcraft shit.normal_ATT148

What I am seeing more and more of, is serious speciality websites with millions of educated adult users, increasing going off the main topic which they were created for, and talking about something else, and the thing is, they are all talking about the same thing.

Look at this and this for two examples…. both from Zerohedge

There are waaay too many people talking about this stuff on a daily basis, and yet these are the very stories that the MSM does not copy and paste from these sites of website… coinkydink? I think not.

I participate in a swingers website, it is a useful tool to get free cunt, but even there shit like this is getting discussed…

One of the other topics getting discussed is the recent UK horse meat as beef scandal.

When I pointed out that Findus advertising 100% horse as 100% beef was no more dishonest that some skanky wimminz on the swinging site advertising 100% land whale as 100% BBW you can imagine the uproar, much of it from wimminz, but most of it from niggerz eager to white knight the wimminz.

Which brings me to a point that I have raised many times on swingers and dating sites, truth in advertising.

Much like using the word “cunt” at every opportunity is a great litmus test for wimminz and niggerz, using the word “advert” at every opportunity instead of “profile” seems to have the same effect on dating and swingers sites.

By any rational empirical test you can care to name, my PoF profile and swingers profile are adverts, nothing more and nothing less.

There is *some* validity to an argument that on Fuckbook and Linkedluser et al these things can equally be described as profiles, but on the other hand even there you can’t actually exclude advertising generally and self promotion specifically from them.

Is an iPhone a “high PROFILE brand” or a highly promoted brand or a highly advertised brand, or are all three just different ways of saying the same thing?

Certainly, it is easier to argue the point that the land whale entitlement pwincess persona projected on a PROFILE is more acceptable than if you called that self same page an ADVERT.

And this touches nicely on the answer that ALWAYS comes up whenever you try to discuss things like “What is a BBW?” on these sites, because you don’t have to wait long for some bitch to come along and provide the definition that “If she says she feels like a BBW then she is one”

That’s great, I feel like Ravishing Rick Rude therefore I are one… form an orderly queue bitchez.

Personally I always thought ricky rood looked like an even more faggy cross between Tom Sellick and Burt Reynolds, were such a thing possible, but if I decide that I feel like RR, then I am one, according to the wimminz fruity logic.

(naturally such fruity logic is a one way street, only applies to wimminz when dealing with niggerz)

So, why is there this huge unspoken desire to call an swingers / dating advert a “profile”?

Well, it’s self delusion really, and given such levels of self delusion on an individual level it really is no wonder that the powers that be, as featured in stories such as those two from ZH linked above take the attitude that since we as individuals love bullshit so much, we should be force fed bullshit at every opportunity.

Who needs an actual SMV (sexual market value) when you can haz a “seasonally adjusted” SMV…

If you called the profile an advert, people would find it a LOT harder and more uncomfortable to write their own… for the wimminz the first adverse reaction is in 99% of the cases the same, “I don’t like it because it feels like I am selling myself” is what they say.

They usually stop talking to me altogether when I point out “baby, nobody is charging on PoF, so you’re not selling yourself, you are GIVING it away”

Contrary to popular belief, wimminz don’t have a problem selling access to their cunt, what they have a problem with is being faced with the reality that they will be advertising access to their cunt, with a big “FREE!” sign over it, and STILL not get trampled to death by swinging dick.

Nothing worse than advertising a product you can’t even fucking give away for free.

Which is contrarily why a lot of wimminz also do the whole escorting whoring thing, alongside the swinging site advert and the PoF advert, this gives extra avenues of self denial and bullshit;

Slice a cat’s throat and put a $10 sign on it and when no man can be found to fuck it all you have to do is say “They couldn’t afford my pussy”

I’m with Wilde on the whole whoring thing BTW, he asks a woman at a party if she will sleep with him for 1,000 Guineas, she says why of course Mr Wilde, he walks away and comes back to her an hour later and asks her if she will sleep with him for 1 Guinea, she says why Mr Wilde, what do you take me for, a whore? He says madam, we have already settled that, now we are just arguing about the price.

So I’m banging my young cum bucket slut earlier this weekend and her phone goes, her slutty mate, she has been offered £750 quid to fuck this fat old fuck all next weekend in her own home, of course she is going to do it, so I tell my slut to tell her I will fuck her for a pound, it doesn’t go down well, but after all we are just arguing about the price.

Come next year this story will have transformed until she was earning £1,000 a pop as an escort, and that’s just for one night, and the client was ricky rude, and they stayed in the Savoy and drank champagne and ate truffles.

