Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

October 14, 2013

Love = ownership

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 2:12 pm

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

January 2, 2013

Easyriders, and falling in love with whores.

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 11:30 am

Back in the mid 70’s there was an English bike rag with a comic at the back featuring malcolm, a dipshit wannabe, and ogri, a guy with stubble, antlers on his helmet (helmet laws came in in ’74) and a Norvin.

It was good as far as it went, but across the pond there was a bike rag that went by the name of Easyriders, after the film.

Now before you go off one one, Bike in 1975 had fuck all similarity to Bike in 2013, assuming it is still in print, and Easyriders in 1975 had fuck all to do with Easyriders today.WTF-Mom

While the UK rag had a bit of irreverence here and there, mainly in the cartoon at the back, Easyriders back then was chock full of it from front cover to back… the bay area was a bit too far away to get to on my trusty A10, but the magazine was available if you knew where to look.

Looking back the things that stay in the memory are the Dave Mann centrefolds, the assorted crap from JJ Solari, and the assorted vitriol of Spider, now JJ was never a biker, but he could write some funny stuff and some of his observations were good, so anyway there is a skit in I think ’76 or so all about hookers, and how they classified the johns.

What it boiled down to was that according to hookers there were about six sorts of customer, once they got in the bedroom, and two of these were “ooh baby don’t we fit together so well” and “my wife doesn’t understand me but you do” only those weren’t the names given.

Despite all the modern “you don’t pay a whore to fuck, you pay her to leave” shit, what it boiled down to was four of the six types of customer were paying the whore for the illusion of companionship and intimacy, one of the others was the type who couldn’t get a woman without paying, and the last type was the one buying “no comeback” sex because they were married and didn’t want anything threatening that like the mistress turning up at work… I suppose you could have called this one the “pay her to leave” group.

The bit I didn’t get at the time, because I myself was too young and inexperienced, was that EVERY SINGLE INDIVIDUAL WHORE would be seen in six different ways, not depending on what she was, but depending in the class of john who happened to be pumping her right then.

You can be a john, and go to a whore, and see her one way, but to be a smart john you have to see the other five types of john, and how they see the same whore.

So you log on to PoF to try and find some pussy, and you read a profile.

Or you can be smarter, and use several websites, including a couple of swinger sites, and you see she also has a profile on a swingers site, with quite a different profile.

Or you can be a smarter and more experienced guy, and cross check and correlate the escort / whores websites too, and see her on there as well, with yet another different profile.

Sucks donkey balls if you only ever looked at the PoF profile, met her, and decided to see her regular like…

As someone who has been aware of this for a while, I have been looking for some rules of thumb.

Is she over weight? Does she like gangbangs? This sort of thing, but, correlation is not causation, how ever close it may follow, and over time I have only come across one reliable indicator of any kind.

The wimminz is question sees sex as an act, trying another cock is no different to trying another dress, and I have literally heard that exact phrase from these wimminz.

For sure, the more dresses you try on, the less each new one signifies, shiny, pretty, until the next one, and the last one means as much, literally, as the boxers I threw in the laundry this morning when I grabbed a fresh pair out of the drawer.

This is a recipe to get hurt, badly, if you are any of the four main classes of johns, e.g. any of the four main classes of MEN, who are seeking some sort of illusion of companionship or intimacy.

So tick follows tock and the clock and calendar rolls over from 2012 to 2013, and many of the other so called MRA websites are all HAPPY NEW YEAR BITCHEZ to the readership, but really it is much more welcome to the new boss, just the same as the old boss, because the inherent nature of the battlefield has not changed.. look at the tales of the English and German troops playing football in no man’s land in WW1, it didn’t mean shit because the next day it was back to the killing.

So I can sit here and cry in my beer and wonder why at this romantic time of year Jane49 hasn’t texted me for two days or bounced up and down on my cock for two weeks….

…or I can sit here and realise it is because she hasn’t decided to try a new dress on yet, and when she does she will call me, and the worst thing I can do in the meantime is call her like some lovesick puppy, and the best thing I can do is keep that production line going for jane50, jane51, jane52 etc.

One thing I can guarantee, no john is ever the first or only client of the whore he is visiting, and this is double true of all the wimminz out there, AWALT… without exception every single one of them has a string of johns who did the lovesick puppy thing, another lovesick puppy, NO MATTER HOW GOOD AT IT YOU ARE, is about as interesting to them as a 1995 fashion item…… like, wouldn’t be seen fucking dead with it.

