Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

October 14, 2013

Love = ownership

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Negative evolution is me not reproducing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her self declared love for me survives all this undiminished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is love?


February 2, 2013

Truth or Dare

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…

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 4, 2013

It’s a jungle out there

There is a lot of talk about the pinnacle of feminazism… articles like this (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2256850/How-feminism-blame-breakdown-family-Left-winger-Diane-Abbott.html), and suchlike, but I have long said that you have to go where excesses are not merely permitted, but celebrated, to find the pinnacle.

The pinnacle of AWALT can arguably be found in the swinger community, and within that community with that subsection that consists of cohabiting or married male / female couples that regularly invite extra males to fuck the wife in question.

At this point I really do wish I could post some pictures, but that would be wrong and inviting trouble.

So I am going to start by asking you to imagine a hamster wheel running at top RPM, but with the bearings and everything else shot, a huge final death wobble on, but still actually rotating at this point.

What you have in the swinger sense is the female of said couple above, but this is a female well past her sexy prime, overweight or fucking obese, time doing a hatchet job on her, has to book 5 guys to “come around tonight and fill me with cum, any holes u like” in the hope that one or two will actually turn up, and none do, and she does the same thing next night, going dogging up secluded hill, with the same results, then posts an appeal at midnight, anyone wanna come and fuck me, with no results.

Where the choices are book ten guys that you select from profile and pics and maybe 2 or 3 will actually turn up and fuck you, and none of them are after anything more than a pump and dump, or go to a club scene where you can get ten guys to pull a train on you, but you don’t get to choose who.

The days of buy me drinks all night and maybe I will let you suck my tits are back there somewhere with the dinosaurs.

Yes folks, the swinging world is the last secret refuge of the entitlement princesses, Conan Doyle style, and somewhere under the island / hidden valley there lies a volcano about to blow its top.

The 35 year old obese cum dumpster loses out every time to the 32 year old in reasonable physical shape who hasn’t yet slid that far down the slope, and that is the real volcano rumbling away under the island.

The entitlement pwincesses seeking validation are already sliding into the magma chamber, on the slippery slope of ever decreasing SMV / sexual market value, and by the time they get to the point where they drop the “I’m being picky because I can” bullshit and sycophantic verifications from the three sad dweebs they did fuck last year to the reality of having to go dogging to get some cock and taking anything that turns up to dump a load, it’s no longer a slide, it is free fall city.

Jane49 is on the back burner, as / when / if she wants my cock again she will call, nothing I can do to influence that, so nothing is exactly what every sane man should do, nothing about jane49 that is…. never ever ever ask her when you are going to meet or fuck again….

Pulling the bits you like out of Jane49 like GG tits and a juicy cunt and ignoring all the defects is like taking a dump and a piss in a pot of stew and expecting people to compliment the dumplings…  you either take a bowl or pass…

Jane50/51/52 etc serve no purpose except to substitute for jane49 while jane49 is doing whatever passes for thinking about as / when / if she wants your cock again.

In fact calling it Jane49/50 etc is misleading, better to use mathematical notation  such as N and N+1, so JaneN and JaneN+1 etc… remember it is a fucking jungle out there, and survival of the fittest means the fittest to survive, not those who can do the most reps with 25kilo barbells.

Meanwhile back on the island of the damned once you get your survival shit down pat you get time to kick back and observe, and what you will observe is that it is a jungle out there, JaneN and JaneN+1 are in competition just as red in tooth and claw as anything they were prepared as a species to hand out to you, ape man…

And you can always spot the other ape men, those who have not learned the lessons, on the island of the damned pwincesses, they are the ones cracking jokes like “She asked me to give her nine inches hard and make her bleed, so I fucked her three times and punched her in the nose” and the ones making observations like “so the profile text is full of shit about safe sex and no condoms = no play, and the profile pictures show her being sandwiched by two bareback cocks..” all of which goes down like a lead balloon and cues a storm of wimminz and their pet niggerz dissing him for oppressing other people’s freedom or some such shit, or having an attitude problem.

