Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

January 2, 2014

Here comes the mirror man…

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 11:54 am

It’s one of the truisms of the men’s world nowadays that whenever a guy describes his story with the psycho ex in great detail, out of the woodwork come a bunch of other guys who are all OMFG, I feel like you have been spying on my with concealed cameras in my home for the past seven years, because you just described EXACTLY what I had…

Yeah, wimminz all be unique little snowflakes… not.

So sooner or later you realise the wimminz play-book has only a limited number of tactics in it, and you can soon learn them all, and then spot them all.

The guy feeling like he is all WTF I don’t understand what is going on there must be something but she won’t tell me what and I do not UNDERSTAND this because literally one minute it was fucking great and next thing I know for no reason that I can see or discern it’s like I don’t exist… bwaaa…

.. is one of them.

You have all felt it and been there.

It is quite excusable, the FIRST time you experience it first hand, to give a fuck, and to want to know what is wrong and what you can do to fix whatever it is, because you have no fucking clue… this is after all a man’s nature, to fix things and understand things.

It’s not like she has told you you are through and go FOAD, so you know where you stand.

Giving that fuck is however extremely dangerous, it can and does quite easily lead to escalating drama and consequences down the line, life changing ones for you, possibly even life ending… certainly false accusations and the abduction of any children you have with her, this shit is really only a matter of when, not if.

Not giving the fuck is what happens when you learn it is just play #x in the wimminz play-book.

But.

Men being men, they still want to understand, so here is your explanation.

To a guy, you can introduce the concept of a “sandbox“, a figurative word to describe a situation where you have a thing going on in life, and that thing, like the sand in a kid’s sandbox, is kept contained and constrained within its strictly defined boundaries, so as not to contaminate everything else.

Tell him to sandbox his work, or his drinking, or whatever, and gets it and is fine with that.

Try to introduce this concept to a wimminz, and the first thing you get is wonder, and then their heads assplode and bits of hamster wheel and toilet roll go flying everywhere, because they can never actually grasp the idea of having one thing that is kept entirely separate from the rest of their lives.

Proper masculine men *can* make great engineers and lawyers and coders and so on, because of this, for the duration of the exercise they can set aside what they ACTUALLY know, and pretend to work with only what is inside the sandbox knowledge.

I personally know of several instances of chains of small groups of people that were specifically set up to reverse engineer a patented product and come up with something that did the same job but that was patent free, that all failed spectacularly because one wimminz or one wimminz and her beta niggerz in the teams failed at sand-boxing, and the end product was a litigation nightmare.

I knew a guy once, years ago, he was a truly great liar, not because he could convince anyone that his lies were truth, but because every time you picked a hole in one of his lies, he just told another lie to fill it, and he could keep this shit up for hours, so long you forgot the original premise and even the will to live.

Contrast this with a wimminz, who will quite quickly just lose it and start shouting at you for not believing her, and then going silent and not answering any new questions, or giving the same answers as she gave already.

Wimminz can’t sandbox, and they know this, instinctively.

So, to get back to the thing that started all this, some poor bastard stood there in confusion and going all WTF???!!!??? And if he is unlucky giving a fuck, and if he is experienced enough at the wimminz play-book not giving a fuck.

If I steal 5 bucks from your wallet, I *know* I stole 5 bucks from your wallet, I cannot remove that knowledge from my head, and so I cannot perfectly mimic the guy stood next to me, who did not steal 5 bucks from your wallet, doesn’t know fuck all about 5 bucks, or your wallet, and doesn’t much give a fuck either way, as long as nobody is pointing the finger at him.

I, being the one who knows he stole your 5 bucks, am anxious to avoid any probing questioning, and specifically any further answers that might arise out of my answers to those questions, the guy next to me, he doesn’t give a fuck.

The wimminz, knowing instinctively that she cannot sandbox, acts like the guy who stole 5 bucks, they will avoid the potentially unpleasant and embarrassing situation, and all the questions that arise.

