Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

February 2, 2013

Truth or Dare

I see a lot of posts in the MRM talking about religion, and the lack of religion as being part and parcel of the breakdown of marriage 1.0 and the declining standards of wimminz etc.

Substitute any other hobby horse you like for “religion” and you just covered 99% of the manosphere.

Thing is, this is dishonest, and the problem really is not that complex.article-2271953-1749181F000005DC-536_306x423

What all these hobby horses have in common is the exact same thing, pressure on the wimminz in question to stand by her word.

It really is as simple as that.

It’s not that marriage 1.0 wimminz stood by her man because she had religion, it’s that she stood by her man, the why doesn’t matter a damn.

If you owe me 50 bucks, I really don’t give a fuck what your motivation was for repaying me, all I give a fuck about is you repaying the 50 bucks when you said you would.

It could be because god told you to, or it was a day with a T in it, or a black cat crossed your path, I don’t give a flying fuck, any more than I would if those same reasons were used by you to justify not paying me back on time.

99.999% of what I give a fuck about is you standing by your word, and paying me back when you said you would.

I’m not sure why most of the MRM appears to care about the reasons, and not the actions, but I do have a theory.

That theory is you can’t really give a fuck about other people standing by their word unless you give a fuck about standing by your word… I think the two processes are indivisible.

I fucking detest my psycho skank ho ex, and all the secret family court lawyers and judges etc, because they make it impossible for me to stand by my word (it was implied, not stated, to an unborn child, but that does not matter to a man) and be there to care for and teach my sons… I was left with two choices;

  1. Break that implied word / duty by being imprisoned for refusing to stop trying to keep it.
  2. Break that implied word / duty by walking the fuck away and refusing to let them make me a niggerz

Let me give you a small example.

There is a phrase that I can remember my mother saying to me as a small boy.

Much of the MRM will say this is because my mother was a religious woman who entered into a marriage 1.0 with my father, etc etc etc.

I have no way to prove it, but I would bet large amounts of money that this is a phrase my sons will never hear from their psycho skank ho mummy, nor is it something that any other skank ho single mummies ever say to their kids, it has been lost from society.

This is the phrase that my mum said to me, when I lied to her, when she asked me if I had Tom’s mum’s permission if Tom Dick Harry and I could all go out to play in the woods.

My mother (e.g. my grandmother) always said she would rather have a thief in her house than a liar, because if you have a thief in your house all you have to do is lock your nice things away, but there is nothing you can do with a liar.

Certainly for the first half of my life I struggled with that more than anything else, in the here and now of goldfish memory telling a lie is the quick and easy way out, or way in, or way to get something, or way to avoid something.

It was complicated by the fact that at school telling a lie and so not grassing up a fellow pupil was seen as being more honourable than telling the truth and grassing them up.

No Sir I don’t know who did it Sir” was always better than “Yes Sir Jimmy did it Sir

But I always struggled with this, because it meant that telling a lie was better than telling the truth, and also that telling the truth was more important than honour and loyalty to your classmates.

Rather like a computer given an impossible task, my solution was not a solution at all, in that I did not come up with it, it just happened, endless feedback loop, zombie children roaming in the pipes.

My “solution” was to simply refuse to answer the question.

Did you hear the question boy?

Yes Sir.

Are you going to answer it then?

No Sir.

And so it came to pass that I very quickly gained a reputation for what was classed as “dumb insolence“, which followed me through my scholastic career and in many ways blighted it.

Of course to the tyrannical and authoritarian masters at school, I was the Antichrist, but there were some others, who never commented upon my dumb insolence, but who never asked me those kinds of questions again, and who sometimes had a kind word to say to me and a gentle smile.

In hindsight I can also see that despite the exhortations of my parents to work harder at school and to stop constantly being in trouble, not once, ever, was I chastised for my dumb insolence, which was after all the cause of it all…

Back then I could never have predicted seeing my own sons in similar unpleasant circumstances, or hearing about such things anecdotally after I was barred from contact with them, albeit domestic rather than scholastic circumstances, and I hear that the boys just go all quiet and stubborn when asked to agree to something that they know is not true.

While I think the would would be a better place is there was a lot more dumb insolence in it, this isn’t about blowing my own trumpet.

