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…

December 26, 2013

Lez be friends

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 1:25 pm

I’m noticing something, increasing numbers of wimminz who, after spending years shitting on their own doorstep and moaning about where have all the good men gone, are turning to lesbian relationshits, for a bit, at least.

If you want to know how bizarre this is, swap the roles, loads of single guys who can’t find a decent wimminz starting to have homosexual relationshits with other guys…. I can’t get any cunt so I’ll try sucking some cock… does not compute.


The mind is a funny thing, shit goes in, and is apparently buried and forgotten, and then years later it surfaces out of nowhere, and so it was on Christmas Day visiting some rellies that a cousin who I have no time for anyway tries all the false bonhomie shit with me, it falls on stony ground so he attempts to do what I suspect was a bit of shaming language, as he is there with his girlfriend, and aks me when I am going to get myself a woman.

It just surfaced from somewhere in my mind and popped out, and the first I was aware of it, I had already said it, so I am stood there mentally reviewing where that was buried, and looking at the shocked and appalled faces on the rellies, and finding nothing that needed to be added.

Why should I look after another man’s daughter?

It’s actually a very good question, like “What’s in it for me?“, and very good questions require very good answers.

Before I get into the answers, the reason I am a single guy is simple, the question and answers are in many ways like buying a car, you look at what is on offer, you look at the terms, and you look at the price, and of course both buyer and seller must do this.

As a “buyer” I will be the first to admit that I am not such an attractive buyer as I once was, but I am willing to negotiate fairly, the problem is, the lots are full of used up beaters with sellers asking Bugatti prices and not being willing to negotiate or be realistic.

So, the good question.

Why should I look after another man’s daughter? and What is in it for me?

  1. Wimminz have a fertile period, so if kids are on the agenda she better be in the fertile period.
  2. Wimminz should be nearer the beginning of that fertile period rather than the end of it… the nearer the end, the less she has to offer.
  3. Wimminz who have used part of that fertile period to have kids by other guys, well, that reduced your value too, I don’t need to explain why.
  4. Wimminz who are basically at the end of that fertile period, eg the big 4 0 that is a whole range of values taken off the table for good.
  5. Even if the wimminz is still fertile, I am in my 50’s, plus, I already have (at least) one son, which takes care of the procreation urge, so speaking frankly the appeal of becoming a dad all over again in my 50’s isn’t that great…
  6. So basically the whole fertility / procreation / babies thing, which was and always will be a huge part of wimminz allure, is pretty much rear view mirror stuff.

OK, so what else does a wimminz have to offer me?

  1. Sex is the obvious one
  2. But, there is a whole load of other non sexual stuff that would tempt me as a buyer, giving me a bath, giving my shoulders a rub, making me a coffee, making me a meal, tidying house,  they are all things that I like and would genuinely appreciate.
  3. I’ll put this one down anyway, it would be nice to be genuinely loved, appreciated, respected, and I said I’ll put it down anyway just to be honest and complete in my list, not because it is a thing that there is any hope whatsoever of actually finding in the wild as a living example… dodo territory this.

And for my part.

  1. I can accept you ain’t 20 no more
  2. I can accept you are overweight
  3. I can accept you have baggage (but baggage be the opposite of dowry, it makes you less attractive)
  4. I can accept that in reality you are probably crap at 99% of the things you do

See, I may still be fertile in my 50’s, but it is plainly obvious that me in my 20’s was more fertile, more virile, more healthy and the real biggie had an extra 30 years of potential… sure, I have more experience now, but I am doing the salesman thing, so I accept that wimminz that I can expect NOW also have less potential than wimminz I could expect 30+ years ago.

My problem, my question, is that the wimminz are not accepting of these facts, the wimminz are not, ever, under any circumstances, going to do any honest self appraisal and say, you know what, he may not be George Clooney, he may just be a diesel fitter for a broke down bus company, but he is working honest work for 40 hours a week for that 300 bucks takehome, and he don’t have any bad habits like drinking hard liquor or gambling, and I can rely on him for the next 20 years to keep up his end of the bargain… I’ll grab this guy while the grabbing is good.

When the “what’s in it for me?” question is answered with;

  1. Being lied to
  2. Being lied about (false accusations and being slandered to others)
  3. Being robbed
  4. Being accused of shit you ain’t done… (yet, but are getting sorely fucking tempted to, may as well do the crime you’re being accused of all the time)
  5. Being treated with contempt
  6. Being disrespected despite the many things that you do that should earn respect, starting with bringing home a fucking wage every week.
  7. Being refused sex
  8. Being cheated on
  9. etc etc etc and you don’t get just one off this list, you get most or all.

You get like, Bitch, and you want me to PAY to join this exclusive club????? WTF… When I could like, NOT have to put up with all that shit, simply by NOT making any effort to join that very expensive club?

The question was “what is in it for me?” and all you have done is tell me “what AIN’T in it for me…

Where is the fucking incentive?

Excuse me for limiting myself to test drives, I have as much intention of actually buying at the price you want and you have of actually delivering all the sales shit written on the windscreen in soap…   think of me as one of those people with no intention of buying who visits houses for sale as a day out…

I am being one squillion per cent fucking serious here.

We are a scant few days away from starting a new year, 2014, and the future is unknown, what POSSIBLE fucking incentive or attraction do you think there could possibly be, under any circumstances whatsoever, so start filling in my 2014 calendar right now with entries about being lied, to cheated on, disrespected, refused sex, and constant daily entries about 50 bucks here are 20 bucks there and 75 bucks over there for shit I would never have any use for and for shit I will never see again.

I’ve been around, I have loaned heroin addicts money, and some of them paid it back, I have loaned alcoholics money, and some of them paid it back, I have loaned co-workers and acquaintances money, and some of them have paid it back.