They cannot sandbox, so they are not going anywhere near letting the guy know WTF was going on with regards to him, because they know that will open the door to other stuff, stuff that they do NOT want to discuss with him, or have him know, or have him question her about.

Now, I am not saying that this necessarily tells you whatever it was that was her real reason, specifically, so you can’t take this and say OK, this is proof she is fucking some other guy, that isn’t what it is at all, it could just as easily, and in fact is more likely, to be the case that whatever she was or is doing now, it is incompatible with and mutually exclusive to, something that she previously told you about herself.

That *might* be that she is fucking some other guy, or it might be that she works checkout at walmart and doesn’t sell real estate like she claimed, or the dead husband who was going to babysit the wombturds so she could come see you ain’t dead, he just had to work extra, and the imaginary babysitter of course couldn’t cover, or it may even be something a simple that there is something about herself being a fuckup that she doesn’t like, and there is no way to answer your questions without exposing that flaw to you.

The point YOU need to get as a guy, is that this play-book move ALWAYS has the same motive behind it for her, and that is keeping you in the dark about something.

It is more important to her that you do not know X,
than it is important to her to spend time in your company.

That, my friends, is all you need to know.

She would rather not be with you and keep her dirty little secret, than be with you and have her dirty little secret be exposed, and face questioning about it, questions to which she does not have good answers, which leads to more questions, etc etc etc.

Whenever you feel that WTF?!>! moment, or see a brother going through it, that is what is really going on.

So, I have a question for you, specifically for those of you who haven’t truly learned the wimminz play-book yet, and who still give a fuck, even a tiny one.

Why are you giving a fuck about someone to whom keeping their own dirty little secrets is more important than treating you like a decent human being?

What possible positive future or outcome do you hope for?

Push for answers and a resolution and the next thing you know the po-lice will be grabbing you by the collar, slapping the cuffs on, and charging you with harassment and intimidation and abuse.

And you STILL won’t be getting those answers you seek.

I have never yet met a man who had any of those questions answered honestly by the wimminz in question.

I know ONE man who had them answered posthumously when plod knocked on his door to inform him that his ex wife would not be collecting the kids as usual because she was dead, plod didn’t know anything at all about a sister, any sister, or any sibling, as next of kin, much less the sister who the wimminz was visiting every weekend for the past 5 years, 2 years separated and 3 years of marriage. Oh, and by the way, was he aware his ex wife was a swinger, and did he ever swing with her? Plod let him into her (used to be his) house, to get the kids clothes and toys, so he grabbed her laptop and later went through it. Then he found out.

It didn’t make him any wiser though, or tell him any USEFUL data that he had not already been given, simply by the fact that she preferred to keep him in the dark and fed on shit, while he went WTF?

Feel WTF? No freely volunteered info forthcoming from her?

Really, what else do you need to know?

Wimminz understand THAT message both instantly and perfectly.

Why don’t you?

November 20, 2012

Pause for effect.


I don’t have a job getting paid to be a talking head, this blog was put here because in the Blues sense “it was in there, and it had to come out”

Early on I split it into two sections, the pages which all have links on the right, and the posts which don’t, you have to search or go through the archives.

I did that because the pages were what I needed to say to warn others, and the posts were what I wanted to say to warn others… if you have needs, go straight to the links on the right, if you have time and interest, read through the archive.

But, at the end of the day I am only one man, and there is a severe danger of sounding like a stuck record, I have made all the points I want to make, there are other things that interest me, some of them are even related to the topic of this blog, but they are far enough away from the topic of this blog that they do not have a place here.

For example I have a motorcycle to build a new wiring loom for and to put back on the road, I haven’t ridden it for too many years now, so I can either get up in the morning and fire up the laptop and check out the manosphere and MSM and get fired up and type sit here… or I can get up in the morning and ignore the laptop and the manosphere and MSM and go ghost and fix my bike up.

