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.


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?

December 30, 2013

Got to get your head around this shit

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 10:58 am

It’s a recurring theme with guys I talk to…

If only Mandy wasn’t such as xxxxx she would be great…

And if wishes were horses no fucker would walk.

Guys, I feel your pain, I really, literally do, the gap between the reality and what you wish for is big enough to hide and swallow whole universes of pain and heartache, but, it is what it is, and if wishes were horses etc

I hear this all the time too, if only, in hindsight, I had said or done this, and not that, she would still be with me / be with me / be sucking on my cock / not have lied to me / etc etc etc

Fucking grow up, she did not act the way she did because you did or said the wrong code phrase, she acted the way she did because that is the way she is.

Yes, you could, in theory, have acted a different way, and had a different outcome, eg she would be sucking on your cock right now, but, and this is the biggie and back to wishes and horses, she would still be doing what she is doing, and doing it because that is the way she is.

You do NOT leave a bundle of 20’s on the dashboard of your parked car with the doors and windows open, that does NOT make the thief who walks by and finds nothing to steal any less of a thief.

You DO leave a bundle of 20’s etc, the thief walks by and steals them, you did NOT make them a thief.

You don’t leave a bundle of 20’s in plain view because it is stupid and inviting trouble to tempt a thief by doing so, your concern is not with the honest, they have no interest in your property… however little apparent care you take of it.

When you hit the dating / fucking sites and score 0 for 200 attempts, that is not a reflection that your tactics failed, and you should have said or acted differently to score, thinking this way is denying that gap between wishes and reality.

Scoring 0 for 200 is a reflection that your tactics WORKED, you avoided 200 skanks that sure, might have got you laid, but sooner or later, only a question of time, you would come to regret it.

Guys, far from me being able to find ONE example of a wimminz that I have known that, if only this one thing about her was this instead of that, she and we would have been great, this is the story of EVERY WIMMINZ that I have known, no exceptions.

I know, for a fucking fact, 99% of these wimminz can’t help it, but wish they could, wish someone would come along and prevent them from destroying their own lives and leaving them nothing but the gutter and cats and piss… some of the more honest ones will openly admit and discuss this with me, and then turn around and sting the frog they are riding, and then blank me, because it is too painful personally for them to talk to me any more, because I will be a mirror to that fuckup, and that hurts.

You know, on occasion, I have been called in to counsel people, people who are facing issues because a family member has turned into a junkie or an alky. Let’s say the alky/junkie in question is called Tom.

I tell all these people straight, the Tom you knew is dead, this Tom looks like that Tom, talks like him, walks like him, has all his memories, but it isn’t Tom, it is an invasion of the body snatchers Tom, this Tom is not your Tom…. there is nothing you can do for this Tom, and all you can do for yourself is accept that old Tom is dead, and keep this alien body-snatcher 100% out of your life forever.

But there is the gap between wishes and reality, Tom never really kicks the habit, and the person who ignored my advice pays the price, again and again and again.

One of the things you have to accept, and I really do mean this, you have to accept to the point where you own it and make it your own, is the concept that as time passes and you get older, certain things are no longer probable, where probable is me being pedantic and not using the word possible, because there are exceptions, but they are incredibly rare, so I use probable in the sense that it is possible you are holding a winning lottery ticket, but it is not probable.

Would you accept a not yet drawn lottery ticket as full payment for a new car you were selling? No…

Would you attempt to offer a not yet drawn lottery ticket as part payment of a overdue debt you owed to Luigi and Giorgio, who are about to kneecap you, because apart from the lottery ticket you have shit to offer them… Yes…

You cannot sit here and declare yourself to be a red pill motherfucker and talk about wimminz and the wall, and not accept that you also are not immune from the effects of entropy.

Does it pain me that I have almost certainly met, for me, the absolute best fuck I could ever imagine having, but sadly other factors (she was a lying cunt, quelle surprise) meant it died a death, to be specific, I have probably passed the peak of the best sex I am ever going to have… does it pain me?

Well, wishes and reality… that’s the truth.

I’m on one side of that bottomless chasm, and wish I was on the other side.

But I am not.

I do not blame ANYONE, man or wimminz, for simply wishing they were on the other side of the bottomless chasm, for example, I wish the best fuck I ever had wasn’t a liar like all the rest.

I do blame people for denying reality, you ARE on this side of the chasm, if the bitch wanted to get in touch and make amends, because she genuinely regretted lying to me, nothing would have stopped her, one more message from me to help her / save her from herself, one more email in case she missed the last one, one more phone call in case she has changed her mind, one more card in the post extending the olive branch… you get ma drift….

Wishing hurts.

Denying reality is just picking at that scab so it never heals and never stops hurting.