There is only one class of person that I can honestly say in my entire life not one of them ever paid me back, in full, in cash, the amount loaned, and that is wimminz…. the few (literally maybe two my entire life) who did it the first loan, failed on the 2nd or 3rd.

I’m OK I won’t loan or spend money I can’t afford to never see again, and I see it as a test, a cheap test, if that person has any integrity.

But back to the calendar for 2014, why would anyone in their right mind want a calendar filled with that shit???

Possibly if it also said “January 1st, 12 month contract in Afdiggastan in US air base, salary US$1,000,000 paid monthly tax free in advance.

But not if it said, in shades of Monty Python and the 4 Yorkshiremen, “Paid boss $500 for permission to come to work again this week…

Which is the kinda “deal” the wimminz are offering when I ask “What’s in it for me?” or “Why should I look after another man’s daughter?

You have to be taking the piss, either that or it is one of those Eureka moments where previously you thought you knew all about insanity, but some new example comes along and you COMPLETELY fail to model the mental processes that must be at work between INPUT and OUTPUT to connect the two, and you realise that everything you thought you knew about insanity was wrong…. and I mean, either way, either you are taking the fucking piss, or you are fucking looney tunes, either way, no sale….

If you think that is all fucked up, how about how fucked up you have to be to give one of these wimminz a fucking JOB….

I mean, seriously…. same hamster wheel at work here…

I can avoid the cunts in my home, but in order to buy product from your company and make you richer, I am forced to deal with wimminz whom you have employed?  No thanks…. not while there is an alternative self employed guy down the road…..


Now, I have mentioned before, that deep down, in fundamental nature, men and wimminz might not be that different, and that modern wimminz are just a product of an environment in which they can do no wrong, never suffer consequences, and are always protected.

This is a true story.

Nearly 50 years ago, my father left his wallet, full of cash, in a bar, the bar was called The Hub, the town was called Bulawayo and the country was called Rhodesia. It was the first time he had been in that bar, he was not a regular, or known, or with any regulars.

About 20 hours later, well aware that he had lost his wallet, but in some bar in some town at some time after the xth beer, so no details, he goes to light a cigarette, pats his pockets and pulls out a small book of matches, and there on the cover is printed the name of the pub…

He finds the bar, walks up to the barman, to ask if there is any chance they know anything about his wallet… Here it is Sir, one of the “boys” (which means black guys waiting and wiping tables and shit) found it at your table after you left last night.

Not one single thing or note was missing.

The “boys” weren’t slaves or property, but the slightest sign of dishonesty and the instant sack, get the fuck out and never come back, and fuck your wages.

If you were to go to that same region today, the white man no longer rules, and a black man who never even owned a bicycle can accuse you of stealing his bicycle, and into jail you will go, until you pay off the police and the black man etc etc… they are “boys” no more.

The same people, LITERALLY, not just the same race and the same region but the same fucking TRIBE, but change the environment and the rules (and leaving aside utterly questions of racism and colonialism and equality etc) and you go from not daring to steal anything from another man’s wallet, even if he got drunk and forgot it, even though in temptation terms it means about a year’s salary just sat there saying take me….. to accusing you of stealing something that never even existed, to get some free money.


Going to Zimbabwe in 2014 and appealing to the better nature of the kaffirs is like living here in the west in 2014 and appealing to the better nature of da wimminz.

It’s really only a question of time before you see the inside of a prison cell and one way or another you get some personal wealth extorted.

What are you going to put in your diary for 2014?

Far from it being too early to plan, 2014 is almost upon us, now is the time to plan.

December 14, 2013

Three coins in the fountain.

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 1:06 pm

So, there was a funeral in the morning, a small crew of attendees wearing rented Elvis gear, a surreal moment at the service when at the warm up, the last track played was an Elvis track, just not like the other Elvis tracks, this was Elvis Costello, I don’t wanna go to chelsea.

Quite funny really, especially as Jim’s skank ho ex was called Elsie.

Last night was bizarre too, it felt more like being in a first person RPG than walking down actual streets, I guess satire and marketing jumped the shark when lots of stuff in real life is more unreal than lots of stuff in video life.

So breakfast (coffee and smokes) this morning is a bunch of guys dressed like Elvis, all of whom work in IT, all of whom have at some point failed the modern security clearances to work on certain government / education / police contracts, not because they were security risks, but because they weren’t nice blank sheets of paper and had actually done some bad things at some point in their lives, or been near those who had, or been accused of it by “people” like Elsie, discussing the debacle of the guy who was security vetted so well nobody noticed either his criminal record or the FACT HE COULD NOT EVEN FUCKING SIGN before standing him literally in arm’s reach of Obama for Mandela‘s funeral.

Way to go NSA / CIA / FDA / WTF

The whole morning, and the service itself, went like that, if anyone else had been invited I am positive they would have said it was totally disrespectful, but the fact is if Jim had been there he would have been participating in every single one of those conversations, and the only moment of doubt I suffered was last night when one of the other guys tried to start a bar tab in Jim’s name, “he’ll be along in a minute…” LRFH

Anyway for one reason or another one of the lads asked about my sex life, oho yet another one kicked to the kerb is it, and they picked up on something I hadn’t, there has been a series of these the last couple of years, and, from one perspective, you could say I fucked them all up.

From that perspective, to not fuck them up, or at least to not fuck them up at that time and place, all I had to do was keep my fucking mouth shut, but when you don’t do that, when you adopt a louder and more forceful tone and do a whole WTF, that is outrageous, that you should do that, and that you should expect me to just buy it…  they all got fucked up.