JaneN and JaneN+1 face a problem a lot like western economists with QE, or outsourcing, or offshoring, or any of the other shit they pull.

It is always a race to the bottom, and it is always a tiger that once you climb on its back you WILL stay there, because you don’t know how to get off and are too scared of the consequences to try.

Just yesterday alone while using the browse function, I came across two profiles that stated “no I will not fuck your dog and then you” or variations upon the theme of bestiality, which is a classic proof of the race to the bottom, obviously enough requests for this are floating around for these two wimminz to feel the need to put that in their profile, and those requests can only come about because there are wimminz with lower SMV who have already offered this to these guys… N & N+1 can only go in one direction.

And let us not forget, what we see here is NOT the depths of depravity, this is arguably the PINNACLE of feminazism, in the swinging scene where the excesses of the pwincesses are not merely tolerated, but celebrated….

……. the magma chamber below the island of depravity hasn’t done much more than pass some gas yet, we are still in reel two of the show, many years ago I told a young woman that the day would come when she would beg for the opportunity to suck some cock in exchange for a dollar burger….

I said it because I remembered some mestizo puta blowing a donkey while some truck drivers stood around drinking beer and laughing, the better the job she did the more coins they threw at her feet, and it was fucking COINS, not notes.

those days are not here, not yet, we haven’t started the third reel, not yet….

…. but… anyone with eyes and a brain only has to look around and see UNSUSTAINABLE write large everywhere, in my city the January sales have materialised, but the shoppers have not, not only are there empty units in prime locations all over the industrial estate, but in the lawyers and solicitors quarter of town there are now empty buildings and offices in the street.

The empty lawyers offices and empty shops in the city centre are more significant than the empty industrial units in the industrial estate in so far as they show how far the rot is progressing.

January 2, 2013

Easyriders, and falling in love with whores.

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 28, 2012


There are noises that the wimminz make when being fucked, and I am a fucking god at this shit, so I do NOT mean the ooh ahh oh god baby stuff that they ALL do… I’m talking about the noises that I can make maybe one in twenty wimminz make.

The little involuntary and entirely non-verbal squeals.

The little squeals that do not coincide exactly with your thrusting in or out or anything else, when you get these invariable it is some of the best sex you get, because she is into you in a big way, and then you have a positive feedback loop.

I’ve got a mate, he is back in the UK again now, broke, but about ten years ago he started to get into porn, then kinky porn, then extreme porn, but all in a very fringe / amateur sort of way, and while there was money involved he was in it for the kicks, not the money, so think private email lists and DVD distribution, not the commercial houses.

I can remember at the time we had a lot of discussions about the fact that the way he was working was, in methodology of distribution and revenue earning, pretty fucking close to kiddie porn, and they throw the fucking key away for that shit… and then they brought in a new law that made a lot of previously legal porn illegal, so matey departs to foreign shores.

He ends up in Bulgaria making bestiality porn, same business methods but now there is HD and the ability to stream shit from servers as torrents as well as posting DVD’s to customers.

Being western bestiality porn pretty much = wimminz + dogs, you have to leave it to the japs and south americans for the other animals in the menagerie.

So he’s back, this is about six weeks ago, and we are talking, and of course the talk comes around to a couple of the wimminz that regularly featured in his “work”, you have to remember that while I knew him, and a couple of the wimminz, I never actually got involved beyond that, so it wasn’t like discussing Die Hard.

His main squeeze, the one he went to Bulgo with, was a pretty thang, but like all young wimminz very self centred, I fucked her once and it was purely average, he said the same thing, but the camera did love her, and vice versa, and anyway they were pretty much an item,  and turns out it was at HER behest that things moved on to bestiality, and because she wouldn’t give it up that they both moved to Bulgo and started to do just beasty stuff.

So we are there talking and I look at him, because he has just told me about noises, this bitch, without fail, made *those* noises when she was being mounted by a dog, and he goes on to tell me that in his opinion that is why their “label” was so successful, this bitch was not just happy, but delighted, for all that stuff to stay in and not get dropped on the editing room floor.