That is what wimminz do, and like Tom the alky/addict, it is a journey that each individual chooses, a journey that can only be taken alone.

DMJ wrote a book, As I walk these broken roads, to me, in many ways it could equally well have been titled As I walk these lonely roads, one title is the physical, the physical roads are in disrepair, that is what is below the main protagonist‘s boot heels, the other is spiritual, that is what is above the main protagonist’s boot heels, and inside his flesh.

We all walk lonely roads, ships that pass in the night, etc etc etc, when I was a young lad, pre-pubescent, which is important because it means you can exclude sex from the equation, there was a TV series that I used to watch, now, I can only remember two things about it, the name The Flashing Blade, and a line from the intro song.. “it is better to have fought and lost, than never fought at all

And thanks to the marvel’s of t’internetz..

So, in later years, because that is how the brain works, or at least, how my brain works, every time I was supposed to quote Tennyson and loved and lost, I always ended up writing fought and lost, and failed that question… I guess it is a bit like driving from A to B, you miss a turning the first time you make the journey, in all subsequent journeys you miss the same turning and end up making the same alternate way back to the main route.

You’d think that fighting men would get it, one second you’re talking to your mate, next second you’re tasting what is left of him, spattered all over you, but that’s apparently where PTSD comes in, not accepting your on the wrong side of the abyss, nowadays in the western world we pull fighting men out, in other places or on other sides and at other time you stayed “in theater” as it were, for years at a time, no PTSD there, and no doubts about what side of the abyss you were on.

I have no idea how many wimminz I have fucked, we can call that anything from police actions to guerilla warfare, and of course the FRA’s and shit, well, that was Hiroshima and Nagasaki, I’m a veteran, not a superhero super soldier, just a veteran who has been on every shit detail on every battlefront of the gender war, and yeah, I re-upped myself at every opportunity, hoo-fucking-rah… what a fucking putz… but…


A literal lifetime in the trenches does get you way past that PTSD hump and into territory where you cross the abyss, and then the next, and then the next, and if wishes were horses I still be the fresh faced innocent punk outside the recruiting office, and I’d have had real options other than walking in, and I’d have ridden everywhere and walked nowhere.

But wishes are not horses, wishes are not reality, I know the difference.

I see new battalions thrown to the lions every week, and it is a slaughter of the innocents, and the only way I know how to survive it is to become like me, and I dunno that I would wish that on you poor bastards either, I guess God will sort it out.

But every single one of those who I ended up wearing as camo, or seasoning in my billy, or whose shit I had to hump because they took one for the team, every single one of them had one thing in common, they all thought that wishes were horses, all they had to do was believe enough, try enough, pray enough, and the abyss between wishes and reality would be bridged.

The bad news is, plenty who did know shit from shinola still bought it along the way, so learning wishes from horses isn’t perhaps so much a way of surviving, but a mark that all the survivors have in common… so far… hostilities haven’t ceased…

September 15, 2013

Dummies guide to what wimminz want.

The Dummies guides are reasonably good, if I read one dealing with a subject that I know something about in some depth, I find that they glide over everything and give a simplistic explanation and instruction that will usually achieve the desired result, but never educate the user as to why or how or what is going on under the bonnet as it were….

So think of this as the dummies guide to what wimminz want…

First thing you have to understand is wimminz never know what they want, that is not how they operate, they do however know what they DON’T want, and that is how they operate.

No keyboard detected. Press F1 to continue.

Those of you with any electronics knowledge will know the difference between an NPN transistor and a PNP transistor, and those of you with boolean logic knowledge will know about OR and NOR, and so on… none of them are very good examples, because they are all consistent and logical, whereas wimminz functioning when taken alone is an exercise in darwinism.sickdump-thumbs-picdump-133-40

However, when you look at wimminz functioning in the natural evolutionary environment, which is the wild card input into men’s functioning, then it all starts to make sense.

Nevertheless, we are here today to talk about the wimminz side of the equation, and as we have seen, wimminz are real good at knowing not so much what they do not want, but when they do not want that particular thing…. they might well have been clamouring to get that thing, and they may well have been content to have that thing, but this is all just the DON’T WANT at work, they did not want that thing, rather they did not want to not have that thing…..

These are transient states.

But only once they have had and sampled that thing, rather like a baby who has screamed and fought for a slice of lemon, only then can the wimminz logic actually make a real decision, and IF that decision is made, or WHEN it is made, the wimminz decision mechanism only allows one decision to be made, and that decision is NOT WANT, and at that time that particular logic circuit for that particular thing lets out the magic smoke and becomes permanently fixed.

Once a wimminz decides that she has had enough of your skinny ass in her bad, that is it, game over, forever.

Of course, if you win the lottery she will let you back into her bed, but, to her that decision to NOT WANT you any more is still there, that neural pathway is fused in for life.