I hadn’t actually made the connection, it was always after I called them on their shit, my problem apparently is I do so in such a way, with logic and reason, that it doesn’t give a way out for creatures who simply will not ever admit to fucking up, much less atoning for their actions or personally bearing the consequences of them.

There then followed a bunch of discussion about whether I was really a callous bastard who seized upon such moments to GTFO while the going was still good and you’d had all the best that that particular wimminz could offer, or whether I was really an autistic bastard who didn’t even know what he was doing… at the time…

Y’all aren’t allowed to smoke inside in the UK no more, so it was after this I’m outside for a smoke, and there is this young chick there, seen her hear us inside so she doesn’t have to ask what’s with the elvis shit or funeral talk etc, “to Jim, cheers” etc she has overheard it all.

Now, at any other time I’d have fucked the ass off her, youth has a certain beauty all its own, but my mind isn’t really on that as it isn’t possible, so with no warning at all she walks over to me and gives me a big kiss on the cheek and a hug and says what we are doing is so sweet… takes a final drag on her smoke, throws it to the ground and starts to walks away.

I say hey girl, what gives, and there she is, all of 19 or so, and gives me the saddest smile, and she says if a woman dies can you imagine a bunch of her friends desssing up as Madonna just because she was a huge fan, and having a night out to celebrate her? and she walks away into the night and the sodium light… I finished my smoke, went back in, and forgot all about it, then there is teh service and blah de blah and we go our separate ways, and I’m sitting in the train writing this on the tablet, because I can’t get what that girl said out of my head.

Other times, other funerals, other wimminz, all I can remember is them wanting to play dress up, and I don’t mean Tina Turner, I mean LBD and heels and make up and hair do, and that little girl is right, I just can’t imagine the fuckers doing what we did, all I can see is vicars and tarts, and hen nights, and a big gap, and other dead wimminz, like my grandmother, who was a battleaxe bitch, but who remained a single widow for 30 years and only ever wore black as a widow, and that shit has gone forever.

“No man is an island”

maybe, no wimminz is ever anything else but.



December 6, 2013

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Pinky just got kicked to the kerb, FoffI was supposed to be going there to bone it tonight, but despite the lack of a hamster wheel there was no lack of the usual wimminz fare of say one thing, do another, and frankly my life is too short, no matter how good and kinky the sex was, so kerb time it is.

So… sitting here having just discussed it with a couple of the lads down the pub. Nothing of value was lost, because there was nothing of value there anyway, if there was, she would not have said one thing and done another… QED

So… further to a comment one of them made, it’s all about the feelings, and channelling Derek & Clive, you got to have fucking intuition mate, and channelling AfOR (because you almost certainly DO have fucking intuition mate), you got to fucking listen to it.

I had *that* feeling last night, that hard to describe feeling, that combination of being kept in the dark and fed on shit, and knowing something ain’t right, and wondering why you’re the last one at the party to get the joke.

Ask me to explain it, or justify it, or back it up… and I can’t, I can’t give you anything except I had that feeling, and knew it was significant, and recollected other times I had had that feeling.

It’s not a feeling that just applies to your dealings with wimminz…

This guy


He had that feeling, in his own words.. “It came in a brown envelope. When the postman gave it to me I kept asking him if he was sure this package was for me and he kept saying it was.”  he KNEW…

Like I said, justification, explanation, supporting evidence, I can’t give you any of that shit when I get that feeling, all I can tell you is I have that feeling, and that feeling has ALWAYS BEEN FUCKING RIGHT.

A guy asks you “do you think my wife is cheating on me?“.. he already knows the fucking answer, he has that feeling.

Thing is, Pinky that just got kicked to the kerb, she could no more adequately explain her actions and choices than I could explain the feeling, I do not mean I will never know what went on in her head, I mean even if I had a nanosecond by nanosecond replay of whatever did go on in her head, I would be none the wiser… observing the process in her head is as much use as observing the feeling in me.


Every guy I have ever met who gets that feeling starts playing what if scenarios in their heads, looking for an answer or explanation or enlightenment, they will never get it, that urge to look for answers is the “dark side” of that feeling.

If I had listened to the dark side I’d have gone to her place as planned, and maybe been greeted by plod, maybe been greeted by darkness and locked doors, maybe been greeted by who knows what, the dark side of that feeling wants knowledge, explanations, answers, understanding.

With experience, you get like me..

As DMJ says in a current piece, I get that feeling, I go snake eyes, people do what they wanna do, if da bitch wanted me to know where I stood or what the fuck was going on, nothing would have stopped her from making sure I knew… NOTHING…

The very fact that I did not know is the feeling, is the reality, do not be attracted by the dark side Luke, come over here to the light side, go snake eyes with me, turn that car around, drive home, edit your contacts on the phone to move the skank from “current” to “skanks” + “blocked“, turn your back, walk away, she is literally dead to me.

There is no animosity, there is no hate, there is no desire, there is no wanting to know, there is nothing, there is only memory, fun while it lasted.

Past tense.

Move on, chilled, take the opportunity to do something you want, play Skyrim, go down the pub for a pint, walk the dog, anything, as long as you are snake eyes.

Snake eyes, stopped me going to her door, stopped a possible altercation, stopped possible po-lice involvement, stopped me continuing to feel that (unpleasant) feeling, stopped me giving a fuck, stopped me seeing her as anything except past tense.

No good EVER comes from ignoring snake eyes and going to the dark side and embracing that feeling, none, ever, not ever.

DMJ’s article was spot on, snake eyes != (is NOT equal to) Mr Nice Guy

Mr Nice Guy gets fucked over and loses, every time, BECAUSE he is trying to be Mr Nice Guy.

As I discussed elsewhere here, when I was arrested for my alleged FRA from the psycho skank ho ex, the initial reaction was to convince the po-lice that I could not have raped the bitch because I am a nice guy and rape is alien to me, the fact that I didn’t rape the bitch is irrelevant, I wanted the po-lice to SEE that I didn’t, and the only way to prove a negative is to try to make the other guy like you, and to do that you WILL lie…. you will, for example, deny any sex happened, and the DNA will prove you lied about that, and at that point you’re left with admitting you lied about the sex, but maintain you never raped anyone… good fucking luck with that.

Despite the fact that the FACTS are that early this week Pinky wants to spend the rest of her life with me, *some* fucking thing happened while I was 200 miles away, I dunno what and I never will, all I know is I had that feeling and next thing I know I am being blanked.

*IF* I had been dumb-ass Mr nice Guy enough to turn up at her door, and *IF* plod were there, there is no possible thing that I can say to them that will do me any good whatsoever.

Snake eyes, now the FACTS (verifiable by GPS and extensive digital records of texts etc etc etc) are that early this week I was there and everything was perfect, and I ain’t been within 50 miles of there since, and when whatever it was happened in the last 24 hours happened, I still did not go there, and I will never go there again, or attempt to contact her again.

Bottom line, I may well get “that feeling” again, but it won’t be Pinky behind it.

The last ship on that route already sailed.

If I get that feeling again, even if I get it 1,000 times, it will be 1,000 different causes / people, and in 1,000 cases snake eyes will kick in, and in 1,000 cases within 24 hours it will be ancient history… that is a scab I will ***NEVER*** pick at again as long as I live, I just discard it like a lizard losing its tail…. or a turd I send off to the coast with a flush.

September 28, 2013

When you buy a new Mercedes..

… suddenly you start noticing mercs everywhere, when you are hungry, suddenly you start noticing food adverts everywhere, etc. etc..

That shit was always there, you just didn’t notice it.

Same thing goes for the red pill, and the part of the red pill that has to do with the everyday decisions that wimminz make, that shape their lives…. that shit has always been there, but you never really noticed it, before it was just an invisible part of the background picture.

As mentioned previously in the dummies guide to what wimminz want, once you swallow the bit of red pill that says wimminz logic functions on don’t want, not want, things can start to make sense, if you let them.

A bit like the old joke about the easy way to confuse an Irishman being to set three shovels against a wall, and tell him to take his pick, one of the “conundrums” I see wimminz face regularly is this;

  1. spend a night with one guy who wants one single wimminz to fuck
  2. spend a night with several people at a party, who want one single wimminz to fuck

Akshully it’s not much of a conundrum, more is better, right, not because more is better, but there is the illusion of potential choice for the wimminz “don’t want” logic, whereas if she picks the single guy, well, she can still choose don’t want, but then the evening is wasted eh… lol

The conundrum comes afterwards, when they went to the party and did don’t want to the whole party, and the single guy says you shoulda chosen to spend the night with me, and she says yeah, and the single guy says what are you gonna do about that then bitch?

And she will say “I dunno”

And she doesn’t, because “don’t want” logic works the opposite way around from male “want” logic.

Now, I want to mention something, and that something is the availability and quality of toilet paper in Ghanzi, Botswana.


If you think of your brain as a CPU, until I mentioned that little fact, you had devoted a total of 0 CPU cycles to that subject, and so when I raised the subject you were all WTF, and prety much dismissed the entire subject from your brain, no more CPU cycles devoted to thinking about it, instead allocating a few to see what the fuck I was going to say next, by way of explanation.

If I talk about motorcycles, or sailing, or rock music, or milling machines, or any other subject, I am only ever talking to a proportion of the male population.

If I want to talk to all of them, all I have to say is something along the lines of “There is this girl, you know, 90% of what she is and what she is about is fucking great, but man, that 10%, you know she will not stop doing this crazy shit that is fucking up her life and ruining her kid’s future options, and I’ve talked to her and she knows this shit and knows I am right, but she just won’t stop.. WTF?

Instantly 100% of men hear what I am saying… and start thinking, eg devoting CPU cycles, to thinking about a wimminz, if only she would change, stop doing this, start doing that, yadda yadda yadda.

Unlike the botswana bog roll, you *are* devoting CPU cycles to the conundrum of the wimminz, and THIS IS A COMPLETE FUCKING WASTE OF YOUR BRAIN AND TIME.

People do what they are gonna do, wimminz particularly.

You can’t change the fuckers, help them, save them, educate them, look after them, care for them, influence them, any of that shit.

The red pill here is how many CPU cycles are being devoted to wimminz, and what they want, what they need, what they should do, etc.

I want to tell you two small true stories.

wimminz #1

I have fucked her on and off, she was good enough at it and otherwise obedient and amenable enough, that I made her my standard offer, put me in change and I’ll let you become my own personal slut, and as a by product your life generally and the future outlook for your womb turds will improve dramatically.

Needless to say while deciding what to do (lol, see previously re don’t want logic) she decided one night she didn’t want to talk to me and wanted to fuck someone else, and then lied to me about it.

Fine by me, your life, your choice, as I said to her later, she asked if I hated her, said no, don’t care enough to hate, and you were a slut before and another ten or a hundred cocks ain’t gonna change that any, so I’ll fuck you again, but that offer of being my own personal slut, that’s history bitch.

I’ll fuck her again, only a matter of time.

wimminz #2

Unlike wimminz #1, this one decided she wanted me, s in she didn’t want to not have me, so we fucked now and again, and a year or so later it dawns on her that she isn’t making any progress with me in transitioning from being a fuckbuddy to a relationshit, so it is toys outta da pram time and she find herself another guy.

Now this is all violins and roses and romance and soul mates and all that crap, the full on top fuel dragster start from meeting the guy to cohabiting within a fucking week, and everything is fucking wonderful. According to his words and texts etc. this dweeb is *totally* into her.

This is what she always wanted, right. … right… riiight???

Well, no, last week she calls me, “for a chat”, I put it to her, and call her a liar when she denies it, until she admits it, that what she wants is my cock. I don’t give it to her.

Two days later she calls me, her day off, he is at work, she is having a new dishwasher delivered and some nonsense about some tool / spanner / thingy that can’t undo some connection thingy so she can pull the old one out for when the new one arrives.

I tell her, you just want me to come over there and fuck you, because you know if I do come over there I will fuck you.

She dissembles.

I push the point, and she admits that I only have to say the word, and she will kick the love of her life out and “be mine again”…

I decline to go over and fuck her.

She dissembles about “cheating” on this guy with me, it’s OK to kick him to the kerb to fuck me, it’s OK to let him think he is the love of her life while craving my cock, but apparently it is not OK to fuck me while she is still with him,

I tell her you cheated on your ex’s… she dissembles.

I’ll fuck her again, it is only a matter of time.

So, two small true stories, both running concurrently to one another, both these wimminz are MOTHERS who are supposed to be putting their fucking kids first….

I devote zero CPU time to em, except;

  1. when my cock is actually wet inside them
  2. when they message me as part of the process leading up to item 1
  3. when comparing an entirely different wimminz actions, by way of reference.
  4. when illustrating a point, such as here

The rest of the time I am quite happy to devote my CPU cycles to idle, watching flowers on the wall and captain kangaroo, or playing video-games on my noo pee cee, or just fucking chilling.

The one you have to watch, as a man, is item #2 on that list.

It is all too easy to cross the line from casually batting the ping pong ball back in their faces, to actually giving a shit and trying to win that game and attain the goal at the end of it, some new cunt to pump.

While we are on the subject, I also devote zero CPU time to consideration of my own life from a blue pill perspective, have I achieved anything, am I successful, do I have a great career, etc etc.

It is lunch-time on a Saturday and I haven’t even got dressed, haven’t tidied or run the hoover around, haven’t done any of the 20 jobs on the back burner, this is me time, chill time, played a little skyrim earlier, caught up on work emails and shit for next week, typed this crap, drank coffee, smoked some.

Now I’m going to install and play Far Cry 3 at max gfx settings, just because I can.

And like bo peep, all those skank ho’s out there that I have exchanged the odd ping pong message with and are on the possibly list, well. they’ll take care of themselves, they’ll come through or not, on the day they decide they don’t want to not have my cock any longer, wagging their tails behind them, and the best way to make that happen is to devote zero CPU cycles to it.



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.


September 8, 2013


It really does bother me how widespread ignorance has become, it bothers me more how profound those levels of ignorance are.  I don’t have to give examples here, you can all think of them, from lack of basic education in maths / science / history to genuine dumbass stuff.


It is a mistake to equate lack of intellect and education with lack of cunning, and it is a truism that those with some intellect and education vastly under-estimate the efficacy of raw cunning, usually by claiming it is not applicable here.

I spent much of this weekend talking to, and listening to, some of the gutter yoof of today, mid to late teens stuff, and of course I was their age once, and I have a functioning memory, so I can see where a lot of their shit is coming from, but I can also see some remarkable shifts in degree, in many areas.

I spark up a cigarette, I know smokes aren’t a health food, but cancer is a possibility / probability some time down the line, it is not an immediate concern, immediate concerns are I want a smoke, a coffee and a blowjob…. these are things I want today, I’m not going to forgo those pleasures today, because there is no guarantee I get anything tomorrow, so I grab it when I can.

Discussions about Syria or the petrodollar or fiat currencies are discussions you can’t have, they don’t know and they don’t care, they care about what is in reach, right here, right now.

Discussions and plans for tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, those are for rich cunts, even paying the landlord at the end of the month, that’s a long way away, here and now ain’t.

Making a series of instant gratification choices as they are presented by opportunity doesn’t require any intellect, nor does knowing any of 200 or so “trigger phrases” that can be spurted out on demand to produce a pavlovian response in whoever they are said to, for immediate advantage to the sayer, whether it is how to get a “loan” out of the social security to how to bullshit the po-lice or the magistrate.

I haven’t done drugs for years, many years, but when I was young I did, and me being me, if it was worth doing, it was worth doing to excess.

To put it bluntly, I spent months at a time, with the odd very rough day interspersed when I was straight, and I was hanging out with, according to common knowledge, the most dangerous and despicable elements of society, and I am not stupid enough, even under a blogging pen name decades later, to put any of it down in writing in any detail, but I laughed real hard when I first read some of Hunter Thompson‘s stuff, hey bro.

During this period I was particularly fond of acid, and so I spent a lot of time totally whacked on the stuff, and came to understand dogs extremely well indeed, and by extension, people.

If you ever really wanted to know what it would be like to be a creature with a smaller brain, but still an intelligent creature, such as a dog, just do loads of acid and spend time with your dog, preferably out in the woods.

Life gets sliced up into lots of small things, and those things absorb your entire attention, until the next thing intrudes and pushes that moment away to make way for the next.

If I say “vinegar” you can taste and smell it, and if I think of one of those times out in the woods with the dog, I can smell not just that dog, but that breed of dog, and to this day I can recognise that breed of dog by how they smell, it’s a good smell, I had good times with my dog.

If you had been around in that area at that time (late seventies) you might on one occasion have seen a guy in leathers sat on a proper outlaw hardtail chop, one built to run and run fast and corner well, in a car park of one of the new supermarkets, high on acid and toking on a spliff with a sawed off shotgun casually leant against the sissy bar, while my bro was off in the supermarket in question, it was his gun, he left it with me to go in and take a bottle of scotch, I can’t remember your faces, or the exact town or supermarket, or the exact month or year, or what specific reason the guy was carrying for that day, I remember there was one, but can’t remember what it was, I can’t remember much about worrying about the po-lice, or anything else.

I can remember in very great detail the sunlight showing off the engraving on the stock, and noticing and marvelling at the similarities to the engraving on the sissy bar, and realising (duh) with a whoosh that REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED who did the engraving on the sissy bar for me was a gun smith too, and next thing I know my bro is back with the bottle of whiskey, “time to boogey” he says, and off we go.

I can remember later than day a veritable convoy of po-lice vehicles surrounding us, they were looking for a couple of bikers with guns, we didn’t have any, my bro had gone off and done whatever it was and returned, apparently without the gun, I didn’t know and never thought to ask until after the po-lice left us, we weren’t the ones they were looking for, we had no weapons, and all bad-ass bikers look alike to the straights, and it was all no big deal, over as soon as it was over.

Just one of many many many moments in a life lived moment to moment, thanks to the intervention of drugs in my case rather than any innate don’t give a fuck attitude, and yet I slid through it all relatively unharmed and unscathed, simple animal cunning was what did it.

I really do have to stress that point, whatever intellect and “what about tomorrow, and next week, and next month” smarts I had were suppressed, chemically in my case, but the method doesn’t matter, the results do.

Even functioning only on animal instinct, it is extraordinarily hard to truly fuck up, because said animal instinct is a *lot* smarter than we want to accept, intellectually, and yet, it is only there as a by product of millions of years of evolution, it SHOULD be good at this shit.

I had occasion to go back to that area some time ago, and bumped into some people who knew me, or knew of me, back then.

Much to my surprise, and disquiet, I apparently had an awesome reputation as a very mean, very dangerous, very badass individual.

How the fuck can you possibly say that, I never hurt anyone or did anything to anyone!” was my reply.

No,” the guy says, “you were way too cold and smart for that.

What the fuck are you on about?” I ask him, while noting that he is growing uncomfortable, he is thinking I am angry with him, thinking about my past, that he thinks he knows about.

He tells me, “I was sat right here, and you were sat right over there, and REDACTED who wasn’t exactly a big softie say something about ya missed me cos of beer coming out of a bottle, and you just jerked the bottle and it spurted out and hit him in the face and said no I didn’t

Now that he mentioned it, I did sort of recall the incident in question, he continues..

so REDACTED grabs the bottle from your hand, smashes it against the table and raises it to shove it in your face, and he freezes, and the whole fucking pub goes quiet watching, and there you are, as usual, no expression on your face, looking at him right in they eye, with that small smile of yours.. no reaction, no flinching, nothing, stone cold bastard, waiting to see what he would do, and after a few second he puts the bottle down and walks away

I tell him, “dude, I was on acid 24/7, you don’t think, you don’t plan, you don’t analyse, you feel, you react, you experience.

I could tell, he wasn’t buying it, and trotted out a couple more stories, to which I gave him the exact same answer, he still wasn’t buying it, but then, he had never done acid.

My dog was smarter than him, my dog would not have needed the explanation, yowf…

Heinlein kinda said it in his 1941 short story Logic of Empire

But it is intellectual mind defending itself by ascribing intellect and intent to actions by others that outwit it, because to accept otherwise is to accept that intellect does not trump everything else.

You got outwitted by a dumbass, dumbass.


Any “education” that does not, as a priority, teach the student about the inherent dangers and weaknesses of that education, is itself suspect.

Back when I was being taught engineering, much of what I was taught was what engineering could not do, and the myriad ways in which things could go wrong, and leave you worse off than when you started.

A simple example is using plastic metal to “fix” a leaking compression fitting, the correct fix is strip the union, clean it up, new olives and maybe some PTFE tape, once you use plastic metal you have to cut the offending section of pipe out and make a new one.

Engineering is no longer taught this way.

Nor, it seems, is anything else, from economics through politics to sociology.

And it is these “last week I couldn’t even spell engineer, now I are one” types that rule the roost, they have an education, they know this because they have been told it is so, not by any empirical analysis.

And while I would not wish to praise the total lack of education of the yoof of today, and to a slightly lesser extent those in their twenties, and a slightly lesser extent those in their thirties, the less edumakayshum you are burdened with, the more chance there is for base animal cunning to come to the fore, hopelessly short sighted and amoral as it is.

They are not necessarly burdened by this lack of an edumakayshum, whereas they would all benefit from an education, but that has been systematically destroyed alongside the rise in feminazism and the rise of the state.

September 4, 2013

Grab a beer, pull up a chair.

Is my life the way I expected things to be? Is my life the way I hoped things would be? Is my life the way I dreamed things would be? Is my life the way I would like things to be?

The answer of course is NO

When I was a small boy dreaming of growing up to be a train driver or racing driver or astronaut, nowhere in my dreams was a future where everything about being a man would be despised and punished.

As a small pre-pubescent boy girls were stupid and boring, so frankly speaking a world in which they turned into worthless sluts wasn’t anywhere on the plans, as girls weren’t anywhere on the plans, so no big deal, and the only thing likely to have changed that for a 7 year old is who is gonna cook my tea?

But, a part of the process of growing up is the realisation that dreams and reality are not the same thing, and the gap between the two is not altered one iota by how much you want X to be true, all that changes is how much it hurts every day.

I never set out to socialise with men who apparently beat the crap out of their wives, raped the shit out of them, indulged in crazy obsessive psycho behaviour towards them, or wanted to fuck their little children… if I had I would have chosen an appropriate career.

In most cases of course I never actually meet or speak to or communicate with these men in any way, just the wimminz they did all this shit to.

I myself am not that kind of man.

So why do I find myself, if not increasingly tolerant towards such actual behaviour, then certainly feeling like I have more in common with these guys, whether they be alleged abusers or rapists or paedophiles, than I have in common with their alleged victims?

When a wimminz lies to a man, at the point that the man realises that X was total bullshit, while he may feel a brief flash of anger, the predominant and lasting feeling is wanting to puke.

When a bloke watches his ex on a fuck site picking up verification after verification from different people every week, 99.9% of what he feels is wanting to puke.

It isn’t a desire to kill her, or rape her, or beat the shit out of her, and if any of those feelings appear they are usually there for no purpose other than to mask the feelings of wanting to puke.

Putting yourself in proximity to that wimminz, where you can say something genuinely monumentally stupid like “why?” and actually think you are going to get an answer that isn’t total bullshit, is no more than the height of folly.

It is that “not grown up yet” thing, where you think that somehow, just because it hurts REAL bad, there must be some way to bridge the gap between your dreams and reality.

If you really really really believe hard enough, you can fly.

Your first vehicle crash, your first accident where you broke something expensive, or where your actions injured someone, or where that fire got out of control, or where you lost something really important to you.

Think back, what you felt was wanting to puke.

It is a natural human reaction when presented with a situation where the carousel stops turning and the music stops playing and there, right in front of you, is a big yawning gap between how you thought things were, and how they clearly are now.

Abject immediate and total fear for your very life will make you void your bowels and bladder, you will piss and shit yourself, a natural and evolved reaction to enable you to better survive what is right here and right now a life or death situation.

Presentation with having to face the gap between what you thought was so, and what clearly is so, is not life or death, so your body learned a different natural and evolved reaction, puke your guts up.

Ask anyone who ever got shitfaced, puke your guts up and 10 seconds later you are relatively clear headed and able to think, 10 seconds is way too long in life or death fight or flight, but it is just fine for needing to hit the turbo boost button on your brain to assimilate the difference between what you thought, and what is.

AFTER you have puked your guts up, and faced reality, the best word to describe what you feel is melancholy.

You don’t feel BAD, you feel SAD.

ohgodIamnevergonnafuckingdrinkagain is said by people who have not puked, but should have, those who have puked feel an immediate improvement, and either get back at it or wipe the bile from their mouth and say damn that was some nasty shit.

All those “no” answers at the beginning, if they make you feel sad then that is fine bro, you’ll live, and if they make you feel bad then you might not, because you ain’t puked that shit up yet.

Wimminz and their cupid stunts ain’t alcohol and diced carrots, you can’t call huey and ralph down the porcelain pipe and rid your body of the poisons that make you want to puke.

But like when you first broke something or hurt something, it is a virtual, a mental version of alcohol and diced carrots, so you have to do the mental equivalent of hurling that shit out of your body.

If watching “your” woman with another guy, or hearing about it, or reading about it, doesn’t leave with you not much more than a bit of sadness and melancholy at the sheer waste, then you need to puke that shit outta your head and heart until that is all you can make yourself feel, even if you try, most times not even that, cos you ain’t trying to pick at that scab.

If it still makes you want to puke then you have not squared what you thought was, with what was, and you need to get that shit sorted, pronto, and only you can do it bro.

Only way to do it I know of is to embrace the reality, and laugh at yourself for being such a stupid cunt you ever bought the fantasy.

The new guy upstairs is gonna get treated the exact same way the old guy upstairs was, he just don’t know it yet.

So her girlfriend turns up and all three of them go out in her shitbox 2 door compact car, guess who rides in the rear seats….. it ain’t the slits.

So what did the old boyfriend actually lose, (his clean record, his flat deposit, his liberty for a bit) with respect to her?

Serious question.

Only things he actually lost were never actually there, so he never actually lost them, they were never his to lose, sure, he had fantasies and dreams, and when the time came to puke them up and that bile rose and he was puking in his mouth, like a good beta simp he swallowed it all down again, yummy, please sir can I have some more.

So I watch a skank I fucked for a while until she lied to be slide further down the gutter, and how she is around the level where she is meeting people who (unlike her tales of allegedly abusive raping ex’s) really genuinely don’t give a flying fuck about her, they are there to use her and use her hard as long as he puts up with the ever increasing demands, rinse and repeat.

And so we are back again to where we started, where frankly I have more sympathy with them, than with her, even though they are pond life at best.

Accept *that* reality, and all the wanna puke feelings are history.

June 26, 2013

Back in the day

When my dad was not much more than a boy, he had an apprenticeship at a local engineering place, of course, back in those days an apprenticeship was something you (or your parents) paid your employer for, and you got no wages the first two years…bda5_2

After a time, he got good enough to do his own work, and at that time there were a lot of Bedford lorries around, and of course a lot of them were ex war department stuff.

One of the jobs that needed doing with some regularity was setting up the back axle and diff, and as it turned out Dad was good at this, so good he got the time to do each one down to under an hour.

Of course, what happened then was every time one of these jobs came in, he got it, and he only managed to get off that mandatory assignment by progressively slowing down each job, until someone else was faster.

I have been posting more lately because basically the last two weeks I have been paid to sit on my ass at home waiting for a call, a couple of days ago I was bored enough to talk to a couple of the other guys, “You busy?”

Turns out they are both working their ass off, one on his 45th different site in a specific chain, interestingly if you draw a line from his home to the site he was at yesterday it is 200 road miles long, and around the middle of it, is where I sit typing this..

So why was he sent to do the job and not me, well, the answer is two fold;

  1. If this week the company has 3 x 40 engineer hours available in my area, and 60 engineer hours work, it makes no odds to them how that is split up, it is no cheaper to give each engineer 20 hours work, than to have one working full time, one working half time, and me sat at home.
  2. He was the Bedford back axle man for this particular job, having already done 44 of the bastards.

He is, in his own words, pissed off with the employment as a whole, I, in my own words, am as happy as a pig in shit, so far in June I have had a total of 13 jobs, and usually that is an allocated 2 hour time slot for each job, plus travelling time to or from site.

Next month should be busier for me, a lot busier, there are a few major projects coming down the line, but it still isn’t WORK, so I will be a happy bunny.

Work for me was when it was 34 degrees Celsius outside in the shade, and then you went down into an engine room all day with operating machinery and did hard physical and technical labour with the sweat oozing out of every pore. That was work.

Sometimes playing with main engines, some times playing with gen sets, some times playing with pumps, some times playing with human waste (shit piss and tampons) in clogged holding tanks.

Nowadays I’m paid to drive around and effectively play text based video games (there ain’t a lot of difference between “you are in a cave, there is an angry dwarf…” and cisco config stuff… ) for an hour or two, or move some routers / switches and patch cables, now and again I will swap a mainboard, psu or hard disk.

When I finish a job I’m not smeared from head to toe with an amalgam of lube oil, diesel, grinding disk compound, welding rod spatter, lithium grease and human shit.

Yesterday, cos guys are like that, I sent a text to a mate of mine trapped in a job he wants out of, but there are no real alternative jobs in the county and anyway his house won’t sell, the text said worked two hours last tuesday, and had an attachment of the pint of beer I was sitting drinking outside a pub.beer5… lrfh

He sent me a text back… “Bastard”

This is the same guy who was telling me a few weeks ago that my job would never do him, it just didn’t pay enough money, after I had explained it paid ENOUGH money in exchange for bugger all work and zero personal responsibility….

So after the beer I meet some old skank, take her back to mine, dump two loads of cum into her and then she is off, back to her latest boyfriend… it’s an open relationshit… apparently…

I crawl into bed and sleep the sleep of the innocent, wake up this mo’nin, hullo clouds, hullo sky, hullo coffee, it’s a hard fucking life, but someone has to do it… lrfh.

Back in the day, when I was working in ambient 40+, smeared in shit and grease, I was trying to achieve something, I was trying to be the best and what I did, I was trying to earn respect, I was trying to earn money, I was trying to “make” something of myself.

No young boy actually wanted a Lamborghini countach, you wanted a lambo to impress and pull GIRLS… that was the fucking truth… sure, it was dressed up as one-upmanship over other guys, but again, that was just to get the girls…

I spent a lot of my life either directly or indirectly trying to get a woman, or keep a woman, cos, again, it was just one of those things you did, everyone knew that… course, I never really called it that, I called it trying to earn money, trying to be ace at my trade, trying to make something of myself.

My now departed dad, well, NOW I realise there where a whole lot of things he didn’t tell me, why should he, I would either work it out for myself, or I wouldn’t, and there was no other way to that knowledge than working it out for myself.

With 20/20 hindsight, he dropped a LOT of hints, and said a lot of things that just sounded like off the cuff remarks to a blue pill me, funny as fuck.

Even funnier now, now I get the joke, and I was the joke.

Same sort of off the wall shit I am saying to my mate who I sent the beer pic to, which he don’t really get, yet, one day he will.

My mate, like the guy on his 45th install, ain’t happy in his job, which is crazy, because they both have great fucking jobs that they could do in their sleep, but unfortunately they give a shit, and are trying to get ahead, and MAKE SOMETHING OF THEMSELVES.

Thing is, you can’t make something out of yourself when a big part of what you call yourself isn’t you, but just a load of shit you’ve picked up along the way.

When I was 20 I read a quote, it said; “Death is not the end of life, character is the end of life.

Like a lot of the off the wall stuff my dad used to say to me, it made me laugh and I thought it funny enough to remember and quote again, but, I didn’t fucking GET it.

Character is, of course, me + all that shit that goes to make up “trying to make something of myself”

Take away all that shit that goes to make up “trying to make something of myself” and what is left is ME, and suddenly life is no longer over.

You know, I don’t even regret the 50 years of my life that have gone by, before I started to really get all this shit, because the fact is that much time and experience pretty much HAD to go by, before I could get this shit…. you can’t make a 40 year old VSOP Cognac in less than 40 years.

Take at look at this sad cunt http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2347887/Money-doesnt-buy-happiness-says-Bernie-Ecclestone.html

The guy is worth 3 billion Pounds, and says ‘I am not sure what happiness is’

Well Bernie, I am worth about 3 thousand Pounds, and I dunno what love is, but I am happy.

But then look what Bernie did with his life, worked like a cunt trying to “make something of himself”, got married (and divorced) three fucking times, had two daughters who are loyal to their mum, not to him… see a pattern here..?

Of COURSE the cunt is miserable…

He should have quit when he was 50, in 1980 when he was only worth a few hundred million, and retired to a tropical island and spent the rest of his days wandering around bollock naked trying to perfect coconut wine.

As my quote above specified, Bernie died fucking decades ago, so did everyone else you can shake a stick at.

My employer doesn’t get it, all they can think of is fucking “career advancement” CCNA > CCDA > CCNP CCIP CCDP CCVP, cos you will earn lot’s more munnay.

Dude, I am in my fucking fifties, I already have all the qualifications I want, if I was CCn/i/d/vP I’d be expected to work my fucking ass off, pressure, responsibility, yadda yadda yadda, what the fuck.

Back in the day, when you retired from a company after many years of service, they gave you a fucking gold watch, which was symbolic of the fucking company giving YOU back YOUR time, to do with as you wish (remember, public timekeeping was used so workers could get to work on time).. well thanks for fucking nothing.

Back in the day, I had CHARACTER, now, I have ME.

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