Plenty of other wimminz came along and did one shoot or two or three, enough for a DVD, and they all made those noises too, but wanted them cut in editing, but of course they got copies of all the raw unedited stuff for their own use…. and enjoyment.

You have to remember, I knew the main wimminz we are both talking about here, I have fucked her too, and I am having a hard time equating this squealing bitch he is describing with the quite pretty but very self centred wimminz I knew, and who I saw him with socially when they were together and I’d visit.

I hadn’t really made the connection that there were some men, or some mammals, that could make an individual wimminz make those noises, but the majority wouldn’t, I guess I had sort of assumed that most of the guys who had been there before me had made them make those noises too…. and then a penny dropped, every wimminz I have lost interest in, but who has been available for me to fuck in an ongoing manner if I so chose, was one who did NOT make those little noises.

Of course HIS kick was once Rin Tin Tin had made her squeal like a piggy, she was up for anything HE wanted, the rest of the time he told me the sex with her was pretty much as I remembered it with her.

I’m kind of discussing this with the guy and so I eventually sort of wave my hands at him, and the flat he has moved back into here in the UK, and ask, so what the fuck happened dude?

Well, it turns out she was not just 50% of the “business” in terms of output, but she was also the draw for the other wimminz who came along and did one off DVD’s, and it turns out the money went the same way, it was always a 40 buck (always in dollars) DVD, split 50/50 between the “actress” and the house, the house being him, so of course all the expenses came out of his cut, and then the credit card companies started to get pissy, so he had to have legit companies owning less legit companies, which made customers more wary because they were buying a DVD from “Nasty Bestiality Inc” but credit card payments were going to “ACME Software Inc” of Turkey, and next month to “Roadrunner Mousetrap Inc” of Greece, which put his expenses up, to the point where they are barely scraping a living.

So what happend next? I asked him.

Well, turns out they met this guy who was holidaying in the area, they hung out for a bit, next thing he knows she is telling him this guy has sent her a one way plane ticket to France.

The kick, the guy runs a kennels in France, boarding and breeding, oh, and he has money too.

So long and thanks for all the dog.

By then he is so deep in the shit financially he loads up the car and does a midnight flit from Bulgo, last thing he does on his last night is take all the hard disks containing the production work to date and put them in a 45 gallon drum with a gallon of gasoline and a pile of wood and watch it burn while drinking zagorka, cos that shit is a criminal conviction and prison sentence in western europe.

All I can do is look at him and grin and say “shiiiit” and raise the bottle in a toast.

“Fuck it” he says, “it was good while it lasted”

the little noises a wimminz makes when she is REALLY enjoying the sex.

Thing is, he was right, if I run the VT in my head in rewind, all the sex I ever had where wimminz did NOT make those little noises with me is sort of blurred and indistinct and vague, and where they DID make those noises it is sort of blurred and indistinct but NICE and an undercurrent of them being pretty and sexually attractive and PWHOAR and all that jazz, but for those wimminz, I can’t remember much about them the rest of the time, when we weren’t fucking and they weren’t making those little noises.

Thing is, the thing he and I both missed, those wimminz who DID make those little noises with me, they were never any of the wimminz who pledged love and allegiance and wanting a long relationshit with me.

I’m still puzzling that one out, did giving them those noises make them more honest and less likely to bullshit me into a relationshit?

I do know this, my mate says by far his most popular titles were not the ones with the 2,000 buck camera, which they all had, or when he got the 2,000 buck lenses, or when he got the 2,000 buck editing software, they were when he got the 2,000 buck mikes and pointed them at the bitch’s face and cunt to capture those little noises in high quality, and overlay them synced properly with the squelchy cunt sounds, he also says the most popular scenes were those showing nothing but her face, nothing in the least porno about that, but the look on her face as she made those sounds, captured in high quality audio.

I haven’t seen those scenes either, and chances are you haven’t either, but I know exactly what he meant.

For some reason I cut to Independence Day, where they are uploading the virus to the mothership… those little noises wimminz make, they are the virus to the red pill mothership.

Actually it’s worse than that, the red pill mothership has code spaces especially built in, ready and waiting for just such a virus, in much the same way it works in biology.