One thing I have seen is far too many guys, for whatever reason, get a “fuck this” moment with their blog, and not merely walk away, but delete the bastard, which strikes me as very strange and smacks of burning bridges.

What happens if the need to blog raises its head again a few months later?

So…

I am going to take a leave of absence, FROM THIS BLOG, as / if / when I feel the need, I will return.

However, this place will stay here, this was the express reason I chose a word press blog account, it does not require any ongoing actions from me to keep it on-line, may it last as long as geocities… lol

 

 

February 25, 2012

The Evil Penis lives, and throbs, and other stories


Yes, The Evil Penis is alive and well, despite neglecting his blog… the guy is clearly too busy playing rumpy pumpy with Turkish tarts to get down to the serious business of blogging…

Which brings me to “If all brides are beautiful, where the fuck do ugly wives come from?

Not a million miles from the Evil Penis, but around 2,000 km nor’nor’east, lies a dump called Kazan, it is in the Republic of Tartarstan, in Russia.

I mention it mainly because in going through my electronic files of old digital photos and video, old girlfriends, that sort of thing, I came across these pictures, for the sake of this article we will call her Lyudmila, that isn’t her real name, but as we shall see shortly, its more accurate than her real name, because it is closer to Lyudmila Kazantseva, who is a fairly well known Russian dating scammer

So back to “my” Lyud… has to be said, she was not a bad looking bitch, she was 28 in these pics… and hey, here is her mum, who was 47…

I should state for the record that I never gave this girl a single red cent, and for the purposes of this post you can just assume that during my initial nuclear separation from the psycho skank ho ex when I *did* have protection orders / injunctions prohibiting me from approaching the ex, it made a lot of sense to take a 3 months contract abroad innit….

Thing is, when you come from bum-fuck-nowhere and the summer gets as high as the mid 30’s C and the winter gets as low as the mid MINUS 30’s C, and perhaps most importantly when you come from a country where they are 20 to 30 years AHEAD of us in the west when it comes to the systematic destruction of the family… one of your career options certainly does include all paths that lead down to 419 and similar scams.

Dating scams are a form of 419 as far as I can see, “..yes I vould love to marry you dahlink, I just do not have ze munnay for ze airplane ticket…”

So yeah, as far as “my” Lyud was concerned no local man, of any age, was in the least bit interested in her for anything except pump and dump, or a life of domestic drudgery and child rearing and doorstep polishing, snow clearing, you get the picture.

That of course is because all the local men were also 20 to 30 years ahead of us in time served in feminaziland… there was some THIRD generation shit going down there… and I do ***NOT*** say this out of sympathy, I am **JUST** highlighting the point here… Lyud here was a fine looking girl, and she still could not find a man to do anything but pump and dump.

The point that I AM trying to make is that for third generation feminazi bitches like Lyud here, the opportunities within 1,000 km were piss poor, and I mean ALL opportunities, not just work or love or marriage opportunities.

Fortunately for Lyud here and her friends, with the advent of that male built technology, the internet, and Western Union, it was possible for them to indulge in a little e-commerce, but even back then it was getting a bit thin as all the men were starting to wise up… at that time the last lucrative market left was North America.

As it was a home grown market was set up, wimminz feeding off these wimminz, offering to provide mailbox, translation, gift services etc, then evolving into a sort of white-pages / gateway themselves, a lot like (in business model terms) the sex chat lines here in the west.

I suppose by now things have gotten tougher, and Lyud has gotten a couple of years older and less hot, and the economy in general in Tartarstan has gone the way of economies everywhere, which brings me in to the point where I came in…

Lyud here, back then, she still had some of those looks, her mum was apparently a looker in her day too, and of course the wimminz just LOVE to say that shit, how they were a looker themselves back in the day…

Dimitri, ran the local bar / cafe, and in one of those cases where broken pidgin English carries more meaning and sentiment than fluent native speaking, Dimitri dropped a gold plated turd on to the table.