But, to a wimminz, “Bubba the ex” is “item 485,874”, and Bubba the ex and his lottery winnings is “item 486,735”, a completely new and separate thing, not item 485,874 + $5,000,000 in cash, but a completely separate thing.

However, once she realises that either the cash is gone, or she ain’t gonna get any of it no-how, then like a magic trick there is a puff of smoke and item 486,735 turns instantly into item 485,874.

If Item 485,874 is a really unlucky bastard, item 486,735 will not turn into item 485,874, but into item 487,658, and item 487,658 committed rape and DV against her, so all she has to do is call in da po-lice and collect all that lovely money, and at THAT point, when she gets her hands on the fucking money, item 487,658 turns into item 485,874.

You see where this is going…..

The most popular, painful, excruciating and exciting game shows for all wimminz everywhere are those that include the formula where there are a series of things, A, B, C, D etc

As the wimminz contestant works her way through the game she wins item B and throws away item A,  then at the next correct play she wins item C and throws away item B, and so on, rinse and repeat.

If you want the bitches to wet their panties and freak with excitement as the hamster wheel does 14 squillion RPM, makes items A through M boxes that hold unknown prizes, each prize being an ever larger wad of cash, but randomly in there are three unknown boxes containing one red cent and a note saying “fuck off, loser”

To the wimminz this is working their way down a line of men, sampling each one that does not earn an instant DON’T WANT before it goes anywhere, until each guy does or fails to do something, and she wakes up and it’s DON’T WANT, on to the next.

And then one day they realise that the last 365 days have all been DON’T WANT, and guess what, they DON’T WANT that either, but being wired only for DON’T WANT, there is no way to fix this dilemma and accept the next half decent guy that comes along, some will try this strategy, but as soon as they have a man the DON’T WANT to not have a man is gone, so it is only a short time before they DON’T WANT that man.

Of course, we know where 100% of the fault, blame and responsibility for this situation lies, but since wimminz DON’T WANT to feel bad about themselves, well, it’s the fucking men’s fault innit.

If you want a wimminz to think “he is fucking dead to me”, all you as a man have to do is tell her to her face “I DON’T WANT YOU”, and that’s it, you are dead to her. Because she cannot conceive of a world in which DON’T WANT is anything other than a permanent state.

However, she *may* like item 485,874 above, decide to “change” herself, and then mebbe you’ll want her, so gastric band, liposuction, tit job, bingo.

One of the things wimminz DON’T WANT is being told CAN’T HAVE, and that is the basis for so called alpha male pulling power.

But, it isn’t kryptonite, because not all DON’T WANT’s are equal, as we have seen above, and as they get older, the DON’T WANT to end up alone and smelling of piss and cats starts to get REAL strong.

This starts ramping up big time in their thirties, and by the time they are in their fifties it is mainlining meth and PCP through their skulls 24/7.

I have had a couple of wimminz my age, just turned the corner into the half century, though their dating/swinging/fucking profiles claimed 41…lol… who would do ANYTHING I wanted sexually, and buy me beer, and so on and so forth, in an effot to trap me into a relationshit, starting by trying to get me to say I loved them, or trying to get me to give them an orgasm or lick their cunts… and then one day the penny drops, they realise they are NEVER gonna trap you, so not only are you an instant DON’T WANT, you are also an evil nasty mother-fucker who wasted three months of their lives, and when you are a 41 year old H^H^H^H^ 51 year old post wall wimminz, that feels like taking 20 bucks from a guy with 110 to his name, not only did you take a large chunk of what he had, what he has is now measures in two figures, not three, double plus ungood…lol

They DON’T WANT me so much it hurts.

And so dear readers, to conclude this brief introduction and dummies guide into what wimminz want, all you need to know is that there are two states to a wimminz logic.

  1. Schroedinger’s cat, almost, in that you simply do not know until you open the logic box if that cat is alive or dead.
  2. DON’T WANT, if the cat dies the box opens automatically, if you force the box open the cat dies automatically.

She will either be DON’T WANT, or DON’T KNOW, there are no other logic states, and don’t know is transient, while don’t want is permanent.


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?


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



October 7, 2012

Red pill pizza


I’ve been pondering whether to write about this.

The reason I have been pondering is because it is a bit like a white guy writing about a black guy losing out to a white guy at something, because the black guy is black.

The black guy, assuming he was CONSCIOUSLY unaware of the problem, because he sure as shit wasn’t unconsciously, can’t do much about being black.

The thing I want to talk about is cock size.

Now there are LOTS of aspects to this, a six inch cock on a midget looks fucking huge, the same exact cock on a 275 lb muscle-bound 6′ 6″ hulk looks pretty fucking small, the same cock on a 275lb 5′ 9″ fat bloke is invisible and inaccessible…

Get yourself a fat chick and even doggy style fact is you need an extra 4″ over what you need for the slim / skinny chick, if you want to be poking her womb with your bell end.

Then of course there is the whole subject of measurements themselves, and with the possible exception of wimminz dress sizes, nothing else comes close to cock sizes when it comes to the rubber tape measure….

I have lost count of the number of wimminz who will tell me about an ex who was REALLY big and filler her up but goooood, so how biiiig was he I ask, and they, being herd creatures, always say something about nine inches.

When this conversation takes place at my place (and we are all still clothed) I go out of the room and return with a 9″ sex toy (and a tape measure to verify that it is in fact less than 9″ long, it is 8 and three quarters) and slam it down on the table…

WITHOUT FUCKING EXCEPTION… the wimminz all go “Oh my God!

None of them ever, ever, ever went “Yeah, that is the size of ****’s cock

So either this guy was measuring from his asshole forwards, or confusing centimetres with inches, or some other shit.

So if you were gifted with the approximate average six incher, and this wimminz saying her ex was nine inches, 50% more than you, you just *might* have had some feeling of inadequacy, until you see the anecdote above..

And of course until you take the red pill like the old joke where the guy whips out his three inch cock, at which point the wimminz starts laughing and says “who are you goin’ to satisfy with that?” and the guy just grins and says “ME!”…

So, one more detour before we get back to the plot..

That detour is sex toys like the one above, like it or not, fact is the trend in the past twenty years is that there are bigger and bigger toys available, and if you think that blue thing is big compared to what is available, then you have lived a sheltered life, it is at the very bottom end of the “bigger than the average human cock” range of sex toys.

95% of wimminz have the ubiquitous basic rabbit vibe, which has an INSERTABLE length of just 4.5″, and they manage quite fine to have all the orgasms they want with that.

So back to the main plot, which is cock sizes, and as we can see from the sales of the rabbit, 4.5″ is enough to get the job done and make a wimminz cum, and while there are guys out there with less than 4.5″, measured properly along to top of the cock, they are in the percentile minorities, so what the fuck is going on, particularly what the fuck is going on with swinger couples, of which there are at least as many as there are single wimminz on PoF.

What is going on is without exception the wimminz has managed to convince the man that he has a micropenis, so number 1 is he must eat her cunt regularly because his micropenis cock just ain’t enough, and that while she loves him and all, number 2 is what she really wants is a bigger cock, and to show how much she loves and trusts him she will let HIM arrange all that and find the guy(s) and set up the threesome/foursome/moresomes.

I hear shit from these guys like “OK she is into this that and the other but kissing is reserved for us, is this a problem for you?” and I am like “dude, if you want to kiss her after she has rimmed me and swallowed and load of my cum, go right ahead, and similarly if you want to eat her cunt after other guys have dumped a load in there, go right ahead..” of course I don’t say this, I say “No problemo” and look at the slut with a grin, and she grins back, and the dumbass niggerz can only rub his hands together and say “cool” and congratulate himself for being a beta provider for his slut, getting her the cock she craves, and the rewards she will bestow on him after I have gone, and after he has done the rest of the chores like taking out the rubbish etc.

So, harking back to the point at the beginning is that there isn’t a lot of point telling a black guy that a lot of his problems are because he is black, there isn’t a lot of point telling a guy with a small cock that a lot of his problems are because he has a small cock…


Being black is not of itself a problem, the problem is the white guy who has a problem with you being black, and who would rather hire another white guy… now you can take on board the white guy’s guilt trip and become a nigger, or you can say fuck it, didn’t want to work for your honky ass anyway.

Having a small cock is not of itself a problem, the problem is the wimminz/wife who has a problem with you having a small cock, and who would rather ride a bigger cock…. now you can take on board the wimminz guilt trip and become a niggerz, or you can say fuck it, didn’t want to fuck your skanky channel tunnel anyway.

But, this is 95% of so called swingers, wimminz who have managed to persuade niggerz not only that the slut deserves extra cock with no consequences, but the niggerz should arrange it for her and have the self delusion of being in control of being cuckolded.

HOW? By first persuading the niggerz that the problem is not her slutty nature, but the size of his cock, which in all probability hasn’t changed more than 5mm since you were good enough to marry or cohabit with and start a family with….

Just like persuading a wog that the problem is not my attitude, but the skin colour he was born with, once you get them to buy into that then you have a nigger slave for life.

From my perspective, when your skanky slut ho decides to take things off the reservation and text me without your knowledge or oversight, or mouth “I love you” when you can’t see, or any other the other shit they do, the ABSOLUTE FUCKING WORST thing you can do is puff your chest up and stand on your hind legs and pretend to be a man and start talking tough, because if you had a single dangerous bone in your body you would not be her niggerz slave for life in the first fucking place.

The problem isn’t the colour of your skin or the size of your cock or your sexual prowess brother, the problem is you let some other cunt convince you that those things were reasons enough to supplicate yourself before them, and you can’t really complain when everyone else sees you kneeling before a false god and treats you like shit.


September 4, 2012

If any of her friends are a slut….

… then so is she.

Now, when I say slut, I don’t just mean yer average skank ho with yer average cock count, I mean a slut.

I mean it’s more like a straight guy reading an illustrated book on the more bizarre and kinky gay sex fetishes, you may say “fuck it” and put the book down at Felching, but there is a whole lot more in that book and just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t make those pages vanish.

Of course a large part of this is YOU WANT IT TO STOP, so you are quite happy to accept the “it only happened once when I was drunk” excuse, but those who do not, those who persist, always find the same thing.

They find the other 499 pieces of the jigsaw.

The finished jigsaw is a picture, in that picture is at least one of “your” slut’s friends, and she is also a 500 piece jigsaw, and when you piece that one together and get another picture, you notice something, there are a few other people in both pictures.

Pick one of those people at random and they are also a 500 piece jigsaw, put it together and more of the same, your slut is there, the friend you know about, the handful of faces common in both your sluts jigsaw picture and your sluts friends jigsaw picture, and introducing a bunch of new faces too.

So that “admission” you got about her sexual “history” is really just one frame in a long, multi episode, unfinished, still filming, porno shoot / documentary, and if you were to watch the whole thing, most of her friends that you know about have various parts, from bit parts to regular guest star appearances, chances are some of YOUR friends have bit parts too, maybe not in the same scenes as your slut, or maybe just not yet in the same scenes as your slut.

In the past week two wimminz who I have fucked, one once and one twice, and one wimminz who I nearly fucked but couldn’t be assed, all decided to dump my ass…. and you know what, I have lost NOTHING of any value, on the contrary, my life is enriched for having moved on.

It’s real hard to feel any sense of loss when there is an endless supply of bit part players waiting in the wings for a walk on and spread em or walk on and kneel part in my own little porno extravaganza.

But the sluts DO love to talk, and as much as I minimise it, I do get exposed to the other side of the story, not the story you tell about your slut and the piece of her history that she admitted to you or got caught out doing, and not the bit you read on a wimminz problems / advice dating site, but the bit about the same scene in the same shoot from her perspective.

And it is like those jigsaws I was talking about earlier….

YOU love your new Ford, to the guys in the Ford dealership (who drove it before you) it’s just another fucking Ford, now, the new 2012 Merc E class….

But to the guys in the Merc dealership, its just another Merc, and the beat goes on.

After a while no new car excites you, ooh look the new 2013 Lambo, it’s just another shitbox with a wheel at each corner to me, and fucking useless at negotiating speed humps or parking in car parks

So move on to yachts, well, same deal folks, no new boat excites me, I just see holes to pour money down and a so called possession that actually is no more than a millstone around your neck tying you down.

Sure, I’ll drive and ride and sail and fuck all these 2013 models, but not on my fucking dime.

You want me to get excited about a new 500 piece jigsaw?

You want me to get excited because you found ONE FUCKING PIECE of the 500 piece jigsaw that is “your” slut’s ACTUAL sexual history?

Blokes sit down in front of trashy soap operas and go ” wow, this is just too fucking far fetched to take seriously, your estranged wife had a sex change and used to be your best friend in school, but she fucked your current wife and made her pregnant with the kid you now call son, and when she moved back into the area she knew you were there and knew you had a son, but didn’t know who your wife was, so now she and your “son” are fucking and deeply in love, meanwhile your gerbil “faggot” has hepatitis…..

Bitches lap all that crap up, because, lets face it, that IS what their 500 piece jigsaw sex lives and histories are like.

The 20 year olds and under KNOW all this shit, the smartphone generation walk around in a world where your sexual history is known, they know about the time you took on four blokes, they know about the swinger couple you see regularly for threesomes, they know you have fucked all your best friends blokes, while she was with them, they know what your cunt looks like, they know all about the 500 piece electronic jigsaw of MMS picture attachments and SMS fuck me tonite, they have seen and shared it, as you have embraced the technology they have embraced the data it carries.

Your mom is a skank ho!

No she ain’t

here’s some video of her taking on 4 guys, and none of them are your dad, but one of them is my brother and one of them is the guy from the betting shop and I dunno who the other guy or the nigger are


Fact is, if you are in your mid 30’s or over, the kids walking past your house probably know more about your sluts sexual history than you do…. hell.. “your” kids probably know more than you do.

Fact is, if you are in your 40’s or later, then what the kids walking past your house know about your slut daughters will blow your fucking mind.


September 1, 2012

What a cunt

I’m talking about Bill at the Spearhead, I thought he had jumped the fucking shark sometime ago, so today I get sent a link to his latest…… WTF?

Remember, The Spearhead bills itself as a MEN’s RIGHTS website… mmmkay

So, deconstruction time…
Original, full, unedited article in blue italic


The arguments for and against being a PUA are largely moot, and the culture will continue to be restricted mainly to people in late adolescence, because most people simply can’t handle the bachelor lifestyle.

I abhor labels, but I’m in my 50’s, I picked up and banged a slut same day midweek last week, then the next day did the same with a different skank ho, who turned into an FWB (still have my long term FWB floating in the background) who yesterday texted me saying that she was with her bestie GF and telling her about me (sexually) and now the bestie wants a threesome, just waiting for the bestie to get my number from the FWB and contact me direct, but in the interim last night had another picked up same day skank ho come over.

Meanwhile my crib is as comfortable and manly and as “man cave” as I can get it, and I love it.

Can’t handle the bachelor lifestyle, a moot fucking point in modern society with hypergamy enforced by the boys in blue and ex parte non molestation orders, no fault divorce, secret family courts and FRA and all that good stuff.

Better fucking learn to handle it and “man up” dude, because this environment isn’t going away anywhere this side of a societal reset, if anything it will get worse first.

Being an uncommitted bachelor has never been the norm throughout human history. Men are social creatures just like women, and most of them don’t have what it takes to maintain emotional distance from the women in their lives for an extended period of time, so the PUA lifestyle will never be appealing to most men.

See above bitch, hard labour, disease, conflict and death aren’t and never will be appealing to most men, but we don’t get to choose the fucking world you get born into.

Yeah, I want a long term stable secure loving committed intimate relationship with one wimminz, I also want a fucking flying car and a star trek replicator and my own private fucking island, or better still planet…. AIN’T… GONNA… FUCKING… HAPPEN…

The alternative, real life in 2012, may not be as appealing as my dreams, but guess what, that’s why it’s called real fucking life.

In fact, the only way the average man could maintain a PUA lifestyle without feeling empty inside would be to live with someone who fulfills the role of “companion” that their lovers fail to provide. In some cases this could be a man, but more likely than not it would be a female family member, such as a mother or sister. I suspect this is why being a player comes more naturally to those people from cultures where men have close, intimate relationships with their mothers well past childhood, such as southern Europeans.

Oh here we go, an American telling us how southern Europeans are wired, yeah you know ALL those spicks and eyeties live with their mommies until they are 60 and eat ice cream and ride vespas and are tres chic yadda yadda

You want feeling empty inside motherfucker, try sitting in a cell having just been arrested for a False Rape Accusation from the mother of your own fucking kids, then going through life never being allowed to see or hear or have any contact with those fucking kids.

A good fucking dog would provide that companion role, at least it ain’t a fucking NAWALT skank ho that will also stab you in the back like your own mom or sister or daughter, and at least it ain’t a fucking niggerz bitch like the spearhead and its remaining crew has become.

Where men are expected to cut familial bonds and strike out on their own from an early age, being a player is generally far more rare. In these places, men tend to rely on a female companion for emotional comfort and support from the beginning of adulthood, so those who are having sexually adequate but emotionally shallow relationships with women are left unsatisfied in most cases. If sexual gratification were all men required, a prostitute would suffice, but obviously that isn’t enough for most of us.

It ain’t enough for most of us because we were sold the motherfucking bill of goodz you pussified dumb fucking niggerz blood clot…. we were told all about loving wives and the joy or having and raising kids and the joy of a career and standing in the community and the great and wonderful legal and justice dispensed by our courts and the policeman is your friend to protect and serve.

Then the rubber hit the road and we learned all about the reality out there, that females, companions or relatives, DO NOT MOTHERFUCKING PROVIDE emotional comfort and support… quite the fucking opposite.

Prostitutes, they are for when I am 70 and can no longer pull 20 and 30 year old sluts for free, if that day comes, you never know… like the saying goes, all the guys I know who use whores pay them to leave, because they are all fucking married, every last fucking one of them.

All that said, Game probably does have value in that it can help a man increase his options and find a better woman.

That’s like saying finding a better turd to dump on your meal as a garnish, AWALT motherfucker…. not being a game proponent, but it seems to be the value of game is teaching you that the better woman is a mythical motherfucking creature like the unicorn.

However, those who promote Game as a route to male happiness should remember that for most men – although not all – a series of short relationships that end before real intimacy develops is a sad existence, and tends to feel like a failure after some time.