So really all that is left in me is the pining for the fjords, wishing it were another way, but I might as well wish not only for the sandpile and toy cars when I was 7 years old, but also the innocence of the 7 year old, which was required to make those simple games so much fun.

That is really what I mourn, and what hurts inside me and all men, not the fact that AWALT, but the lost innocence within ourselves, back when we believed in loving girlfriends and wives and mothers of our children, not AWALT psycho skank ho’s

And so since the only other option is misery and I am a survivor, I have learned the lessons the skank ho’s have been so eager to teach me, jane49 means as much to me as the boxers I threw in the wash this morning, sure, nice and comfy and I’ll be happy to wear them again, but whenever they rotate back to the top of the pile of clean boxers, or never again, bin em and get a new pair, it really is no big deal.

Which is why I sit here and raise a glass to myself, to the wimminz of 2012 who had never done anal, till they met me, and the day I eventually persuaded them to do anal for me was the last day I fucked them, because then I had had everything that was new that they had to offer, and there are so many more pretty dresses to try on.

It is time for me to misquote Oppenheimer quoting the Hindu text….

“Behold, I am become death, destroyer of wimminz assholes”

Fuck it, it’s better hours than being a lovesick puppy.

December 7, 2012

Life is one big shit test

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 4:11 pm

Chances are, if it, whatever it is, makes you angry, it is a shit test.

Chances are, if your responses upon feeling that anger are to express your anger, calmly, quietly, verbally, and then walk away, you just aced that shit test, by doing the exact last thing they hoped you would do.761Bv

Having a slow fuse is pretty much essential for beating shit tests.

Having a stiff neck too, because this prevents you turning your head while walking away so you can go back and check on the results.

It’s pretty much baa baa black sheep time, you have to deliver your response and walk away, you can’t lead a horse to water.

This is all relevant stuff, because as you get older you accumulate experiences, and these experiences reflect back upon your demeanour and attitudes….

If your dad died on the 17th December 2000, your son died on the 18th December 2001, your best friend died on the 19th December 2002, your wife ran out on you on the 20th December 2003, and your dog died on the 21st December 2004 then right about this time of year you are not in a good frame of mind.

Any shit test life throws at you now is likely to unleash additional anger, above and beyond what the shit test itself incurs, and this is important, because you must only respond with the appropriate level of disgust that the shit test alone warrants, go over the top and you go at a stroke from aceing the shit test to failing it, abysmally…

Yesterday I talked about knowing what to do, but having to sacrifice something and not be able to keep it in order to actually do that thing, today I am talking about shit tests, and I want to round this off with a third thing, a quote attributed to St Francis of Assisi;

“Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change,
he courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.”

And so as it happens late last night / early this morning today I am granted another shit test in life, this time from a wimminz with a cunt full of my cum.

  1. In the knowing what to do and being prepared to sacrifice it, it is a case of telling her that her shit test was insulting and demeaning and angered me, and walking out, and not keeping my access to a total slut bod with monster tits and a tight cunt.
  2. In the shit test sense it is a case of allowing my righteous anger to flare, controlling it so it never gets past my eyes and tone of voice, and listening to that red pill that is the righteous anger in response to unjust treatment, and reacting accordingly, but with dignity and justice and maintaining the moral high ground.
  3. In the St Francis sense it is knowing that I cannot change the nature of the wimminz, having the courage to walk away from the poon, and being smart enough to know which one is useless wheel-spin burning up my tyres, and which one gets me outta there lickety split.

As I tell my wimminz who hope to graduate from pump and dump one night stands to FWB to long term FWB, being with me is an IQ test, if you aren’t smart enough to want, of your own volition and by your own efforts, to be with me, then you failed the fucking IQ test and you are no use to me.

Me trying to be nice to them, me trying to accommodate them, me pandering to their whims, all just turns into counter-productive effort, I enable their bad habits while simultaneously weakening my own moral position.

When a child misbehaves and stamps its feet and throws a tantrum the worst thing you can possibly do is reward that behaviour by telling the child you love them, or that they are beautiful, or special, or lovely.

You have to chastise them and explain the error of their ways.

There HAS to be an accounting, there HAVE to be consequences for transgressions, there MUST be a net mean worth that is affected negatively by negative actions on their part, and positively by positive actions on their part.

In the land of the blue pill here will be much gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair, but by doing this you risk losing the very wimminz you say is potentially so good for you.