Dimitri before, very rich man.

Lyud’s mum saying she used to be good looking is like Dimitri saying he used to be rich, that and a dollar will get you a cup of coffee.

But Dimitri’s real point wasn’t that he used to be rich, and was now broke, his real point was that back when he had money, back when he was rich, back when he could have used that money wisely, he just used it up like a god given right that would never end…

… and the turd he dropped on the table was that Lyud’s mum might have been hot once, but she just used it up like a god given right instead of using it wisely and investing it in getting a good man and building a marriage strong enough to survive ….

and as for her daughter Lyud, monkey see, monkey do, mommy has taught her little skank ho too well….

I was at a time in my life where little Lyud could have done a damn sight more than empty my balls, she could have gotten her hooks into me, after burning all her bridges and rejecting the feminazi life she had… but she just could not bring herself to do it… the fairytale was more important to her, the possibility of a future jackpot, a future lottery win, no matter how remote and improbable, the lure of that was more than the very fat bird sat right there for the plucking.

You know, the fable about the scorpion and the frog.

So back to the Evil Penis, I’m guessing he isn’t doing anything much in a hurry, and that is good, because that is how you always beat the wimminz, just sit there and relax, like the scorpion, the wimminz will sooner or later always reveal their true nature… they just cannot help it… AWALT.

ya blue bus*** indeed Lyud, sayonara babe… lol

*** more or less phonetic “love ya babe” in russ…

September 4, 2011

Getting you to care… ain’t got no skin in that game.


This is the oldest trick in the book, you cannot take a single step, open your eyes or ears for sixty seconds, without being exposed to someone attempting to make you care about something, attempting to make you believe you have a stake in the game.

Last night saw the airing of Simon Cowell‘s latest vehicle, Red or Black, another TV show in which the eyeballs and attention of the audience is the real product, how far have we come from the day of PT BarnumThere is a sucker born every minute” where despite all the hype and smoke and mirrors, he still actually had to get paying bums on seats, the circus audience wasn’t the product, it was the silver lining.

Marketers do it, politicians do it, wimminz rights activists do it, hell even MRA’s do it.

All trying to convince you that you have a stake in product X, because you having skin in the game is the only way to make you give a fuck about the game, because if you don’t give a fuck about the game you can’t be influenced or made to do anything.

World + dog is trying to tell me I have skin in the game of my own flesh and blood children, my answer is I have skin in the game for precisely as long as I am a player in the game with equal standing to the only other player in the game, their mother.

My answer is my children are the business of the state when the state is asked to pay for them by both parents, or when the state is burdened by them if they act in antisocial ways.

My answer is the instant the state and their mother removed me from the game as a player, I got no skin in that game. You think I am some sort of fool who walks around throwing money into the pot in a poker game when I am not sat there holding cards and playing? You think I care who wins in any game I am not a player in?

You see why world + dog is desperate to convince me that I have skin in THAT game, because the instant I stop having skin in it I exclude myself from it, and what are they left with, a psycho bitch well past her best and a handful of kids, all of whom represent a burden until they reach majority, a burden that a player in the game would willingly carry, for the eventual rewards, but a non player, fuck that.

You see, by me saying Fuck it, ain’t got no skin in that game, the state and associated parasites and skank ho mummy are left holding the ball, and suddenly the game gets very boring and very predicatable, and they can scream “ner ner ne ner ner, we won you lost” all they like, but they lost and they know it, because the real game was always to convince me I had skin in the game and thus convince me to keep playing no matter what losses I suffered.

This is in essence also the pure genius of Ghandi, he flatly refused to play “their” game.

So my kids are abandoned by their deadbeat dad, so fucking what, at no time in human history have progeny had it so easy and had such excellent opportunity to survive, even without deadbeat dad playing the game and constantly losing and being awarded fouls and penalties against himself, and fuck it, given the game these cunts insist on playing, the lesson I AM teaching my kids in the strongest way possible, by demonstration, is the best possible lesson I could teach them in this world, the lesson that they ain’t got any skin in the games of their skank ho mummy or the state either…. fuck you all…. that’s my boy.