Actually it’s worse than that too, because the wimminz was just as much a carrier as us, she had no control over what would make her squeal like a piggy, so the first time it happens she can either run from it, or towards it.

All I know is I am grateful for small mercies, I haven’t had to go down the dog pound to find a wimminz that could make those noises for me… I had enough fucking problems with just wimminz and me and a bed…. lol

That, and me never white knighting and defending the bitches from the consequences of the drives given to them by their cunt…. no responsibility without authority is my motto.


December 27, 2012

Perceptions, illusions and reality.

It is tempting, and quite common in sci-fi, and indeed religion, to talk about humans as being flawed or without hope or destined to fuck up with annoying regularity.

This portrayal does not however withstand any kind of scientific scrutiny whatsoever.

When you look at humanity as a whole scientifically, all the things that I whine about on this blog are just a part of the whole, we are not a perfect system, what we are is an EVOLVING system, and part and parcel of evolving systems is they need to fuck up with regularity in order to weed out the crap, and retain the good.

The technology of modern western culture is good, the stuff absorbed into the body humanity, the sociology of modern western culture is crap, the steaming turd extruded from the anus.

Thankfully the days when the wimminz compare me to 50 shades of grey are passing, but again there is a lesson there, in the constantly changing values of sexual sluttishness that they will exchange for my company, or your company, or the ex’s company… and of course the one constant that the wimminz all pull out from 50 shades, that Ana is in love with Christian, but Christian is unable to love Ana, or anyone else…

All these things above are DYNAMIC structures in a state of evolution and change.

It may suck in the worst way possible to be a particular INDIVIDUAL in such a scenario, but for the species as a WHOLE things are going great thanks.

10 million deaths in a global war or pandemic is an awful thing for those involved, as awful as it gets, but for the species as a whole, it’s a good thing.

Losing a child with a congenital defect is an awful thing for the parents, but a good thing for the species, and so we get into the quicksands of eugenics vs evolution, I want to fuck Fred’s daughter and make her pregnant, not Sambo’s daughter, how much of that is me practising eugenics and how much is hard wired evolutionary imperatives forced upon me?

We are due a war or a global pandemic or maybe both, does it really matter to those who will die, or those who will live, if this is caused by some banker, or some politician, or some corporate type, when all of these and more are just the tail wagging the dog of evolutionary pressures?

It’s all rather chicken and egg, and all rather academic, it is like discussing if it was a red on blue bullet or a blue on blue bullet that just went through your buddy’s head and sprayed you with his brains, the effects are identical.

Surviving it is going to be rather academic too, your survival will either depend on something directly associated with the selection, such as a genetic trigger if it is a pandemic, or indirectly associated, such as a state of health if it is a pandemic, or vaguely associated, such as not being in a climate where the outbreak can thrive.

I cannot, Gattaca style, doing anything about my DNA, but I can do something about not being around in close proximity when the red and blue bullets start to fly.

Yugoslavia was a great place to be, until it fell apart, then it was a crap place to be. Being born there isn’t something you can change, STAYING there when TSHTF is something you probably can change, at a great cost for sure, but probably less cost than staying put.

A fat ugly skank who you can only bear to fuck doggy style and who you have no use for apart from the fucking is a lot less, sexually, than a harem of hot kinky sluts begging to do your bidding.

On the other hand, a fat ugly skank who you can only bear to fuck doggy style is a great way to empty your balls while remaining immune to confirmation bias and post coital “well, she ain’t that bad actually” slippery slopes…

Ultimately, on the macro scale, evolution and change will always win, ultimately, on the individual scale, vast swathes will be fed, alive and feet first, into the meat grinder of evolution and change.

Ultimately, on the individual scale, we are all dead anyway, it is just better to die of old age waiting your turn at the grinder than being fed into it.

Ultimately, on the individual scale, if you know for a fucking fact you’re headed for the meat grinder in the very near and not merely foreseeable but pretty much inevitable future, you may as well take some of the assholes who fucked you over with you.

In between these two lies the entirety of human society and history.