Most people will either lie about who did it or grass Johnny up to the teacher, people like me are the outliers, I know this, but perhaps we are also the canary in the coal mine.

People who have more than a passing fondness for the truth, people who have already been butt-fucked enough for their fondness that they no longer hold out any hope of getting a fair shake of the stick, people who may not have been thoroughly honest all their lives, but people who do not have a pile of things accrued through lies and deceit.

The trick of course is to not be the canary in the coalmine, be the jackdaw in the trees outside the coalmine, let some other fucker be the lighting rod.

In hindsight, that is the lesson that it took me 30 years after school to learn.

January 7, 2013

Paris by air

I often find myself quoting the wisdom of St Francis to people, “Lord, grant me the strength to change the things I can, the serenity to deal with the things I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference.” because it especially applies to the wimminz, but there are two other bits of wisdom to impart.

  1. Some shit, just eat it and walk away, because life is too fucking short to fight every battle.
  2. Life’s a bitch.

You see the thing is, it probably doesn’t matter who or what you are, a wimminz, an employer, a guy walking down the street, a mugger, what probably does matter is something about me.

I am a lousy bet.

Wimminz, I am a lousy bet because I have eaten so many red pills I now piss and shit them, for employers I am a lousy bet because I have been through all the stunts that employers pull, and the beat goes on.

So all of you can shaft me for little things, see point 1 above, but getting me to commit to the point where I expose myself to the bigger things, well, good luck with that.

There is an article in the press today that our leaders are warning out that outlaw patch motorcycle gangs are making inroads into society and we the sheeple need to be on the look out for outlaw biker gang wars over turf for things like drugs and prostitution etc.

Being a lousy bet means I can handle these guys, I got nothing they want and they got nothing I want and we say “Hi bro” to each other and go all snake eyes and nod and go our separate ways.

And yes I know all about the criminal enterprises some patch clubs get up to to earn a crust, but I also know that in reality they are small time bit players, if ALL you look at is their ability to distribute drugs as a part of the whole drug scene for example.

The other thing about patch clubs is they aren’t exactly the invisible fucking man, mr incognito, the wraith…

There are all sorts of things the guy stood next to you in the checkout queue could be, off duty policeman, swinger, doctor, wimminz outreach co-ordinator, but if the guy stood next to you is full patch, you will fucking know.

Speaking personally (and I had more than one opportunity to prospect for true outlaw patch clubs) my big problem with it was the patch was a huge fucking target on your back that you wore 24/7, and the remuneration frankly wasn’t that good.

And then I saw other things, and while the temptation for the reader is to say yeah yeah anyone an say this shit, the fact is, club business is club business, so even though through circumstance I have been party to some of this, and could drop names, and could tell stories about outlaw chapters formed from member ejected from mainstream well know outlaw patch clubs  for being too fucking violent and out of control, and some of the shit THEY got up to, I won’t, because you don’t tell tales out of school, especially not to write a book or big yourself up.

Ultimately above the patch club there is the brotherhood, so the things individual chapters have pulled, or the things individuals have pulled, don’t outweigh the principle of being loyal to the brotherhood as a whole, or hanging your dirty washing out in public.

Nevertheless, there are things that can be discussed.

One of the things you can discuss is the fact that veterans returning from overseas conflict is something that periodically happens, and they are a different breed to the guy recruited off the street, so you get demographic and generational changes and swings in any individual club or chapter, and for me personally I always found it was the veterans who I got on with best, you could fuck up and get into a fight and literally two minutes later fuck it bro, cheers, swig a cold one through the blood and swelling bruises, and grin, whereas the ones recruited off the streets were always, to me, little peacocking motherfuckers out to climb another run on the ladder.

That was always the source of negative waves for me, the prospects and new shiny patch members saw me as an outsider, much much much less than them, and yet here are the prez, the sergeant, the enforcer all allowing me to turn up unannounced at their front doors, it was enigmatic and confusing for them, which I get, but it was only enigmatic and confusing because they did not have first hand experience of the real enigmatic and confusing things in life, such as lying in a ditch somewhere trying to fuck yourself into the ground while the lead spanged overhead.

So now we have the latest spat of foreign conflicts producing disillusions and disaffected vets returning home to a home that no longer exists and welcomes them, and some of these guys like the nam vets and so on will end up gravitating to the outlaw patch clubs, so suddenly you have groups of disaffected vets associating with each other… and if you are the big daddy state, that needs to have a bunch of people assigned to it…

So while I personally am not prepared to put that patch on myself, assuming they would have me, after all, as said above, I am a lousy bet, it also has to be said that the brotherhood never fucked me over, but the state did…. so if push comes to shove it ain’t hard to work out where my sympathies lie, and which group I personally identify with the most.

Which brings me to one of the janes, the one I fucked saturday night into the wee hours, it wasn’t constant fucking, there was talk too, and so here is the slim fairly sexy just in her 30’s babymomma and she starts talking about 9/11 and the two towers in “free-fall collapse” and building 7 which wasn’t hit by anything etc.

She knows she is “a lousy bet” as far as the state is concerned, because she knows like J Edgar and “un american activities” and witch-hunts, it only takes a stroke of the pen for her to become one of the undesirables, she doesn’t have to actually DO anything wrong, just fit into a demographic, like the returning vets who gravitate towards patch clubs, that someone decides bears watching and monitoring.

In the paper article that talked about these impeding immigrant biker club turf wars, the comments section was delicious, with comparisons drawn to Abu Hamza al-Masri, asking, tongue in cheek, if these immigrant outlaw patch clubs will be given council houses and state handouts and so on, like the other 850,000 illegal immigrants to the UK currently living here and not being deported.

Credibility given towards the MSM premise that these are all nasty evil criminal gangs involved in drugs and vice was approaching zero, or if it was above zero is was so what, when compared to bankers and politicians.

Contrast the song above with a comment I heard from a man who said to me “…of course, the last time I saw Paris by air, it was to drop bombs

As I have said before, the common misconception is that our leaders are any smarter or more competent at their jobs than the average droid in the geek squad down at the local chain computer store.

What people do not get is the danger inherent within that statement.

When you give incompetent people power, and when the wheels start to fall off the wagon, they always, always, always use that power to try to fix things, and they always, always, always, just fuck things up even more.


We are hearing a lot in the news about gun control in the USA, and the random shooting sprees, and of course the MSM makes a point of NOT covering storied where the random shooter get shot by someone carrying, such as happened December 17th 2012 in San Antonio, before they can kill a mass of people and then get suicide by cop.

It occurs to me that you never, ever, ever hear about one of these shooters getting tooled up with their arsenal, and then going out to the local gun range to see how many people they can kill… it’s always a fucking school or similar.

Anders Breivic did this too, because the MAIN PURPOSE is always the same, to kill as many as possible, so obviously you go where the odds are stacked in your favour, and you do not go somewhere were it turns into a game or personal survival, who is the baddest badass before game over.


Following on with this simple logic.

If you wanted to be a successful big time drug dealer and vice kingpin, the last thing you would ever fucking do is state that all members of your criminal society must wear a uniform which makes them stand out in any crowd anywhere any time of day or night, which is why I said in read at the top of this, sure, there are some patch clubs and chapters and member who deal in drugs and vice, but they are small time compared to the market as a whole.

Ergo, attempting to associate them with impending turf wars for drugs and vice is yet more smoke and mirrors, if you gave a shit about drugs and prostitution you have to start with the police force, they are the ones who have to take the payola to turn the other eye while THE VAST BULK of these industries progresses.

But again, as said above, you have to be both competent at your job and intelligent to see this, and those in control are neither, no more competent than the drones in the geek squad.

Just because I choose to not personally become closely involved with patch clubs does not mean I am unable to tell when they are getting a bum rap.

The now dead Sir Jimmy Savile is being open called, without quotes, a paedophile in the MSM now, despite never having been convicted much less charged with anything, and lo and behold there are teams of lawyers trying to track down his allegedly missing millions, so that the alleged victims can get some compo… again, it is a bum rap…

Gary Glitter / Paul Gadd, another bum rap.

Not saying any of these people or groups are saints (and please do not try and draw any lines between me talking about Jimmy Savile and me talking about patch clubs in the same post) or anything even approaching it.

Am saying that those busy flinging the shit are the same in both cases, big daddy guvvmint and the MSM, and am saying that these people have previous form for getting it horrifically wrong, and making up out of whole cloth reasons and allegations that suit pre-ordained conclusions and end targets.

Even the janes know this shit.

And the incompetent leaders with vast powers that we have know that even the janes know this shit.

And THAT, my friends, is why you should fucking worry, and in the meantime do your best to avoid being included in any category that they deem needs special attentions.

January 2, 2013

Easyriders, and falling in love with whores.

Back in the mid 70’s there was an English bike rag with a comic at the back featuring malcolm, a dipshit wannabe, and ogri, a guy with stubble, antlers on his helmet (helmet laws came in in ’74) and a Norvin.

It was good as far as it went, but across the pond there was a bike rag that went by the name of Easyriders, after the film.

Now before you go off one one, Bike in 1975 had fuck all similarity to Bike in 2013, assuming it is still in print, and Easyriders in 1975 had fuck all to do with Easyriders today.WTF-Mom

While the UK rag had a bit of irreverence here and there, mainly in the cartoon at the back, Easyriders back then was chock full of it from front cover to back… the bay area was a bit too far away to get to on my trusty A10, but the magazine was available if you knew where to look.

Looking back the things that stay in the memory are the Dave Mann centrefolds, the assorted crap from JJ Solari, and the assorted vitriol of Spider, now JJ was never a biker, but he could write some funny stuff and some of his observations were good, so anyway there is a skit in I think ’76 or so all about hookers, and how they classified the johns.

What it boiled down to was that according to hookers there were about six sorts of customer, once they got in the bedroom, and two of these were “ooh baby don’t we fit together so well” and “my wife doesn’t understand me but you do” only those weren’t the names given.

Despite all the modern “you don’t pay a whore to fuck, you pay her to leave” shit, what it boiled down to was four of the six types of customer were paying the whore for the illusion of companionship and intimacy, one of the others was the type who couldn’t get a woman without paying, and the last type was the one buying “no comeback” sex because they were married and didn’t want anything threatening that like the mistress turning up at work… I suppose you could have called this one the “pay her to leave” group.

The bit I didn’t get at the time, because I myself was too young and inexperienced, was that EVERY SINGLE INDIVIDUAL WHORE would be seen in six different ways, not depending on what she was, but depending in the class of john who happened to be pumping her right then.

You can be a john, and go to a whore, and see her one way, but to be a smart john you have to see the other five types of john, and how they see the same whore.

So you log on to PoF to try and find some pussy, and you read a profile.

Or you can be smarter, and use several websites, including a couple of swinger sites, and you see she also has a profile on a swingers site, with quite a different profile.

Or you can be a smarter and more experienced guy, and cross check and correlate the escort / whores websites too, and see her on there as well, with yet another different profile.

Sucks donkey balls if you only ever looked at the PoF profile, met her, and decided to see her regular like…

As someone who has been aware of this for a while, I have been looking for some rules of thumb.

Is she over weight? Does she like gangbangs? This sort of thing, but, correlation is not causation, how ever close it may follow, and over time I have only come across one reliable indicator of any kind.

The wimminz is question sees sex as an act, trying another cock is no different to trying another dress, and I have literally heard that exact phrase from these wimminz.

For sure, the more dresses you try on, the less each new one signifies, shiny, pretty, until the next one, and the last one means as much, literally, as the boxers I threw in the laundry this morning when I grabbed a fresh pair out of the drawer.

This is a recipe to get hurt, badly, if you are any of the four main classes of johns, e.g. any of the four main classes of MEN, who are seeking some sort of illusion of companionship or intimacy.

So tick follows tock and the clock and calendar rolls over from 2012 to 2013, and many of the other so called MRA websites are all HAPPY NEW YEAR BITCHEZ to the readership, but really it is much more welcome to the new boss, just the same as the old boss, because the inherent nature of the battlefield has not changed.. look at the tales of the English and German troops playing football in no man’s land in WW1, it didn’t mean shit because the next day it was back to the killing.

So I can sit here and cry in my beer and wonder why at this romantic time of year Jane49 hasn’t texted me for two days or bounced up and down on my cock for two weeks….

…or I can sit here and realise it is because she hasn’t decided to try a new dress on yet, and when she does she will call me, and the worst thing I can do in the meantime is call her like some lovesick puppy, and the best thing I can do is keep that production line going for jane50, jane51, jane52 etc.

One thing I can guarantee, no john is ever the first or only client of the whore he is visiting, and this is double true of all the wimminz out there, AWALT… without exception every single one of them has a string of johns who did the lovesick puppy thing, another lovesick puppy, NO MATTER HOW GOOD AT IT YOU ARE, is about as interesting to them as a 1995 fashion item…… like, wouldn’t be seen fucking dead with it.

So really all that is left in me is the pining for the fjords, wishing it were another way, but I might as well wish not only for the sandpile and toy cars when I was 7 years old, but also the innocence of the 7 year old, which was required to make those simple games so much fun.

That is really what I mourn, and what hurts inside me and all men, not the fact that AWALT, but the lost innocence within ourselves, back when we believed in loving girlfriends and wives and mothers of our children, not AWALT psycho skank ho’s

And so since the only other option is misery and I am a survivor, I have learned the lessons the skank ho’s have been so eager to teach me, jane49 means as much to me as the boxers I threw in the wash this morning, sure, nice and comfy and I’ll be happy to wear them again, but whenever they rotate back to the top of the pile of clean boxers, or never again, bin em and get a new pair, it really is no big deal.

Which is why I sit here and raise a glass to myself, to the wimminz of 2012 who had never done anal, till they met me, and the day I eventually persuaded them to do anal for me was the last day I fucked them, because then I had had everything that was new that they had to offer, and there are so many more pretty dresses to try on.

It is time for me to misquote Oppenheimer quoting the Hindu text….

Behold, I am become death, destroyer of wimminz assholes

Fuck it, it’s better hours than being a lovesick puppy.

December 28, 2012


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

The little involuntary and entirely non-verbal squeals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what happend next? I asked him.

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

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

So long and thanks for all the dog.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


December 27, 2012

Perceptions, illusions and reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


December 21, 2012

Giving a fuck.

Tis the season of goodwill and all that bollocks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 9, 2012

What it means to be a man and a father in 2012 AD

I’m late and it’s worrying me

So take the morning after pill bitchez, not interested, not my problem, now, are you going to bounce up and down on my cock or what…

This is one reality, once you wise up and reject the fiat currency capitalism and work ethic, you render yourself legally and financially immune to the whole child support racket… hell, I have a very good friend, a fellow FRA victim, who said fuck it and goes to the doctor once every three months to get a sick note for stress and anxiety caused by the FRA, he’s been doing it four, getting on five years now, living off the state, doesn’t work a lick, he says his is the only sane response to a state that amongst other things punishes men and fathers and rewards FRA’s and skank ho single mommies.High-Pressure-Sodium-Lamp-JY-1-

Here in Cornholeville, if you know where to look, you can tell that despite all the bluster and bullshit the ill winds of financial collapse are finally making themselves felt at the highest levels of the local state teat, the council and councillors.

Naturally with all these people the response is the same, shades of the two leased german executive saloons on the driveway being the last thing to go, while the fridge is empty, have to keep up the appearances of success at all costs.

And so it is that all the high profile very visible and very expensive stuff is all ring-fenced and untouchable, while on my regular evening drive to visit and check on an elderly relative what I first assumed was a dead street light has evolved into patches of urban darkness, the street lights near shops and junctions remain on, the other are going dark as early as 6pm

To be sure, each 400 watt sodium light turned off is a saving of say ten hours @ 400 watts = 4 kWh of electricity, which at current domestic prices = 4 x 14 = £0.56p

From the Cornholeville PR blurb about this, we have some 72,000 street lights costing some £3 million in electric every year, so perhaps a 10% reduction in this is £300k per year…. these are best case scenario numbers.

At £2 million a year each, the police helicopter would make a far greater saving, you just don’t need a fucking helicopter to catch burglars and twocers, it is a fucking scandalously profligate waste of resources.

You can ALWAYS do this, create a list of the shit that REALLY matters, road surfaces, signs, and furniture in good order, regular rubbish collection, maintenance of public lands and pathways, enforcement of local civil and planning regulations, some basic public services such as a library and you’re good to go, not much else that is important to the community, and lo and behold you just accounted for a 5% slice of the pie chart of local government expenditure, assuming you are allowed to see the actual figures that is….

The other 95%, that’s all shit, ring-fenced shit.

Wimminz be like this, tell em something has to give and they always start looking at the 5% of basic essential stuff, while the 95% of non-essential bullshit is ringfenced and simply not up for negotiation.

For X amount of money I can either go out and buy an iPhone5, or a separate washing machine and tumble dryer, hell, I can walk into my local bike shop and buy a brand new 2013 Triumph Bonneville (assuming I was daft enough to want one) for £99 a month, I know one wimminz paying that for a fucking Sky subscription, and another wimminz paying that for an iPhone5 + iPad on network subscription….

My washing machine and tumble dryer means all my clothes and bedding and towels and everything are always clean and fresh and dry, it has UTILITY.

For all its faults, a new bonnie would make me mobile and give me transport and allow me to commute Auf Viedersehn Pet style from the UK to Germany Monday to Friday to work, it has UTILITY.

To be fair, these are tough choices in some ways, I can sit at home with clean and dry clothes and a bonnie to get me to work, and no toys to entertain me or distract me or pass the time, but nevertheless this is life, you have to make choices, and the choices are not always as easy as these, and the future consequences not as easy to predict.

I faced such a choice when my own psycho skank ho he went nuclear and dropped an FRA on me to steal my kids away, suddenly all the “right” and “best” options were taken off the table, the only choices left sucked donkey balls and had impossible to predict future consequences.

God, Allah and Fate willing, my sons will reach the age of 16 and no longer be subject to the whims of the secret family courts, that is one of the more concrete future milestones in my life, between here and there everything is hazy and obscured and unknown, so making choices is tough.

Of course WHEN they reach 16 they will have their own agenda’s, and it is quite possible that psycho skank ho mummy has managed to instil a belief in a dead beat abusive dad who never gave a fuck about them and who they are better off without. Nothing I can do about that.

On the other hand, it is also possible they will decide to find this “daddy” and see for themselves what the fuck it is all about.

In THAT scenario it doesn’t take much brains to work out that there is a world of difference between them finding some broken down loser who has taken it up the ass from the skank ho and the state and cried in his beer, and them finding a man who when faced with a harsh choice decided that his sons would find a MAN, a man who could still be some use to them, teach them shit, hopefully help them catch up a little on the essential knowledge and skills they have missed out on.


I WILL NOT EVER LIE TO MY SONS, neither will I ever say anything other than this, no matter what the incentive, to anyone.

The above paragraph alone means that I will never seen my sons before the age of 16 (or maybe ever) because until that age those in control of their lives, psycho skank ho mummy and the secret family courts etc, will ensure that I do not…

Mummy says you hurt her and you don’t love us and you left us all alone

Should I be given or offered any hope whatsoever of seeing my sons, it will be on condition that I do not do anything but meekly accept such statements as fact, which means if I went along with the bullshit and effectively condoned the actions of psycho skank ho and the secret family courts et al, the person the boys might eventually be allowed to meet might well be their biological father, but he would not be a man, or anyone they could respect, or anyone ever able to help them… nor would his word be worth a damn when he did say “I love you Son”

Tough fucking choices for a man and a father in 2012 AD, and I am only one of hundreds of new men each fucking day drawn into the machine and faced with these choices.

While I am not incarcerated, my doors have locks but I hold they keys, my rooms have light switches on the inside, and I can come and go as I please, I have much in common with the wrongly convicted prisoner serving a very long sentence for a crime he did not commit.

I can continue to refuse to accept my guilt, and do the whole 16 years of hard time, or I can go along with what the machine wants, accept my guilt and get out on parole in three years with good behaviour.

In the latter case a man went into prison, and died there, and what came out was not a man.

I said above, I will not lie to my sons.

That means that when they are 16 they may walk up to me and say the following;

So dad, what you are saying to me is that in order to preserve yourself, you basically abandoned me and my brother to mum and the courts.

and I will have to say “Yes Son, because it is not a battle I could have won, I would have lost and gone to prison and made every lie they told about me true, and you and your brother would STILL be a ward of the courts and property of your mother.

Do I feel good about that? Do I feel proud of it? Do I feel I have done my duty as a father? Do I feel that I have shown my love for my sons? etc etc… fuck no.

It’s a gamble, your mother and the state pointed a loaded gun at my head, so I had to make a tough choice, and the tough choice is to give up all hope of being a father to you, ever, in the hope that in doing so I could at least teach you something worthwhile, how to be a man.

I don’t hope that you boys will ever love me, or ever like me, or ever want to spend time in my company, I haven’t earned any of that, and I am not going to give you any whiny shit about I wasn’t allowed to by your psycho skank ho mummy or the state.

I DO hope that you boys will see how a man acts when presented with truly horrible choices, and learn from that, and perhaps in time respect me a little for it.

I DO hope that you boys will grow up to say their dad was a cunt, but at least he was a man… and maybe feel a little pride that that same strength rests within you boys too.

December 7, 2012

Life is one big shit test

Chances are, if it, whatever it is, makes you angry, it is a shit test.

Chances are, if your responses upon feeling that anger are to express your anger, calmly, quietly, verbally, and then walk away, you just aced that shit test, by doing the exact last thing they hoped you would do.761Bv

Having a slow fuse is pretty much essential for beating shit tests.

Having a stiff neck too, because this prevents you turning your head while walking away so you can go back and check on the results.

It’s pretty much baa baa black sheep time, you have to deliver your response and walk away, you can’t lead a horse to water.

This is all relevant stuff, because as you get older you accumulate experiences, and these experiences reflect back upon your demeanour and attitudes….

If your dad died on the 17th December 2000, your son died on the 18th December 2001, your best friend died on the 19th December 2002, your wife ran out on you on the 20th December 2003, and your dog died on the 21st December 2004 then right about this time of year you are not in a good frame of mind.

Any shit test life throws at you now is likely to unleash additional anger, above and beyond what the shit test itself incurs, and this is important, because you must only respond with the appropriate level of disgust that the shit test alone warrants, go over the top and you go at a stroke from aceing the shit test to failing it, abysmally…

Yesterday I talked about knowing what to do, but having to sacrifice something and not be able to keep it in order to actually do that thing, today I am talking about shit tests, and I want to round this off with a third thing, a quote attributed to St Francis of Assisi;

Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change,
he courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.”

And so as it happens late last night / early this morning today I am granted another shit test in life, this time from a wimminz with a cunt full of my cum.

  1. In the knowing what to do and being prepared to sacrifice it, it is a case of telling her that her shit test was insulting and demeaning and angered me, and walking out, and not keeping my access to a total slut bod with monster tits and a tight cunt.
  2. In the shit test sense it is a case of allowing my righteous anger to flare, controlling it so it never gets past my eyes and tone of voice, and listening to that red pill that is the righteous anger in response to unjust treatment, and reacting accordingly, but with dignity and justice and maintaining the moral high ground.
  3. In the St Francis sense it is knowing that I cannot change the nature of the wimminz, having the courage to walk away from the poon, and being smart enough to know which one is useless wheel-spin burning up my tyres, and which one gets me outta there lickety split.

As I tell my wimminz who hope to graduate from pump and dump one night stands to FWB to long term FWB, being with me is an IQ test, if you aren’t smart enough to want, of your own volition and by your own efforts, to be with me, then you failed the fucking IQ test and you are no use to me.

Me trying to be nice to them, me trying to accommodate them, me pandering to their whims, all just turns into counter-productive effort, I enable their bad habits while simultaneously weakening my own moral position.

When a child misbehaves and stamps its feet and throws a tantrum the worst thing you can possibly do is reward that behaviour by telling the child you love them, or that they are beautiful, or special, or lovely.

You have to chastise them and explain the error of their ways.

There HAS to be an accounting, there HAVE to be consequences for transgressions, there MUST be a net mean worth that is affected negatively by negative actions on their part, and positively by positive actions on their part.

In the land of the blue pill here will be much gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair, but by doing this you risk losing the very wimminz you say is potentially so good for you.

On the contrary, all I am losing is the ILLUSION of this putative good wimminz, if she was genuinely good, then she would see the justice and truth and fairness in my position, and amend her own behaviour and attitudes, and show empirically by direct experimental proofs that she is indeed as good as she is made out to be in my dreams.

I was 17 and desperately in love with a very hot, very special, very sexy motorsickle, my dad came along to look at it, and basically found every single fault with it, and shattered my dreams and illusions and fantasies.