February 4, 2013

BBW – Blatantly Bullshitting Wimminz

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

While I am the first to admit to, and complain of, the sort of drop down list or radio button choices presented on many websites, thinking personally that none of the available options are correct, and then choosing the least wrong one… there are limits…

So for example being in my fifties I can no longer claim to be “athletic”, on the other hand I could still get into the trousers I wore at 16 as my waistline has not changes, so “slim” it is, even though I don’t consider myself slim, but the next one up, average, isn’t for me either, I only have to look out the window to confirm this.

Back in the seventies a D cup was a fairly big tit, and even then everyone, men and women alike, knew that cup size = tit size, so a 36-24-36 C cup and a 36-24-36 B cup were notably different.anya_001_p_078

But then whatever happened, put it down to processed foods, sedentary lifestyles, cosmetics and lotions and pills, whatever you like, body sizes have been growing, and with them tit sizes.

Late last year I was with a chick for a while, she was what you would call a “fat bird”, there was fat everywhere there shouldn’t have been, but she was young enough and fit enough that none of it had yet been affected by gravity and started to sag, so it wasn’t revolting, it was more cuddly, but the main attraction was GG cup tits. (the pic above is GG cup)

GG cup is significantly bigger than the human head, even on this fat bird they looked massive, frankly if she had been 36-24-36 they would have looked freakish and “uncanny valley” and quite unreal and totally photo-shopped or CGI‘d

The interesting thing about the human head is it is the one part of the human body with the least variation in size across individuals.

So there is this other bitch on the swinging site with, she claims, a pair of GG’s, so I look at her profile pics, and her tits are fucking MAYBE half the size of the girl I was banging, while her body was at least as big, plus, it had all started to sag south with gravity.

The chick in question MAY have been an E cup, so technically I can let the BBW thing go, yeah, she is a Big Busted Wimminz (no, it NEVER meant Big Beautiful Wimminz), but she is a fat bitch BBW.

So I get a wink yesterday morning, from a self described BBW, right away I am suspicious because it is the usual fat bitch photo composition, head and shoulders and bit of cleavage and not much else, but what the fuck as she sounds kinky enough, so I’ll play along for a while.

First thing I says “babe, send me some pics that show all of you, not just that stuff on your profile pix”

Nobody who has been reading this blog is in any illusions that wimminz can’t wait to send nekkid porno pics of themselves to a prospective cock… so time passes, and with each passing hour, we are still doing the odd text, I am still asking where my pix are, she is still making excuses about being busy, so with each passing hour I am revising upwards the probable land whale factor.

Eventually the pic arrives, and I will spare you the trauma of sharing it here.

The tits *may* be D cup, but it’s hard to tell because really they are just sagging and flabby and resting like deflated balloons on a beach ball, the upper torso is a triple wide rear slick of pink blubber, but it’s got a flat or it’s all distorted like a dragster slick, there is a fold that goes where the belly button would normally be, and this fold wraps completely around the body as far as I can see from the pic, if you are thinking of the gap between a close spaced pair of rear duallies you’re on the right track, and so we move south to what is traditionally referred to as the spare tyre, more double wide flabby pink slick, and this also hangs gravity style, I presume there is a cunt under there somewhere, there is no way to tell, there could be 8 inches of swinging cock and it would be concealed behind the drooping blubber.

Under this are two “relatively” slimmish legs, but the skin of the left and right legs is touching in a solid mass all the way down to the calf, about 12″ off the ground.

You know that feeling you get when you just fucking KNOW what the other person is expecting you to say…

I can tell, I am supposed to say something nice, something complimentary, something supportive, and while her body is big enough, so is Canada, that don’t make it easy to find nice things to say about it, when you were hoping to get transported to BC is summer, and you got transported to Sudbury, post apocalypse…

“You’re a fucking fat bitch innit” I say, because she has rang me to chase up the compliment, because it has been several minutes of silence from me, no texts no nothing

This doesn’t go down to well, so I try to resolve the issue by asking her why she eats so much yet also clearly has so many issues with her own body image.

Suddenly all trace of the submissive slut disappears, to be replaced with a whiny shouty arrogant entitled fat bitch, which coincides with the CIA trying to hack my phone and causing the call to be dropped…. >;*)

I am hesitant to say that all fat bitches have a severe fucking attitude problem, because I might thus give the impression to the less experienced men out there that slim wimminz are NAWALT, and that simply ain’t so.

What I am saying is that in my experience all fat bitches do not JUST have all the AWALT that all slim wimminz have, they have extra helpings of that too… worst of a bad breed as it were.

I’m reminded of a joke from my youth, when there simply was not the obesity epidemic that there is today;

Why did God make fat people smell?

So blind people could hate them too.

February 2, 2013

Truth or Dare

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 1:37 pm

I see a lot of posts in the MRM talking about religion, and the lack of religion as being part and parcel of the breakdown of marriage 1.0 and the declining standards of wimminz etc.

Substitute any other hobby horse you like for “religion” and you just covered 99% of the manosphere.