Knowing where you are in the space between these two, or even being able to influence your relative position between these two, that, my friends, is the secret, either be the stainless steel rat hiding in the walls, or Pol Pot… it’s living in the vast middle ground that will get you unawares.


December 21, 2012

Giving a fuck.

Tis the season of goodwill and all that bollocks.

So naturally enough I start talking about relationshits and how people aren’t haaapy… I sometimes pull out the android smartphone and treat them to a rendition of It’ll be lonely this Christmas by Mud, fuck it, here you go.

Thing is, 2012 is a very different planet from as recently as 2002, a mere ten years ago.

In 2002 you could pretty much guarantee than no average 13 year old on up had 24/7 access to mobile comms, hell in 2002 not that many people had “broadband” at home, for values of broadband that meant 512/128 kbit ADSL, but they did have landline phones and post addresses for snail mail, that was pretty ubiquitious.

Fast forwards to late 2012 and I can get 5 mbit up and down on my android smartphone, uncapped, for less than 30 quid a month, and in addition to SMS and MMS messaging it monitors 5 separate email accounts and whatsapp and a couple of sex/dating accounts/sites.

I am accessible 24/7, and every wimminz of fuckable age in this country is accessible 24/7 because they are also carrying around smartphones.

If anyone wants anything, from train times to the weather to the car breakdown guy, they whip out the smartphone and 60 seconds later they are in contact.

It really is as simple as that, anyone can contact anyone else they want within 60 seconds.

Which means if you haven’t been contacted by that person, it’s because they don’t want to contact you right now… if they haven’t contacted you for 24 hours, then they haven’t wanted to contact you for 24 hours, if they haven’t contacted you for a week, then they haven’t wanted to contact you for a week…

The ONLY exceptions to this are those where you are given an advance warning, as in I’m going on holiday for two weeks starting tomorrow.Yahoo-mobile-modes-whitepaper-24_7-mobile-usage

So this guy’s girlfriend has an iphone with his number on it, a crackberry with his number on it, a laptop with his personal on it, and she has stayed over at his place and has a car so she knows where he is, in addition she knows who he works for and what his employers website is and that he can be contacted via this company website.

It don’t matter what she says when he is with her, if he don’t hear from her, not a peep, for 48 hours straight the only possible explanations are that she is dead, or she hasn’t wanted to contact him for 48 hours.

He’s rubbing his head with the palm of his hand, and asks me does this happen to me, do wimminz not contact me for hours or days at a time?

Fuck yeah, of COURSE they do, it is in their nature, which is why I don’t plan my life around the bitches, and more importantly, why I always keep a background search on for jane48, jane49, jane50 etc while I am “with” jane47, because sure as god made little green apples, jane47 is going to have periods where she doesn’t contact me, and the only possible reasons are I AM NOT A FUCKING PRIORITY TO HER.

Bitch can SAY anything she wants to deny that, the FACT is she probably looked at her smartphone at least once an hour, but did not take 15 seconds to send you an SMS saying “Hi babes missin’ u xxxxx“… that’s a fucking FACT Jack.

Fuck what she says or claims, what she DOES or DOES NOT DO trumps words and claims every fucking time.

But, he blubbers, she is supposed to be my GIRLFRIEND….

Fuck that, she is a fucking fuckbuddy, no strings attached.

Girlfriend is the conjunction of two words, Girl + Friend.

Neither of these words implies 24/7 joined at the hip ping pong “luv u hunni” texting, and while it is nice to think that while she does not have your cock in her, she is thinking about your cock and you, that ain’t the way wimminz work…..

out of sight, out of mind is a phrase that is tailor made to describe how wimminz minds work.

When the bitch wants something, she will be in touch, bet your ass on that one.

Which means you gotta be like the car breakdown guy, you can’t sit there 24/7 hoping your one potential customer will call…. you got to have a fucking customer base….

If the bitch phones the car breakdown guy, and he is already out on a call, well she can fucking join the queue…

December 19, 2012

Security theater vs real security.