On the contrary, all I am losing is the ILLUSION of this putative good wimminz, if she was genuinely good, then she would see the justice and truth and fairness in my position, and amend her own behaviour and attitudes, and show empirically by direct experimental proofs that she is indeed as good as she is made out to be in my dreams.

I was 17 and desperately in love with a very hot, very special, very sexy motorsickle, my dad came along to look at it, and basically found every single fault with it, and shattered my dreams and illusions and fantasies.

It was a tough fucking pill to swallow, but the old bastard was RIGHT.

I lost my faith in that particular bike, (Benelli 6 with 3,000 miles) but I retained my faith in motorsickles in general, and in my father in particular.

The irony here is the red-pill motherfuckers like me who have zero time for the wimminz and niggerz of the world, are the very ones most likely to keep faith with the real women, and the real men, should we encounter them.

On that day that my dad trashed the Sei he just trashed bikes owned by assholes who rode everything like they stole it, and consequently taught me to feel compassion for every motorsickle and car I did subsequently own…. even to this day I am the only fucker who around here who goes out in December, starts the car at idle and runs it at 750 rpm until I see the temperature gauge start to move.

All I ever hear is people telling me I am either lucky or good with vehicles, because I buy cars for less than a thousand euros in today’s money and drive them for three or more years, doing essentially no work apart from fluids and filters and pads…

A vehicle that has been owned by someone who rode it like they stole it can only ever be ridden like you stole it, and can never be relied upon to complete one journey, much less the return journey as well.

Same shit applies to wimminz/women.

 

 

December 6, 2012

“We know what to do…”

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 3:17 pm

said a *very* senior EU official (about the impending financial collapse) “… we just don’t know how to do that, AND get re-elected…”

Which really sums up man‘s troubles.

“I know what to do, I just don’t know how to do that and ___________”

Where the blank is “keep getting laid”, or “keep my husband” or “keep my job” or “keep my baby” or in fact KEEP anything.

Personal sacrifice, or rather lack of any personal sacrifice, trumps everything else, especially doing the right thing.im-not-saying-shes-a-slut

I had a fairly serious girlfriend some years back who wouldn’t TIUTA, her reasoning being she had tried it once with some other guy and hated it, fair enough, but the look of disbelief on her face some time later when the subject of marriage was raised was priceless, as I explained, marriage is all about personal sacrifice for the greater good of the marriage itself, you think there aren’t a whole bunch of things about marriage that I hate as a man… but would sacrifice enduring anyway for the greater good…

And so here we are, three weeks to Christmas, and good will to all men… and the three bears, and that was a fucking fairy story too…

The reality is a long term FWB started to get possessive, so kick to the kerb time, and a couple of short term FWB’s start to get demanding, so kick to the kerb time, and the hookup scene generally has gone a bit “black friday” with manic wimminz on the prowl for the “right” kind of man to tuck into the Christmas turkey with, show off to a few friends and relatives, and see in the New Year with.

When I got too old for toys and Christmas and shit, the wimminz always said Christmas was for the kids, then I grew up some more and got force fed red pills like a foie gras goose, and realised that fuck no, Christmas is exclusively for wimminz.

Not just “for wimminz”, but for wimminz emotional validation and sustenance.

See, like the long term FWB above, it may be Christmas in three weeks, and New Year’s in four, but it is Valentine’s in ten weeks, and all the wimminz know they need some time to work on a man to get him eating enough blue pills to be ready to drop on bended knee come Feb 14th and spring for that ring.

See, like the long ago serious girlfriend above who refused to TIUTA, as I said to her after we parted, or rather as we parted, when she had one last go at the “It is such a shame we didn’t work it out and get married” speech;

“When you denied me access to your ring, you also denied yourself access to a ring from me”

Naturally enough at this point she grudgingly granted me access to her ring… I knew it was a one off deal, and I knew what was expected in exchange, so I fucked her up the ass and then dumped her… in hindsight I look at that more naive me and wince… that could so easily have been followed by her dropping a dime on me to the boys in blue and making a false allegation…

In that instance, I knew what needed to be done, keep myself safe and free from her, but I did not know how, by just walking away and sacrificing my desire to fuck her up the ass, I didn’t know how to do the right thing, and keep the thing I wanted, so I ended up doing the wrong thing.

And on that note I have a man messaging me and asking me to fuck his wife like a dirty slut in all her holes… now there is a man who is burying doing the right thing, in order to keep access to the thing he wants… he isn’t even questioning the universal truth here.

By doing so, you render BOTH yourself AND the thing you want to keep worthless and tainted and iniquitous.

%d bloggers like this: