Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

November 26, 2013

A tale of two shitties.

I have a friend.

For her sins, she decided to give a home to a girl who was not a relative, time passes, the girl leaves, time passes, the girl returns to the same town, and it basically a complete, using, nasty, worthless cunt.

My friend is ***slowly*** accepting the truth, the girl was *always* a nasty worthless cunt, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree, thing was, she only acted like a decent human being while my friend gave her a home and in effect controlled her environment.

There is a lesson here, the lesson is two-fold…

  1. Just because people behave when you control them, it doesn’t mean they have learned anything or that their nature has changed.
  2. When you remove controls from people, what you see is their true nature, what you saw before was just an act.

This is why I, and many men, don’t big up ourselves at every opportunity, we know that in a post apocalyptic / anarchic / end of the world party scenario the brakes come off, scores get settled, and I will fuck you up just to see that look on your face….

We have humility.

Just like smoking 20 a day for 30 years becomes a habit, so does “obeying the rules” and being a good citizen, neighbour, employee… it becomes automatic, second nature.

All of which makes it tough on anyone under say 30, they haven’t lived long enough to form good habits, especially not if they grew up in a skank single ho wimminz household with a deadbeat dad who hasn’t been seen for years due to false accusations of domestic violence and sexual abuse.

I’d love to love my sons, but I don’t, I have zero contact of any kind with them, and for that I just detest their lying skank ho mom, and avoid her, and THAT is my priority, never giving that psycho skank ho another second of time.

The little bastards will either follow nature and fall close to the tree that is me, or follow nurture and fall close to the tree that is psycho skank ho mommy… time will tell, and there is no substitute for that.

Could this have been avoided? Of course it could, but my thoughts on that matter were not worth shit…

It’s a cruel and callous and cold approach, but it works, and it is, contrary to the friend who started this off by providing an environment of positive reinforcement, the only possible result of providing an environment of negative reinforcement.

I am being TAUGHT to be a cunt, fair enough, I got the memo, I will be an ace student.

Last night a shocked a group of people at a pub, they were discussing a newspaper article about young girls exchanging sex for favours / status / goods / booze etc… and one of the stories was a girl of 12 who let a guy fuck her in exchange for 20 cigarettes…. they were all doing the usual, oh how horrible, I asked what brand of smokes, were these 20 tailor mades or 20 rollups? Because if it was 20 tailor mades the guy overpaid… I coulda slapped faces and had a lesser reaction.

They were all fucking outraged at my attitude, told em, why should I give a fuck, not allowed to give a fuck about my own kids, why should I give a fuck about yours or anyone else’s?

Well yes, what happened to you is wrong, they say, but you shouldn’t apply that to everyone… they say… why not, I ask, well, it is just wrong, you know….  no answers then, just we don’t like it… we don’t like you actually attending the lessons to be a cunt and studying and getting straight A’s, we don’t got shit to say about the classes and courses themselves, or you attending, we just don’t want you learning them lessons pardner.


They were discussing this too, I dunno, how you can be a SLAVE in a house where you can come and go as you please, aren’t liable legally for any bills or costs, write hundreds of uncensored letters, yadda yadda yadda is fucking beyond me… to me slavery meant ownership, property, zero rights.

But then again, it was born with a cunt so it must be a victim, and the support groups hit the nitrous and pedal to the metal and talk about this being the tip of the slavery iceberg in the UK…. while waving their iDevices which were manufactured by people a damn sight closer to slavery, but still nevertheless free and independent…

It’s been insane for decades, but hear me well brothers, it is getting hysterical now with the meedja and nothing but wall to wall reporting on how da wimminz be suffering one way or another, whether is it because not enough of them are billionaires or too many of them are victims of some atrocity or another at the hands of evil men.

TWO of the guys (shades of the previous article about beta boys suddenly going all alpha and won’t back down) puckered up and said they didn’t buy it, it wasn’t slavery, and they were fucking sick to death of wimminz this and wimminz that and wimminz other, and boy you shoulda seen the look on the faces of their wimminz, utter disbelief, and I’ll give these two fuckers their due, they didn’t back down in front of their alpha wives, they just stuck their chins out and said it’s gone too far, that’s all… we are just sick of hearing this bullshit.

The wimminz of course looked at each other for consensus… lol

The rich irony with the slavery story is it then transpires that the alleged slave masters were not exactly unknown recluses, in fact, they were so well known that they were the actual characters that inspired the cult British TV comedy series Citizen Smith, back in the day…. three decades of slavery, and nobody noticed… on a fucking council estate where *everything* is seen and noticed… not even the Scotland Yard and MI5 investigations into their communist activities uncovered any slavery or abuse.

Because, it didn’t fucking happen.

Justin Beiber better fucking watch out, he may think all those young sluts are of their own free will choosing to buy his shit and scream incoherently at his concerts, but the reality is he is a dark, sinister and abusing cult leader who should be yadda yadda yadda… if things continue as they are, in 2040 Beiber will be in solitary Charles Manson style.. infamous for his crimes…

The disconnect between the reality that many are trying to imprint upon the mass consciousness, and the reality that is seeping into the peripheral vision of the masses on the street, is now starting in earnest.

In the film it was glitches in the Matrix that disturbed peoples dreaming, it reality it is glitches in the propaganda that are disturbing peoples wakefulness, and the real danger here is the the genuine danger signals are being ignored or drowned out by all the false alerts and warnings and panics, we are ignoring all the traffic warning signs and dashboard lights, some of which are telling the truth, and putting our foot down in a bid to get past all the bullshit ones, and next thing we know we will be looking at the  >>>>>>>>>>> chevron signs coming at us at 80 on a corner that an F1 car couldn’t take at 40…



November 30, 2012

There are no good girls gone bad, only bad girls found out….

This (the title) is a phrase that I have heard so many times I have lost count from wimminz, and never ever from a man. It’s actually a quote from Mae West
(“A hard man is good to find.” & “It’s not the men in my life, it’s the life in my men” are others of “hers”)

One of the interesting things about Mae West is to my knowledge no nude photos of her exist anywhere, apart from a few infamous fakes, and of course the rumour is that “she” was actually “he”, to be specific a TV…. in fact it was allegedly the fact that she was actually a he that formed the foundation of the 1926 obscenity conviction that launched “her” career.

And so via Stan Boardman and the germans bombing our chip shops, I want to relate the story of two men I knew personally, now dead.

What they had in common was they both hated yanks.

The first guy was an RAF pilot, flying Mosquito’s in the pathfinder squadrons.

The way he told it, the yanks helped the war effort by sending over thousands of untrained young men in B17 Flying Fortresses to bolster Bomber Command, the problem was, these young yanks literally were in his eyes totally untrained, they lacked even basic skills and they lacked all forms of experience under fire.

This meant that their navigation was crap (no GPS back then, it was all dead reckoning and navigation by stars, the ground was blacked out, so if you couldn’t do that you flew by day) so the first few missions each new squadron of B17’s was sent on, Bob was sent in the Mosquito and the yanks played follow my leader to the target.

Of course all the Germans knew this so they tried to shoot him down, and the yanks knew this, so the forward gunners would try to keep the Germans off him, and often their .30 cal rounds flew straight through his plywood plane without even slowing down.

He was the only one of his pathfinder squadron to survive that tour, he lost two copilots and three navigators, two of them to .30 cal.

The second guy was in Korea, the French hadn’t quite left, and the yanks had only just arrived, of course this became “vietnam” later, but after his squad had been decimated several times over, his lasting and repeated memory / nightmare was the yanks on the flank opening up on full auto, cries of “more ammo” and that followed by “fall back”, meanwhile he and his lads with their single shot weapons still had ammo left, but had to fall back with exposed flanks, hence the regular decimation.

I was reminded of this because I met a chap who has been a professional soldier and then a professional merc for all his life, just back from afdiggastan, and he was basically telling the exact same story, the yanks sending in green troops and treating them as being as expendable as the ordinance they carried… which reminded me of the two chaps above and their stories… but this chap went on to say that the British Army troops he was assigned to were just as green and treated as just as expendable by their brass as the yanks.

He’s now been hired by the Chinese to go to north east Africa….

Like many professional soldiers he is very much the military historian, and says it is no coincidence that the lessons of the first world war were learned by the brass, officers no longer lead from the front and stand in front of “anonymous” ranged weapons held by the troops… at least in the west, he notes that many of the people he is fighting have an “officer” cadre equivalent that does indeed lead from the front, and has no fear of being shot in the back.

The difference between this chap, and the two above, is this chap is far more cosmopolitan, far less insular, than they ever were. When he was a boot he hated the French for selling effective weapons to the “enemy” he was fighting, and what changed wasn’t that he got older, he just got a lot more experienced and wiser.

You see the parallel here to the Mae West quote, the good girls did not go bad, they just got found out, and only a more experienced man who has taken the red pill is capable of finding them out.

In my own family we still have someone who hates the Japanese, only in the last 10 years he has allowed any Japanese electronics in his home, we had aa family friend who felt the same way. Our family member was ordered to stay behind when Singapore fell and report on the Japs activity, the family friend just didn’t get out, and was sent to the Burma Railway, where he had an especially humiliating experience, being a 6 foot 6 blonde… he was paraded around and used as an example.

The only time the family member got REALLY angry with me was when I, as a small boy, asked him why he stayed behind, after all it wasn’t the Japs that caused him his suffering (he was listed as MIA presumed dead for a year) but his own brass who basically handed him a suicide mission, stay behind and report as long as you can.

He flew into a rage about duty and honour and obeying orders.

Again, parallels to myself when facing an FRA and child custody battle with the psycho skank ho ex, basically we were both reacting with anger in preference to questioning the nature of the blue pill we had been eating quite happily up until that point.

It’s a bit like the video above, once you realise (it is a true story) that the Polish air ace whose life was being honoured (This Is Your Life) may well have spoken English with a foreign accent, but when he said Fokkers he meant Fuckers, because he had been there and knew the difference between a Fokker and a Messerschmitt, after all he had been shot at by both, it makes the misconceptions of the presenter of TIYL plain as day blue pill lack of experience.


November 24, 2012

I *am* a superhero

I was reading some fiction last night.

There was this character, a superhero, and his super power was a bit like the Borg, any weapon you attacked him with had less and less effect each time, as his recovery powers against that weapon became more rapid each time you used it against him.

Sound familiar?

So my superpower name is DILDOTRON.

And so it was with #3, because being a nice kind of superhero, not the villain kind, I was good enough to warn her upfront, “I am immune to all your weapons, I advise you not to deploy any of them against me, as all you will do is teach me to treat you with contempt.” while polishing my Kryptonite mega-dildo… of course I knew that while there was nothing wrong with the transmission, the message itself was not being received, or rather it was being received, but it was being discounted.

After all, #3 has spent her life amassing these weapons, and what the fuck is the point in having a battle fleet if you don’t get to use it now and again?

Inevitably, #3 deploys the weapon of her choice, since it cannot harm me, my verbal and visible response to her is to chide her for being a puny human and doubting the word of mighty Dildotron, I am unaffected by your puny atomic weapons, I had no part in your decision to deploy them, and I have no part in the damage the fallout from your own weapons is inflicting upon your own, frail, weak human body.

This is not the response #3 was expecting, simply because #3 chose not to believe I am Dildotron, she thought I was some punk kid in a naff comic con costume.

So there she sits, with her own fallout drifting down like toxic snowflakes around her ears, not knowing what Dildotron is doing, and it becomes a question of wills, will Dildotron text me before I text him.

Well, Dildotron has to finish this little missive and prepare the Kryptonite mega-dildo, because #2 is coming around in about an hour to have some cum dumped in her.

It sure ain’t easy being a superhero…. lol

But it beats being one of the toxic rangers, behind the curve, not aware of the fact that whole swathes of men are waking up to the fact that they too have long hidden super-healing-powers, and are in fact living, evolving, learning and adapting systems… not static plastic pieces on a war-gaming table for the bitches to deploy their battle fleets against in set piece encounters.

October 20, 2012

Dream lover

Dreams are funny shit…

I’m driving down the road, looking into the sunset, and remembering the dream I was having when I woke up that morning.

So in this dream I have gone back to a house I used to live in, and in the interim the village has changed, some houses have disappeared, some new houses have been built, and in the back yard of where I used to live someone split the house from the yard, property wise, and built four horrible art deco style townhouses, and it looks like it should be a studio set or a record album cover.

Someone beside me says “Yeah, those houses have been empty since they were built 27 years ago“… and at that point I wake up and the alarm is going and it is time for me to move my ass.

So 10 hours driving later this “…empty since they were built 27 years ago..” is still floating around at the back of my head, and I start doing mental arithmetic, and realise after a few minutes of that would have been in 1980, so that means that that would have been 1982, so sort of stuff, and I come to the conclusion that I left that house with the big back yard, wait for it, 27 years ago now.

So my fictitious characters in dreams have instant access to facts that I, in my awake state, have to sit and think about, not something new as revelations go, but this one struck me, because it struck me how much the world fucking changed in that period.

27 years ago was 1985.

The big house with the huge yard set in the idyllic countryside was UK £25,000 on an 8% mortgage from NatWest, which at the time my bank, Midland, manager called “financial suicide” on the part of NatWest, so banks were changed, mortgages taken and property deeds altered.

Back then the multiple was 4 x your salary, I can’t remember car prices but I can remember NOT buying a new with dealer miles MHR Ducati Mille Miglia for £4,500 (which gives you some idea of house prices relative to top of the line bike prices) because that and £500 gave me the 20% deposit of £5,000 on the house, which allowed me to sneak under the mortgage multiplier of 4 x with my £5,000 salary, or approximately £100 a week.

I can tell you that £100 a week wasn’t an especially good wage for 1985, remember I was more interested in partying evening and weekends, and would never have considered overtime or anything like that. From memory the dole was about £25 a week at that time.

I can tell you that is was five short years from 1979 when my dad said he would “stop driving when petrol got to one pound a gallon” and there we were five short years later in 1985 (forgive my maths) and there it was just about to go through two pounds a gallon.

(today at £1.44 per litre and 4.54 litres to the (imperial) gallon it is £6.54 per gallon)

I can particularly remember this as on the last trip up to see the MHR before I passed on it, I stopped to fill the twin tanks on the old shovel, it was on reserve and I handed over a TENNER and got some change, and the guy pumping fuel (manned pumps still in 1985) said “come next year it will cost you more than a tenner” (to fill that motorcycle up with fuel…) which was insane… I only earned £100 a week before tax…. and here I was splashing £10 into a motorcycle to fill up dry tanks!

Here is another way to look at it… in terms of gallons of petrol…

In 1985;

  • I earned 50 gallons of petrol a week before tax
  • A top of the range exotic sportsbike cost 2,250 gallons
  • A LARGE house with a LARGE yard in the country cost 12,500 gallons

So lets take our £6.54 gallon and work that backwards;

  • A mid twenties guy should have no problem finding a job that pays £6.50 x 50 = £325 a week, no overtime, no nothing, £325 a week is £17k per annum, local city bus drivers make that, just, if they work overtime…. so by any meaningful metric wages today are 25% to 50% lower in gallon of gas terms than they were in 1985… the average weekly wage is nearer 250, which at £6.50 a gallon = 39 gallons of gas
  • A top of the range sportsbike £6.50 x 2,250 = £14,625, closest my local dealer, the same one I was going to buy the MHR from back then, has on their website price wise is a 2013 Kawasaki VN1700 Voyager custom at £14,599… a 2012 VMAX is £21,499, so we aren’t a million miles away really.
  • A LARGE house with a LARGE yard, £6.50 x 12,500 = £81.250…. this is where it gets fucked.

The actual house in question, you can go there today and and see not four art deco creations in the back yard, but one large detached freehold, which according to http://www.nethouseprices.com sold in April 2009 for £325,000…. the original house, now minus the huge yard because the above mentioned extended £325k place with outbuilding was build in it, so it now only has a moderate but still large by UK standard 1/8th acre garden sold in June 2011 for £277,000

You have to remember that while what I did in 1985 was just about financially doable, it was considered by my own bank manager to be, and I quote, “financial suicide” on the part of the lenders, NatWest, and myself, racking up that much (£20k, I had £5k deposit) debt to buy a big house in the country.

There is a sound reason for referring all these things back to the gallon of gas / benzine / petrol / essence / whatever…. and that is that a gallon of gas = a pretty much fixed quantity of energy, and energy is the lifeblood of a modern technological society.

That house with that land (eg building plot) has to be what the house went for in June 2011, which is 277k, plus minimum 100k for the plot the 325k house and outbuildings now sits on, plus 20k for the long strip of land sold the other side to give access to the land at the bottom, which was never ours, but which now has yet another executive house built on it, so 277 + 100 + 20 = 397 lets not mess around and round it up to 400k

It is also worth noting that in 1985 this house cost 12,500 gallons of gas, today £400k / £6.50 = 61,538 gallons of gas…. 61,538 / 12,500 = 4.92, call it five times the fucking price in energy terms.

£400,000, now I had a 20% deposit and took a mortgage for the remaining 80%, today that would represent a £80k CASH deposit and a mortgage for the remaining £320k….. like fuck, what mid twenties guy has that kind of loose lying around today.

We have already seen that if you are prepared to put in the overtime, our modern mid twenties guy can drive a city bus and pull in £17k…. 320/17 = an 18.82 times multiple, get a liar loan for the full 400k and 400 / 17 = 23.53 times multiple.


We went from a 4x multiple, which my bank manager said was financial suicide, but hey, it was my funeral, to buy a house worth 12,500 gallons of gas, to the EXACT SAME MOTHERFUCKING HOUSE now costing 61,538 gallons of gas.


But wait, there is more.

While I looooove my technology and teh intertubez and my mega LED flat screen and 1080p HD did-yit-all moovie cameras and all that shit, all that shit didn’t exist commercially in 1985, you could spend half a weeks wages on a Sinclair 8 bit micro, you could spend a lot of money on Hi-Fi, you could buy a stupidly big 26″ colour telly… monthly bills were pretty much landline phone rental plus light and heat… there just wasn’t anything else.

Credit cards were also very rare, as indeed were debit cards.

People who travelled to foreign countries or worked abroad might tote a Diners Club and an AMEX card, they might, emphasis on might, most didn’t.

Mostly you wrote a cheque or paid cash.

Cash was king, because everyone had the legal right to be paid weekly in cash, and 80% of the population was, and if you are in ANY doubt that removing that legal right (Thatcher government) was anything other than a planned and necessary step on the road to personal credit / debt for everyone then you too are fucking dreaming of 1985…

A £20,000 mortgage for 20 years at 8% interest is £169.75 a month, getting on towards HALF of my gross wage in 1985….

IF I had stuck it, and all other things being equal, which is by no means certain, I would have been mortgage free seven years ago…. and my last year of mortgage payments would have been 2005, and a mortgage of some 40 quid a week in 2005 would have been peanuts…. especially compared to the new “Council tax” which in reality is something you pay in exchange for getting your bins emptied once a week, and for that house, which was LARGE, the council tax in that area is £2,200 a year, or £42 a fucking week.


The present financial “dreamworld” that we live in is however anything but a dream, no fucker is going to wake up from this and idly run things through their head behind the wheel many hours later with mild amusement.

So far we have been inflating things in terms of a gallon of gas, when the wheels fall of that wagon and the actual cost of a gallon of gas doubles in five years, then doubles again in another five, which is what happened 27 years ago, all sorts of bed dreams and evil spirits come home to roost.



August 12, 2012

True Love

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 11:06 am

Had a message from a commenter, regarding the latest “we must support the wimminz” thread over at the spearhead, which copied and pasted a comment from Andie (a wimminz) who sez;

I agree that women must take on other women. We must. But its scary. They can do a lot to ruin our lives.

We cannot do this without men. If you do not back us, we are lost.

Isn’t that what Price is saying?

Well, I’m reminded of an old french guy I met on my travels many moons ago.

We were doing the breton thing, house red 50/50 with a carafe of water, smoking, nibbles, shooting the shit, watching the world walk by.

He’s sat at the table outside the bar with his compatriots, looking at the German tourists, and muttering loud imprecations to “le boche” because, you see, he was part of the resistance during the war.

One day a frenchman and his wife were walking by, this old chap did his le boche routine, and the frenchman said something to him, whereupon he went fucking ballistic at the frenchman and his wife…. rapid fire gallic tirade that started out “en coulet tu merde…” which is why I picked up on it… my schoolboy french went that far at least.. lol

Afterwards, I asked what the fuck that was all about, so he told me;

During the war, that fucker was full of apologies for why he couldn’t actually do anything about the germans, it was always too dangerous, so we in the resistance died one by one, then one night the germans pull out and late the next morning the allies roll into the village, we in the resistance are hiding out in the fields and watching from a distance, because, you know, you don’t trust anything after a while, maybe the germans will push back, maybe the luftwaffe will come in, maybe they aren’t actually allies and it is a trap, so what do we see, THAT fucker leading the victory parade and acting like a little general who kept the germans from destroying our village.

So we talked some more, he tells me that after the war that fucker was mayor three times, and of course all the women who fucked the germans while their own men died voted for him, well, they had a common history to rewrite, was how he put it.

You see..” he tells me “.. your generation must remember, these types, when they wanted something it is always we cannot do this without you or we are lost, and whenever we wanted something it is always we cannot do this for you or we are lost, and whenever we say fuck it we do it ourselves anyway, they are we cannot have you do this or we are lost

So when I get sent the above quoted comment from a wimminz on the spearhead, it immediately triggered the memory of the old gaul and that summer forty years after the war, and it still being s fresh as yesterday to that old man.

When that old man was out in the rain and cold and mud sabotaging train tracks and phone lines fighting the war, the future mayor was ticked up in a warm bed sound asleep, after having explained how actually fighting was too risky and inconvenient, until liberation day, and then, well, why if it was not for them…..

Forty years later he muttered about le boche, but they were after all the enemy, and while he may not have respected them, he knew what they were, mainly boys like him, miles from home and following orders, but he did not look at any of them and think I wish I had killed you 40 years ago, however that is exactly how he thought of the ex mayor, sure, he was bretagne and on the same side and all that, but he exemplified everything about la belle France that the old man was NOT fucking fighting for.

The old man will be long dead now, and while I did indeed forget for a while, I have eventually done what he asked me to do, and remember in this generation the shit he had to to eat in his, too little too late, but what the fuck, better late than never, so salut Arnau.

That old mayor, he was the embodiment of what Napoleon was railing against when he called England a nation of shopkeepers, everything is for sale, and the price is always negotiable, no offer so low and insulting you get thrown out of the store for life.

This is what everyone forgets about Europe, we all white boys in a homogenous melting pot, except we aren’t, there are subspecies that cross national boundaries, and this was why, the REAL reason why, periodically everyone in Europe turn on the jews, because of the tendency to never treat an offer as so low and insulting you get thrown out of the shop for life, there is always room for negotiation.

There is another group, like old Arnault, one day you’ll insult them too far and they throw you out of the shop for life, line in the sand, fuck it, I ain’t running no more.

You want to actually understand what is going in in the PIIGS and else where WRT the EU economy, you’ll never make any sense of it unless you realize that the important groups are not this political party or that economic group, but the much older sub-species that are not on racial lines so much a hardwired genetic behaviour lines, those who no matter what the situation will try and negotiate and way out, and those who will draw a line in the sand and say fuck it, ain’t running no more.

Take any GEOGRAPHIC location you like, from a whole country to a small village like Arnau’s, you’ll get that spread of attitudes, and people like the mayor, who will genuinely believe that overall their attitudes and collaboration saved lives in the village, and the Arnau’s. who will agree that lives in the village were saved, just the wrong ones, and the wrong ones were sacrificed to save them.

Wimminz like Andie wearing with pride the badge that says they are a loving and devoted wife and mother version 1.0, and an ardent believer in and supporter of the MRM, ‘cept, you know, it’s nasty and scary out there in the fields in the rain in the cold and dark, they have a use.

They are a litmus test.

Everyone who does NOT tell them to GTFO in no uncertain terms is the enemy…. sure, 30 years time Andie may end up mayor, she’ll survive, and she’ll make sure some other birds of the same feather do too, but only by collaborating and selling out the hawks.

It is, after all, the passive’s strategy to passing on their DNA in the face of stronger competition.

Andie says I agree that women must take on other women. We must. But its scary. They can do a lot to ruin our lives.We cannot do this without men. If you do not back us, we are lost (note the inclusive language, there ain’t no WE, bitch) which is really just a variation on Let’s you and him fight, and I’ll fuck the winner

July 1, 2012

Here lies John Brown’s body

Everything is a finite resource, as the wimminz are finding out, the amount of chivalry, or willingness to eat shit, in John Brown, Jon Doe, Joe Public et al is also finite.

Once that reserve is used up, as far as the wimminz and niggerz be concerned, you might as well be mouldering in the grave, they have no use for anything or anyone that they have to use for, if it has no utility to them, they discard it as so much crap.

I want to divert you from this for a moment, think of all the zombie movies you have ever seen, and all the zombie books you have ever read.

In the REAL WORLD, if some zombie plague ran riot and converted 99% of the population into the walking dead, you wouldn’t need to shoot the in the head to destroy them, all you have to do is wait 72 hours for the flies to have landed and the first eggs to have hatched, and the maggots to crawl out.

In cinematic horror terms, the walking dead would be far more horrific than rent open bodies, blood stained clothes and a blue complexion, they would be crawling with maggots too.

In the real world in another 168 hours, no matter how hale are hearty they were before being zombified, the maggots would have eaten enough connective tissue for the zombie to be rendered immobile, another 144 hours would see them reduced to bone, cartilage and hair.

It is both a testament to, and an indictment of, western civilisation that 99.99% of people are so far removed from fundamental biological principles that they do not understand that only ongoing life holds the corruption of death at bay.

Frankly, the maggots don’t give a fuck what your beliefs were before you became zombified, what sex you were, what your politics were, what station you held in life, to them all flesh is grass and they are there to graze.

Burying our dead in boxes, or setting fire to them, and buying our meat in shrinkwrap or tins, and having weekly refuse collections and sewerage systems, has hidden all this from most of us.

But it doesn’t make it go away, it just hides it from public view, security theatre at its finest.

Similarly, things like PoF that extend a wimminz ability to effectively put an interested male on hold, while sampling some of the other interested males, does nothing to change a man’s innate biological programming.

Putting a man on hold is like refusing to put more than 5c on a bet with that individual man that you and he have ANY kind of future together, it created an instant biochemical change, that man will never, ever, ever play “all or nothing” with you ever again, no matter how long you may live, no matter how long you have a hole in your ass.

He may indeed play with you again at some point in the future, but not with his whole wallet on the table, and not for keeps, just for fun and shits and giggles.

Just as it is in the nature of the maggot to put its entire life into eating THIS meal, irrespective of the quality, it is in the nature of a man to play all or nothing and to commit totally to his first woman, his first born, his first car or motorcycle, and when those things are taken away, to indulge in nostalgia.

Not for the love, or the innocence, or the wasted years, or the possibilities, or any of the other things the wimminz or niggerz assume, but for the simplicity and purity of being in a place where you GENUINELY looked forward with you entire being and saw nothing more than putting your entire life into eating THIS meal, and being eminently satisfied with that.

I have over the years ridden just about every motorcycle ever made, over vast distances and many national and cultural borders, and while I might smile at the thought of being born on a a Harley (and whenever we say that, we mean a particular model, and specific individual bike) the fact is I would have been quite happy to settle for my first bike that I owned myself, a BSA A10, and still be riding it, and to have never ridden another bike.

When I look back in “nostalgia” at my old A10 and the adventures we had, I’m not blind to the fact that I have ridden much better bikes, in any way that you care to characterise “better”, but the fact is I would have been CONTENT to stick with the A10, and forsake all others.

It is that ability to be content that I mourned with nostalgia for many years, not the A10, and it is only now, 35+ years later, that I have again reached a place where I am content to keep my current bike, and never ride anything else ever again.

I have rediscovered my ability to be content, and I have done so by rejecting all of those who would take away the meal before me at a whim, all those would would place me on hold, in all walks of life, not merely wimminz and niggerz.

You get ONE FUCKING CHANCE to take my call, and hang up all other calls and call waitings, and deal with me exclusively, and this very INSTANT you fail to do that, well fuck you and this meal you claim to be setting before me, AND EVERYTHING ELSE YOU CLAIM TO OFFER ME IN THE FUTURE.

If you are not prepared to make me your priority, then you have absolutely nothing I am interested in, to me you are just a meal for other less fussy maggots.

You are the walking dead zombie emperor, not only do you have no clothes, the fine raiment you think you wear is nothing more than a coat of maggots, consuming your dead flesh.

Soon enough, you too will be mouldering in the grave, along with everything you did, everything you claimed to believe in, everything you were, everything your could have been.

There will be nobody to mourn you, not even the flies and worms and bacteria that made you their last meal.

Go on to PoF and ask where have all the good men gone, announce that you are looking for your soul mate, and understand that what we actually hear is “Where have all the good maggots gone?” and “I want my soul maggot!”

A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, or like a zombie apocalypse film needs maggots to cure the problem in less than a fortnight, it is the “uncanny valley” of feminazism, the gulf that cannot be crossed, and the only tool in the box to counter this is the suspension of disbelief….

…. rather like the unaired pilot for the 2000 remake of The Time Tunnel, in which our wimpy male hero is accompanied by Mr Steroid Abuse, and two wimminz, one white and one black, one kick-ass and one super smart, and they all don GI rags and transport themselves back to the World War 2 trenches in France, and not only do the two chicks rock, none of the 1943 GI grunts in the trenches even notices two wimminz in tailored fatigues…


I will close with a word or warning for those who place their trusts and hopes for the future in “Market forces“…

My current / final motorcycle, nobody know what it is, even what make it is, it has been altered to such an extent that even older bikes wander up and say “Is that a xxx?” when looking at the engine, and even then they are not sure, because so many alterations have been made (and no, there are no telltale badges or embossed castings left)

It does not have indicator lamps, it does not need them, like everything else (including the pillion seat) extra to the basic premise has been removed, everything else has been altered and evolved.

I mention indicators for a specific reason, yesterday I drove an absolute top of the range top spec german automobile, it didn’t have any “lamps” at all, in the filament sense.

Back in the day a turn signal was a clear 12 V lamp with a 4/5 watt filament housed in an amber lens, 4 watts at 12 volts DC is 1/3rd of an ampere… one turn lamp and the front and one turn lamp at the rear draws 2/3rd of an ampere, so the “indicator” circuit only needed a switch, and a can containing a bimetallic strip that was heated enough by 2/3rd of an amp to break the circuit, on / off / on / off every second or so.

Das new kraut auto had no lamps, in the filament sense, everything was LED’s

Suddenly you can’t use the mechanical properties of a bimetallic strip passing current to make your blinkers blink, so you have to make up a PCB, presumably based somewhere on a 555 timer circuit and an oscillator.

Now, electronics CAN be made as rugged and long lasting as anything mechanical, but that costs money, and this is where your “market forces” come into play… so shave 5 cents off here, 10 there, 15 there…

Which is why the top of the range all the extras brand spanking new german luxury limo had non functioning indicators, and instead of popping into an auto factor to buy a replacement generic bulb, or a replacement generic “indicator flasher” can, the on board computer told the new owner to take the car to the authorised dealer for a repair….



November 30, 2011

I don’t know how much longer the signal will last…

It’s a line from many films / stories.

It’s a meme, but it is a resonant meme because all human beings get the idea that all things come to an end, and sometimes there just isn’t enough air / food / water / lifeboats / power / bullets / whatever to survive any longer.

My original trade was engineering.

Let me tell you something about engineering, it applies to life generally.

When something mechanical dies, the actual dying event from beginning to end is relatively speaking quite brief, before that there is a protracted period of wear and inadequate maintenance, which is often referred to as the “service life“, but the “failure event” is quite short.

The other thing you need to know about the failure event is you can break it down into smaller slices of time too, and 99% of the damage happens in the last 1% of time.

With me so far? Good.

The last thing you need to know is that once the “failure event” has started, there is nothing you can do to prevent it, the time when you could have limited the damage was back in the “service life” period, but you can no more do anything about that than you can pop back in time and give yourself in 2005 all the winning lottery numbers for the next 5 years.

Businesses, societies, wars, they all follow this pattern, when things start to go to hell in a hand-cart it is already too late, and the pace at which that hand-cart speeds down the hill to hell is constantly accelerating.

Sadly for us our western economies have passed the point where mere preventative maintenance will suffice, far too much is broken, far too many lies have been told, far too many bodies swept under the carpet, far too many vested interests refuse to accept reality.

Tomorrow in the UK loads of state workers go on strike demanding that the taxpayer continues to fund their already very generous (compared to the private sector) wages and pensions, meanwhile the UK is the most indebted nation on the planet.


Oil prices are already fucked and yet the powers that be are agitating for a land war in Iran, which will have knock on effects on the Straits of Hormuz etc… it’s not like Libya isn’t basically offline and Iraq isn’t basically offline already.

When the banks crash and take sovereign currencies with them, and your deposits and pensions, and as has always happened in the past the state prints a NEW currency and all your old currency is toilet paper, you are going to find an interesting situation where only one class of people in society have any real life experience or surviving in an economy without access to currency.

Prison inmates and ex-prison inmates.

Let me take cunt as an example, as I type this I have two wimminz who basically beg me to fuck them, in any way I please, imagine you are a third wimminz, precisely what value do you think your cunt has to me right now?

Just how much time and effort do you think I am prepared to spend negotiating access to and use of your cunt?

There is only so much cunt I can use, I already have two, so basically you are aiming at lay-away standby status, unless you are very very hot and horny and sexy and hope to displace one of the current two, and even so, what is your actual value to me?

The question then becomes what do you have to trade APART from cunt for my company… one of these two offers me free food, beer and long or short term accommodation, what do you have to trump that, especially bearing in mind that I do not take that offer, except the odd overnighter.

Car? I have one, better than yours. Giant flat screen telly? I have one, better than yours.

It’s that old prison inmate barter system, chances are that mostly it doesn’t matter what YOU want, because YOU DO NOT HAVE ANYTHING TO TRADE THAT THE OTHER GUY WANTS.

That’s why the economy and banking system will collapse, who actually wants Bank X’s bad debts?

Branson / Virgin only took on Northern Rock on the express understanding that he took on none of the toxic debts.

Take my street, who wants to take on 150k mortgages from people who can not ever pay them off, “secured” against properties that were recently “worth” only 50k and soon will be again?… the bloke / bank holding / selling the 20 mortgages for my street, “valued” at 20 x 150 = 3 million, can’t find a buyer, because the people who owe that money can’t pay, won’t pay.

As prisoners know, unless you have something of value to trade, you can’t even buy protection, so unless you can stand on your own two feet, you actually become someone else’s commodity.

Even if you have something to trade, the value you ask me for it in trade better be less than the effort it costs me to just take all your shit.

Even if you have something to trade, the value it has is no higher than the value anyone else with the same thing is prepared to trade it for, or what I can take it from them by force for.

We have successfully devalued the “worth” of a human life, of human dignity, of human rights, in places like Libya and Iraq and Afghanistan and soon Iran to effectively zero.

Our lives cannot be worth any more, and indeed they are not, the endless streams of our young men sent over to have limbs blown off proves this beyond all possible doubt.

As indeed does the treatment of fathers back home here in the UK.

When you systematically reduce the value to society of a man to zero, then the “mark to market” for the value to society of wimminz, of niggerz, of politicians, of bankers, must inevitably follow and be found to have a similar worthless valuation.

I have skills, I can design, build and install running water, sewerage, electricity, comms, all the basics of human life, we have already established that if you are a wimminz your cunt is already almost literally worthless to me, so what do you have to offer if you are a niggerz? an ex policeman, an ex lawyer, an ex politician, and ex office manager, an ex banker? You do not even have cunt to offer me.

The really funny thing?

The vast majority who flatly refuse to hear the warnings that we have already passed the service life stage of society and are in the failure event stage, and the rate of change towards chaos can only increase as we approach the end of the failure event stage.

To paraphrase Churchill; “this is not the end, this is the beginning of the end

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