It is a million times better than the motherfucking alternative, a longer relationship that ends when cupcake decides an FRA and stealing your kids is a great way to get all your shit for free.

In nine out of ten cases, the goal really should be finding the “right one,” and there’s always the danger that promiscuity itself can get in the way of that — even for men.

Yet again, every fucking line from this useless cunt that used to be Bill is infused with NAWALT.

cos, you know, the streets are fucking littered with wholesome virgins wanting to pledge their troth till death us do fucking part.

If Game should come with any caveat, this is it.

Yes, the saintly skank ho sluts that has had one foursome and three threesomes and around 30 cocks really really really wants a virgin who does not know how to fuck and satisfy her juices, and that is the average to good young chick on the street, the EXCEPTIONALLY good have only had half a dozen cocks, the other end of the scale is the 20 year old who has had literally many hundreds of cocks from working in the low end home grown porn “industry”, taking on anything from 15 to 30 cocks at a time, you know, to earn some extra money for her two womb turds at home, one of which is yours, and you, you dumb fuck that married her, think she is having girlie nights out because raising two kids and tidying a house is you know, so fucking stressful.

You go back and read Bill’s early stuff back when he was Welmer, and then the early Spearhead stuff, then read his latest, culminating with the piece above, and what you are looking at is a horse that has been broke by his bitch and the courts.

Bill may once have been a man, but as Chaucer said, aptly enough in the Pardoner’s Tale… “I trowe he were a gelding or a mare” (“I thought he were a niggerz or a wimminz”)

Top tip, go read the pardoners tale link above… as I said yesterday about human nature never changing, could have been written today.

August 20, 2012

I believe I can fly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In reality you are all alone, we all are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

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

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

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

May 7, 2012

Where have all the flowers / good men / leaders gone?

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 1:32 pm

Shades of a song from around about the late sixties / early seventies.

It is also a common refrain on PoF, “where are all the good men?

and in shades of mystery theater I of course respond out loud to these insane, narcissistic and delusional wimminz profiles, What the fuck do you have to attract a good man? you’ve had more cock than a hungry fox, you are waaaay past fertile age, because you are waaaay past fertile age nature has discarded whatever looks you once had, what the fuck else is there? Your wondrous personality? The pleasure of your fucking company?!

Fuck you cards.

and in other news the French and the Greeks are laying places at the table for the arrival of the Archduke Ferdinand, and the main course is the Euro, as toast.

“Balkanisation” is a word that has entered our lexicons (or those of us old enough to go to school back when schools actually provided an education, as opposed to turning out mindless sheeple) and yet it is also a historical word that came from fragmentation leading to war, and yet we are seeing the balkanisation of various regions, including, err, the balkans, and Turkey (the Evil Penis should comment on this) is feeling its oats.

It is no coincidence that our political leaders have rendered themselves unelectable, in parallel with our wimminz rendering themselves unfuckable, both, lest we miss the point, are STAGGERINGLY difficult to achieve, human nature being what it is.

In more local cyber news I’m am getting scads of hits from Black Girls On Line, at first I though this was due to my liberal use of the word niggerz (as opposed to niggers) but quite by chance a black girl I know uses that site and commented to me that in actual fact it was more to do with what others have written, that the great social experiment that has been performed on white family and social life was of course first performed on black family and social life, so in some ways the black chicks are the canary in the coal mine… they have gotten to the end of doubling down and are at the jumping out of 6th floor windows stage, which is what a wimminz in Greece has just done as her state mcjob just dried up.

Which brings us back to the PoF wimminz and unfuckability.

One of the reasons I like this particular black chick is she never bullshitted me, I knew right off that she was nothing but a hypergamy / gold digger / user in female form, and she knew right off that I knew, and I knew she knew etc.

There has never been the slightest hint of sexual anything between us, rather it is like being able to IM Goebbels, or Breivik, through a secret tor proxy that nobody can trace, sometimes you can have interesting conversations with a mongoose, just because they are a mongoose and you and not, and so you have a different take on the world.

She admitted that for wimminz EVERY SINGLE TIME THEY FUCK, it is a fantasy in their head, and the reality is therefore always different.. they know it is a fantasy, and the way to get laid is to not do anything to force the wimminz in question to confront that fantasy… after wards of course she will come off the dopamine high and brand you another player and shift all the blame on to you, the next stage in her fantasy life, like all the PoF wimminz, the see their lives as fantasy books, who knows what exciting shit will happen over the page or in the next chapter.

Which brings is to GAME.

You see I have known this black chick for some 17 years now, long before I met the psycho skank ho ex, and she said something very interesting in last night’s conversation, which went on until the week hours of this morning.

As I have said before, I don’t consider myself to have game or be an alpha or anything else, I am just me, and I know how wimminz work, even if I can get blindsided by wimminz that are too close to me… but last night we were discussing addiction, because she smokes cheroots, and I used to, so I smoked about 10 of hers, and I am an ex smoker.

Which of course caused her to comment.

I replied that in my experience;

  1. when you spark up, you get a steep rise in whatever, and then it tails off slowly.
  2. it is the steep rise, eg change, that you crave, so the second one is craved long before the first has tailed off to baseline
  3. so each subsequent hit is less satisfying, but more important to keep those levels topped up and not be tailing off
  4. this, I say to her, is addiction
  5. my secret is I know that even after not smoking for six months, I want that next smoke just as much as I want one right now, so beating an addiction is just a series of denial strategies, in my case NEVER BUY YOUR OWN, shades of the ants post a day or so ago.
  6. so in fact, me having the odd smoke, a form of self torture, is my way of testing myself and reminding myself, I am picking at a scab.
  7. the analogy I gave her is the alcoholic going into a pub and drinking an orange juice and then walking out, if you can do that then you are in control of the addiction, if you are afraid to go in the pub in case you weaken then it controls you, and you know it.

So she just looks at me for 15 seconds or so, and says “See, that the thing, you always did have this game thing, because you always did know who and what you were, and that is the game thing that makes the wimminz want to fuck you, they want some of that to rub off, and they know you are strong enough to not mess with their fantasy while they are fucking you.

I had to raise my eyebrows, but I could not find fault with her argument, and then we got one of those moments where I justify spending time with the odd mongoose and shooting the shit.

This is a Ghana chick who has sucked and fucked her way through white men to make a crust, so she is like all mongooses smart and streetwise.

This the problem with the politicians and the economy” she says

Now I am intrigued and perk up, I can tell this is going to be one of those valuable mongoose insights.

These politicians” she says “they don’t have that game, these economists, business leaders, they don’t have game, and the people, the people they know this, so they people fuck with them, the people have no respect, the people lie and cheat the state

Like you” I say.

Yes” she says “I lie and cheat the state, and the economy, and my employer, and my white boyfriend, I do this because I know I can

and then we got the pure mongoose gold

I don’t know I can because you know what I am doing and do not care because you are strong enough to protect yourself, I know I can because you do not want to deal with what I am, because you cannot protect yourself without changing yourself.”

My white boyfriend, he wants this body, if he fix himself and get strong he will not want this body, and he think he will be alone, so he don’t fix himself and he fuck this body twice a week and I call him massa and he give me money and place to live, and state give me money, and work give me money, and when this body get worn out and white men not want to fuck it any more I go back to Shama and live like old queen, never work again, never go hungry again.

This what wrong with europe,” she says, “nobody got this game, so peoples and wimminz and everybody only interested in themselves, nobody to respect, nobody to punish them when they do wrong, everyone be lying and stealing and cheating.

No way to fix this” she said.

I stole another one of her cheroots and smoked it, and asked the mongoose a question.

Why are you here kuku? I mean why are you here in this house with me, why do you come and visit me? We don’t fuck, I don’t give you money, here I am stealing your cheroots… lol

She said “Because here with you I do not have to pretend, do not have to keep the face on in case my boyfriend walk in the door, in case my boss walk in the room, here I am me.

By then it was 3 am and she left, leaving me one cheroot as a going away present, which I shall smoke shortly… as she walked out the door she said something that resonated within me, even though I have known her for the best part of 20 years.

She said she always says good bye to me, because she never knew if we would meet again, and that did not matter, but it did matter that our last words to each other were always… and she said something african that equates to fare thee well or vaya con dios etc.

Pure mongoose gold.

Because it struck me between they eyes, I do not say “Hello, how are you” to any of my skank ho PoF sluts, nor do I say “Take care, be good” when we part, it’s more like the “greeting” you give when you sit down next to a stranger on the bus or train, and again when you get up to leave at your stop.

Our bosses and politicians and leaders are much the same, ships that pass in the night and nobody gives a fuck…. just like my PoF bitches.

There is no investment, no weight, no importance given to parting, or to meeting again, and if we never see or hear from that person again, shrugs, so what, maybe in 2020 we can sit down and idly wonder, whatever happened to Steve Smith?

If there is no weight given to wanting to part on good terms, and hoping that if we meet again it will be on good terms, and you will have been well while you were away, then why bother with any of the artifice of civilisation?  Why not just be a mongoose, or a Goebbels, or a Brevik.

and actually that is it, it is only the civilising influence of parting on good terms and hoping when we meet again all has been well with you that ever stopped us all from becoming mongooses or Goebbels or Breviks.

Where have all the good men / leaders / politicians / flowers gone?

They all died of apathy and neglect.

It is now a little late to be mourning their passing.




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…

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