So no, I have no skin in the game of who holds power in Libya, I have no skin in the game of which puppet holds the office of Prime Minister in the UK, or president in the USA, I have no skin in the game of the bankers / pension funds / housing bubble, I have no skin in the game of sovereign debt and forex rates, I have no skin in the game of society and culture as a whole.

And it was ever thus, in a previous post I talked about “Cuntley translation“, and paid homage to Smiley Culture, who sang a song entitled Cockney Translation.

Smiley’s house was raided by 4 cops with a warrant looking for drugs, while his house is being ransacked (which does NOT mean all four cops are tipping out drawers and none are watching Smiley, real name David Emmanuel) Smiley decides to make a cup of tea, and while making a cup of tea manages to stab himself, once, fatally, through the heart…  Not to worry though, as none of the cops has to give evidence in the enquiry which whitewashed them of all responsibility, kitchens are dangerous places after all. At least the cops handcuffed him after he stabbed himself fatally in the heart…

This is the opposite of the “you have skin in this game” tactic, this is the “we have no skin in this game” tactic, and the two always go together, the £200 an hour court appointed childrens welfare specialist who guarantees herself many years of ongoing involvement with your kids should she side with skank ho mummy, who is all too willing to sign pieces of paper involving them as long as they help her win against daddy right now, will claim she has no skin in the game of family breakup and paternal alienation.

It’s a bit like the magician and his flourishes, never watch the hand he is waving around and trying to draw your attention to, always watch the hand he is trying to get you to ignore.

When the efforts to get you to care fail, they all pretty much fall back on the same tactic, shaming language, you are a loser, a dead beat dad, filth, the very fact that you are taking this stance proves that all the things your ex accused you of are probably true, and so on and so forth.

Then they watch your eyes, and you watch their eyes, they know that you don’t give a fuck about anything they say or do, because you have no skin in the game, and their little shill game isn’t working on you, you’re hip to it, and suddenly the shaming language and rhetoric is dialled down several notches, after all there is no upside to them for suddenly making you feel you have skin in the game, for your own reasons………..

They know, being life long game players themselves, that deterrents only work when you believe in them, and punishment and retribution always come after the act, and all that is standing between the game players and the no skin in that game non participant at game time is a few feet of fresh air, there is no mileage in needlessly pissing you off, both sides need to know when further game playing is futile, and also where further conflict is futile.

I got no skin in your game, let me walk, don’t give me a reason to have skin in your games, and you can continue to play them and I can continue to walk and have no skin in them.

They watch your eyes, I watch their eyes, and we are suddenly all unfailingly polite and formal to each other, and all of this real nonverbal communication is unseen and unrecorded by the recording devices and steno.

It’s 12 noon in the OK corral and the guy in black with his henchmen know damned well they have the lone stranger outgunned, but they guy in black knows even if he draws first, the lone stranger only has one shot and one target in mind, the guy in black, and the guy in black knows the lone stranger won’t draw first, but he won’t back down either, so they guy in black and the lone stranger do snake eyes for a bit and then the guy in black says “We’re all done here bud” and the lone stranger nods, turns and walks away.

Fact is the guy in black has a nice little setup going, and even a 0.1% chance that the lone stranger can take the guy in black down in an elaborate “suicide by cop” scenario is a game with no winning scenario to the guy in black… the guy in black has no skin in that game, and wants no skin in that game.

Fact is the lone stranger has no skin in the guy in black’s game, and wants no skin in that game.

And that is the basis for the snake eyes and walk away.

Strip all the artifice and play acting and game playing away and that is all that is left, yeah you got your pound of flesh, fuck it, and fuck you, I now no longer have any skin in the game.

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