Thing is, this is dishonest, and the problem really is not that complex.article-2271953-1749181F000005DC-536_306x423

What all these hobby horses have in common is the exact same thing, pressure on the wimminz in question to stand by her word.

It really is as simple as that.

It’s not that marriage 1.0 wimminz stood by her man because she had religion, it’s that she stood by her man, the why doesn’t matter a damn.

If you owe me 50 bucks, I really don’t give a fuck what your motivation was for repaying me, all I give a fuck about is you repaying the 50 bucks when you said you would.

It could be because god told you to, or it was a day with a T in it, or a black cat crossed your path, I don’t give a flying fuck, any more than I would if those same reasons were used by you to justify not paying me back on time.

99.999% of what I give a fuck about is you standing by your word, and paying me back when you said you would.

I’m not sure why most of the MRM appears to care about the reasons, and not the actions, but I do have a theory.

That theory is you can’t really give a fuck about other people standing by their word unless you give a fuck about standing by your word… I think the two processes are indivisible.

I fucking detest my psycho skank ho ex, and all the secret family court lawyers and judges etc, because they make it impossible for me to stand by my word (it was implied, not stated, to an unborn child, but that does not matter to a man) and be there to care for and teach my sons… I was left with two choices;

  1. Break that implied word / duty by being imprisoned for refusing to stop trying to keep it.
  2. Break that implied word / duty by walking the fuck away and refusing to let them make me a niggerz

Let me give you a small example.

There is a phrase that I can remember my mother saying to me as a small boy.

Much of the MRM will say this is because my mother was a religious woman who entered into a marriage 1.0 with my father, etc etc etc.

I have no way to prove it, but I would bet large amounts of money that this is a phrase my sons will never hear from their psycho skank ho mummy, nor is it something that any other skank ho single mummies ever say to their kids, it has been lost from society.

This is the phrase that my mum said to me, when I lied to her, when she asked me if I had Tom’s mum’s permission if Tom Dick Harry and I could all go out to play in the woods.

“My mother (e.g. my grandmother) always said she would rather have a thief in her house than a liar, because if you have a thief in your house all you have to do is lock your nice things away, but there is nothing you can do with a liar.”

Certainly for the first half of my life I struggled with that more than anything else, in the here and now of goldfish memory telling a lie is the quick and easy way out, or way in, or way to get something, or way to avoid something.

It was complicated by the fact that at school telling a lie and so not grassing up a fellow pupil was seen as being more honourable than telling the truth and grassing them up.

“No Sir I don’t know who did it Sir” was always better than “Yes Sir Jimmy did it Sir”

But I always struggled with this, because it meant that telling a lie was better than telling the truth, and also that telling the truth was more important than honour and loyalty to your classmates.

Rather like a computer given an impossible task, my solution was not a solution at all, in that I did not come up with it, it just happened, endless feedback loop, zombie children roaming in the pipes.

My “solution” was to simply refuse to answer the question.

Did you hear the question boy?

Yes Sir.

Are you going to answer it then?

No Sir.

And so it came to pass that I very quickly gained a reputation for what was classed as “dumb insolence“, which followed me through my scholastic career and in many ways blighted it.

Of course to the tyrannical and authoritarian masters at school, I was the Antichrist, but there were some others, who never commented upon my dumb insolence, but who never asked me those kinds of questions again, and who sometimes had a kind word to say to me and a gentle smile.

In hindsight I can also see that despite the exhortations of my parents to work harder at school and to stop constantly being in trouble, not once, ever, was I chastised for my dumb insolence, which was after all the cause of it all…

Back then I could never have predicted seeing my own sons in similar unpleasant circumstances, or hearing about such things anecdotally after I was barred from contact with them, albeit domestic rather than scholastic circumstances, and I hear that the boys just go all quiet and stubborn when asked to agree to something that they know is not true.

While I think the would would be a better place is there was a lot more dumb insolence in it, this isn’t about blowing my own trumpet.

Most people will either lie about who did it or grass Johnny up to the teacher, people like me are the outliers, I know this, but perhaps we are also the canary in the coal mine.

People who have more than a passing fondness for the truth, people who have already been butt-fucked enough for their fondness that they no longer hold out any hope of getting a fair shake of the stick, people who may not have been thoroughly honest all their lives, but people who do not have a pile of things accrued through lies and deceit.

The trick of course is to not be the canary in the coalmine, be the jackdaw in the trees outside the coalmine, let some other fucker be the lighting rod.

In hindsight, that is the lesson that it took me 30 years after school to learn.

January 28, 2013

The intersting thing about free will…

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 5:00 pm

Is not that it isn’t free, but just how much of it is ruled by biochemistry.

I have wibbled on here before about Toxoplasma gondii, whichy makes cat piss smell interesting, and cat people, but there are better examples.

The guinea worm is one, you get it by drinking infected water, then it grows in the gut until it is as thick as a piece of spaghetti and 18 – 24 inches long, whereupon it burrows its way down through your limbs, and when it is ready to emerge and lay eggs and start the cycle again, it drives the host to water.

The point many people do not get, is these parasites are able to significantly influence the behaviour of the host organism, and it doesn’t really matter what the host organism is, human, oxen or goat, the same parasite is able to exude a biochemical trigger that has the exact same effect, not just across individuals, but across species.

Different parasites have different goals, and when you start to study it it is hard to come up with some aspect of human behaviour that cannot be either directly or indirectly influenced by the parasite

Which makes the whole concept of free will interesting, living in a modern technological society where were are effectively swimming in a biochemical soup all thanks to modern technology and mass produced products.

If a specific biochemical can trigger an interest in cat piss across species, and another specific biochemical can trigger an urge to go down to the pond or river and stand in the water, and so on and so forth, it isn’t really that much of a stretch to imagine a specific biochemical trigger that can make men more gay, or make wimminz more slutty.

In fact, it isn’t any kind of stretch at all, the contraceptive pill is nothing but a biochemical trigger, and I have been around this planet long enough and fucked enough wimminz to spot the marked differences in behaviour between a wimminz on estrogen, a wimminz on nowt and going through her cycles, a wimminz who is pregnant, etc etc etc.

Sure, it’s anecdotal, as is the observation that wimminz that drink over a litre of coke a day are all fucking cluster B and have a messy house, or the observation that wimminz who have had a lot of cock have a very high incidence of cervical cancer, or the observation that wimminz with blue cars don’t have steady boyfriends…

… but just because it is anecdotal doesn’t mean it is shit… red sky at night, sailor’s delight…

… which all reminded me of a crazy bitch I fucked years ago, she was every bit as crazy as the crazy I fucked last week, the word many will use is delusional… and she used to spout about the Nazi’s and BASF and Bayer and mind control through chemicals and all that good jazz.

To me she was just a crazy bitch and a good fuck, but about a year later I was talking to another guy who had porked her for a bit, can’t even remember his name, but he had a then brand new Yam XJ650, and during the conversation I found out he was a research biochemist, imagine my surprise when he tells me that in between fucking her they were talking and his job came up and next thing he knows she is hitting him with a whole load of (then) cutting edge biochemistry, and it was soon apparent to him that she was much better trained at his job than he was, she was in his own words world class and could write her own ticket anywhere on the planet, if she wasn’t so crazy…

But her “crazy” was insisting that all these big companies were collecting data on how various compounds could influence human behaviour, 30 years later she doesn’t sound so fucking crazy to me…

Now, I don’t pretend to know all the answers, or even a few of them, but I do find these to be interesting questions, and while I am the first to admit that correlation =! causation, there sure are a shit lot of parallels since around 1960 onwards to the changing environment in which we immerse ourselves, biochemically, and the way attitudes and society has changed.

The fact that we HAVE been performing this great biochemical experiment upon ourselves is not in doubt, where I would differ from the 1980 crazy is in suggesting that it is all deliberate and planned… if there is data gathering it is no wonder after things like Thalidomide, which could well have affected me if my mother took it during pregnancy, for I was of that era… nobody wants a lawsuit.

I share a lot of genetic material with one set of cousins, unlike them we always eat fresh food and veg, where they always eat frozen, the aunt in question was well known for having two chest freezers full of food and never any fresh foods in the house, “Mrs Bird’s Eye” she was called… so it is definitely a correlation that the cousins in question are all in poor health compared to me, despite the fact that I am older than all of them, but is it a causation… good question… I wish I knew the answer.

But it isn’t just health, there are broad and obvious behavioural differences between us too, as as far as nurture vs nature, well, one of their parents and one of my parents grew up together as siblings, so they came with common values and standards and history…

And when it comes to progeny, their kids bear almost no resemblance to them when they were little kids themselves, but mine are always seen as being “mini-me”.

Could this all be down to growing up eating processed frozen foods wrapped in plastics? Of course it could…but how to prove it, and even if you could what would be the point, you can’t go back in time and reverse it.

To this day, if I get the munchies I grab a piece of fruit or maybe a jam sandwich, biscuits and chocolate and crisps and pot noodles and suchlike are things I literally may eat once a year.

But then, in reality I am not a control specimen, I am just choosing to immerse myself in a different end of the biochemical pool that we all live in now, it’s not a deep or containing as many complex compounds, but it certainly isn’t 1950 style either…. maybe that by itself is sufficient to explain why my attitudes are perceived as being old fashioned.

 

 

January 21, 2013

Fucking Crazy

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 4:21 pm

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.”

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