A quote from a comment made by 8oxer to the last article

When I would talk to the hardcore MGTOW brothers, back in the day, I got the business constantly. It is as though some people believe that a redpill life is equivalent to joining a monastery, never having sex nor anything to do with wimminz again, and anyone who does not share their vow of celibacy is deluded, a fool, or a mangina white knight dog who is not true to the brotherhood. Such polar thinking does nothing to me. With that sort of black/white thinking one may as well just drop out completely, go live in the woods as a hermit, cut off his nose to spite his face, cut off his cock right after, and never talk to anyone again.

There is no shortage of people such as Bruce Perens who talk about security theatre, screening all passengers at London Heathrow airport for box cutters / stanley knives to prevent another “raghead muslim terrorist atrocity” is no more than security theatre, not real security, because Heathrow airport is only a couple of miles from several large indigenous raghead muslim enclaves, where lo and behold most of the airport and aircraft cleaning staff are hired from, at low wages, and they aren’t routinely screened and they could leave box cutters and anything else hidden on an aircraft for an accomplice “passenger” to find and exploit.

The airport body scanners are therefore no more than theatre, and jobs for the boys of course.

It may make ya feel safer, but it doesn’t actually make you one iota safer in fact.

Which brings us to 8oxer’s comment, dropping out completely, living in the woods as a hermit, and cutting off your nose and your cock may make ya feel safer from the tentacles of the feminazi state, but it don’t actually make you one iota safer.

If anything, it makes you MORE at risk, because your false sense of security will cause you to dismiss shit that would otherwise trigger an alert in you, after all, all the other passengers were screened JUST LIKE YOU, so they can’t have gotten anything on the plane…. right?… right??

Unbeknownst to you, some skank ho who doesn’t even know you exist, in need of an explanation for staying out late and having a threesome, tells her darling beta male she was raped by some freaky hermit guy as she was waiting for a bus down by the woods.

When the po-lice find your hermit hideout, you are going down for 15 years for a rape you didn’t commit, what’s that? No penis? Well clearly you’re nuts and used a sex toy to compensate, after all we can’t expect the poor rape victim to check for a real penis vs a fake one while you hold a knife to her throat etc… have an extra 10 years for being nuts…

The yanks just pulled a guy out from halfway around the world, for allegedly not paying alimony to a wimminz, which is why I said yesterday;

  1. I can never change the bit on my birth certificate that says “male”
  2. I can never change the law.
  3. I can never escape from all interaction with wimminz.

All I can do is indulge in security theatre, which basically is sleepwalking into an even more vulnerable state, or I can do something to address my security, which is what this blog has always been about, and why those links are always there on the right.

As 8oxer has seen, you have to differentiate between a dogma and a strategy.

I happen to like fucking, which makes me one of the fortunate ones because I can combine my need to empty my balls into some slut with a constant search for the “camouflage jane” of the day, week, month or year, all of which makes me safer than the hermit in the woods, or the guy who runs away half way around the planet…

A dogma is lazy, I followed instructions and went to the woods and built a shack, job done, I am now safe from wimminz.

A strategy is dynamic, that shit I did last week with jane47 I need to do again this week with jane47, fresh, not just cookie cutter.

Fuck, I have to breathe, not like I didn’t breathe yesterday, or eat yesterday, or take a shit yesterday, or exercise yesterday, or sleep / rest yesterday, the stuff I talk about here, smartphone and archiving everything to the cloud, it’s just more of the same man, shit you have to do every fucking day until the day you die in order to live / survive.

If you’re a yank, you’ve probably been “protected” from having to read this.

Arguably it is a moot point whether kids or dogs in afdiggastan most need to fear death from the skies with no warning from Brandon Bryant’s replacement killers, the only thing not up for discussion is whether the kids and dogs in afdiggastan are paranoid, the x-box killers ARE out to fucking kill them… HEAD SHOT…. collateral damage… re spawning in 3…2…1…

If you are a kid or a dog in afdiggastan, or a man in the western world, there is no re-spawning, no saved games, no pause button, no exit button, you may just be collateral damage and virtual shit to some other wimminz or niggerz, not an actual intended target, but it makes no odds, the shit is still 100% real to you, and your belief in security theatre over actual security strategy is only going to contribute greatly to your grave situation.

Like I said above, I’m lucky, I like cunt, could be a lot worse, I could be a fag like Mr Donovan who would presumably find courting a wimminz for camouflage repulsive, or a 30’s Hollywood actor, needing a sham marriage to a wimminz for camouflage… just as the drones in afdiggastan kill kids and dogs as easily as crazed raghead terr’rists, the feminazi drones in western society fuck up the lives of fags and hermits and negroes as easy as white heterosexual males….


Bryant saw a flash on the screen: the explosion. Parts of the building collapsed. The child had disappeared. Bryant had a sick feeling in his stomach. “Did we just kill a kid?” he asked the man sitting next to him. “Yeah, I guess that was a kid,” the pilot replied. “Was that a kid?” they wrote into a chat window on the monitor. Then, someone they didn’t know answered, someone sitting in a military command center somewhere in the world who had observed their attack. “No. That was a dog,” the person wrote. They reviewed the scene on video. A dog on two legs?


December 14, 2012

I have been challenged…

… by a friend, to explain exactly what is going on with a current FWB

(I should explain, in the spirit of full disclosure, there is a reason for his question, this FWB has come a lot closer to my affections than the usual pump and dump material, for the purpose of this post we will call her “Julie”)

uuuh, it’s a wimminz, innit…” was my reply.

He laughed and said you don’t get off that easy, I want you to be charitable and play devils advocate and argue in her favour.

You mean blue pill?” I say

Nope, I mean red pill, but on an individual level, like you’re a cunt because the wimminz have taught you that is what they want and how to survive them, so do the same for her, on an individual level, who taught her to be what she is?” he says

As always happens, we soon drifted off topic, but I woke up this morning and found myself still thinking about it.

The fact is, it was a good question, and it is a good question because it is a hard question, and it is a hard question because to answer it honestly, I will be forced to examine some of my own armour and learned reactions to the wimminz….

Imagine if you will a man living alone out in he wilderness, and imagine a wild dog floating around the man’s camp, sniffing for scraps, there are a few possible scanarios;

Group 1

  1. Man shoots dog
  2. Man chases dog away
  3. Man stays in camp, dog stays outside camp 100 yards away
  4. Man entices dog into camp.
  5. Dog decides to walk into camp.
  6. Dog decides to attack man

From options 4 and 5 above some further options pop up;

Group 2

  1. Man attempts to domesticate dog and succeeds
  2. Man attempts to domesticate dog and fails
  3. Dog attempts to attach to man and succeeds
  4. Dog attempts to attach to man and fails

Group 1 option 1 is Jonathan Vass, as discussed yesterday, Group 1 option 6 is of course the FRA

Group 1 options 2 & 3 is the MGTOW theme…. I’m sure you can work out the rest.

Group 1 options 4 & 5 are the interesting ones though, because they involve contact between man and dog, and either option 4 or 5 can lead to any of the options in Group 2, and I’m sure you don’t need me to point out which is an analogy to what when it comes to men and wimminz…

But, if I am going to be truly honest with myself, which is where my friends question comes in, Group 2 option 3 is what we all seek, the dog bonding to us, always assuming it is a dog we like the look of in the first place… the love of a dog for his master.

The unquestioning love of a dog for his master.

To be fair, this is the kind of love men want to give wimminz, until they get the shit kicked out of them for their troubles, so we end up either cowed and tails between our legs niggerz or fuck it growl at everything and bite first chew later post wimminz men….

Which is my friends question, but it was sneaky, because it did not allow me to generalise all wimminz, but asked me instead to look closely at one individual dog, and judge that dog on its individual merits.

It’s doubly sneaky because it invokes the nostalgia and yearning for Group 2, Option 3, that thing we all seek, the companionship and love of a good dog.

It’s trebly sneaky because it makes me choose between actually coming up with a considered answer to his question, or simply chucking out a stock answer, AWALT, end of discussion.

It’s quadruply sneaky because it is not a challenge to AWALT, this individual wimminz is still AWALT, the question is, how did she come to be that way, and is it by choice, or was she as much a made thing as I am?

It makes me examine my own thought processes.

  • Notably, it is a man, and not a wimminz or a niggerz that poses such a question.
  • I realise that much of my though processes with wimminz involves a negative check-list or weighted score, quantity and quality of tramp stamp skank ho tats, check, she’s a skank ho.
  • I realise that much of the “slack” I give the more favoured long term FWB is simply no more than the absence of certain of these check-list items, wow, this bitch only has 84 of the 100 possible flaws, and only 6 of the 10 most serious red flags…
  • I realise that somewhere in my sub-concious, with this particular FWB, as well as a reasonably low score on the negative check-list, there are actually some things about her that I like and approve of…

So group 1 option 3 dog attempts to domesticate man, man looks at dog and grins, it’s a mangy cur of a mongrel bitch with plenty of bad habits and fleas, but… it makes the man grin.

The man’s friend sees this, and asks the man, why does this individual dog make you grin, it shares more in common with the other curs roaming around your camp than it has to set it apart from them… and what caused this individual dog to be the way it is.

It is a bloody good question.

It is a bloody good question because I cannot answer it without also answering the same question about myself, and not in a superficial way that I have, because I got accused of wanting to fuck my own kids up the ass by my psycho skank ho ex who also made an FRA against me for good measure… but in detail, what sort of man ignored the red flags with the psycho skank ho ex, and why, and how was HE made, and so on back in time….

All the way back to the pre-pubescent me who just knew various things, the sun rises in the east, water is wet, and one day you will grow up and fall in love and get married and have a family of your own and boys who will call you daddy.

I have been making a serious, possibly fatal in the longer term, mistake.

Take a 5 gallon pail of water and tip it out at the top of a slope, watch how it runs downhill, how obstacles and other things change the flow, you can never get the same effect twice, if you think so you ain’t looking close enough, that flow is life, my psycho skank ho ex is a large rock downhill of where I was tipped out into this world, and my serious and possibly fatal flaw was looking at where I am now, the pattern I have made so far, and assuming that that is pretty much it, this form has basically been determined.

I am the pinnacle of my evolution.

The flaw is that change only stops with death, so I must continue to flow downhill into the future and find new patterns and channels and obstacles, or I can die.

I did not HAVE to allow my psycho skank ho ex to do what she did, at the first touch of that obstacle in my life I could have rebounded and found another path, one that cut around her instead of one that washed over her.

I face the same choices in the future.

“Julie” the mongrel cur faces these same choices in the future, and the future starts now.

The man in the camp grins at “Julie” the mongrel cur, because she chose to do what 99% of the other mongrel curs who walked into camp did, but with variations.

The man’s friend asked the question, and the man is forced to conclude that some of those minor variations are that in this mongrel’s history are that it chose to rebound and find another path when it met certain obstacles…. unlike the man, who just assumed he was smart enough and tough enough to overcome… the cur yelped and ran away… who was smarter?


In 1988 I knew an alcoholic, nobody had any time for him, but he had respect for my father so I would talk to him and buy him the occasional beer.

He was an alky because he fucked up, married into a banking family, and blew it by drinking too much and becoming an asshole.

He said one thing to me that I have never forgotten, and the older I get, the smarter it seems.

When I was 20, I knew everything and my dad knew fuck all,
when I was 30, I knew a fair bit, and my dad wasn’t as stupid as I thought,
when I was 40, my dad knew a damn sight more than I thought he did.


“Julie” the mongrel who has wandered into my camp?

Well, I’m sitting here laughing to myself, remembering my dad pissing himself at a scene in a Pink Panther film.

Sellers / Clouseau is harassing an organ grinder outside a bank, of course he completely missed the fact that the bank is being robbed, as he fixates on the organ grinder, does he have a permit etc…

Sellers “Do you have a li-cence for ze minky (monkey)?

Organ grinder “Listen mate, I don’t take his money, and he doesn’t tell me what to play.

That’s kind of the deal with the man in his camp and the mongrel.

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