It was a tough fucking pill to swallow, but the old bastard was RIGHT.

I lost my faith in that particular bike, (Benelli 6 with 3,000 miles) but I retained my faith in motorsickles in general, and in my father in particular.

The irony here is the red-pill motherfuckers like me who have zero time for the wimminz and niggerz of the world, are the very ones most likely to keep faith with the real women, and the real men, should we encounter them.

On that day that my dad trashed the Sei he just trashed bikes owned by assholes who rode everything like they stole it, and consequently taught me to feel compassion for every motorsickle and car I did subsequently own…. even to this day I am the only fucker who around here who goes out in December, starts the car at idle and runs it at 750 rpm until I see the temperature gauge start to move.

All I ever hear is people telling me I am either lucky or good with vehicles, because I buy cars for less than a thousand euros in today’s money and drive them for three or more years, doing essentially no work apart from fluids and filters and pads…

A vehicle that has been owned by someone who rode it like they stole it can only ever be ridden like you stole it, and can never be relied upon to complete one journey, much less the return journey as well.

Same shit applies to wimminz/women.



December 6, 2012

“We know what to do…”

said a *very* senior EU official (about the impending financial collapse) “… we just don’t know how to do that, AND get re-elected…

Which really sums up man‘s troubles.

I know what to do, I just don’t know how to do that and ___________

Where the blank is “keep getting laid”, or “keep my husband” or “keep my job” or “keep my baby” or in fact KEEP anything.

Personal sacrifice, or rather lack of any personal sacrifice, trumps everything else, especially doing the right thing.im-not-saying-shes-a-slut

I had a fairly serious girlfriend some years back who wouldn’t TIUTA, her reasoning being she had tried it once with some other guy and hated it, fair enough, but the look of disbelief on her face some time later when the subject of marriage was raised was priceless, as I explained, marriage is all about personal sacrifice for the greater good of the marriage itself, you think there aren’t a whole bunch of things about marriage that I hate as a man… but would sacrifice enduring anyway for the greater good…

And so here we are, three weeks to Christmas, and good will to all men… and the three bears, and that was a fucking fairy story too…

The reality is a long term FWB started to get possessive, so kick to the kerb time, and a couple of short term FWB’s start to get demanding, so kick to the kerb time, and the hookup scene generally has gone a bit “black friday” with manic wimminz on the prowl for the “right” kind of man to tuck into the Christmas turkey with, show off to a few friends and relatives, and see in the New Year with.

When I got too old for toys and Christmas and shit, the wimminz always said Christmas was for the kids, then I grew up some more and got force fed red pills like a foie gras goose, and realised that fuck no, Christmas is exclusively for wimminz.

Not just “for wimminz”, but for wimminz emotional validation and sustenance.

See, like the long term FWB above, it may be Christmas in three weeks, and New Year’s in four, but it is Valentine’s in ten weeks, and all the wimminz know they need some time to work on a man to get him eating enough blue pills to be ready to drop on bended knee come Feb 14th and spring for that ring.

See, like the long ago serious girlfriend above who refused to TIUTA, as I said to her after we parted, or rather as we parted, when she had one last go at the “It is such a shame we didn’t work it out and get married” speech;

When you denied me access to your ring, you also denied yourself access to a ring from me

Naturally enough at this point she grudgingly granted me access to her ring… I knew it was a one off deal, and I knew what was expected in exchange, so I fucked her up the ass and then dumped her… in hindsight I look at that more naive me and wince… that could so easily have been followed by her dropping a dime on me to the boys in blue and making a false allegation…

In that instance, I knew what needed to be done, keep myself safe and free from her, but I did not know how, by just walking away and sacrificing my desire to fuck her up the ass, I didn’t know how to do the right thing, and keep the thing I wanted, so I ended up doing the wrong thing.

And on that note I have a man messaging me and asking me to fuck his wife like a dirty slut in all her holes… now there is a man who is burying doing the right thing, in order to keep access to the thing he wants… he isn’t even questioning the universal truth here.

By doing so, you render BOTH yourself AND the thing you want to keep worthless and tainted and iniquitous.

November 28, 2012

“lessons will be learned” – err, no they fucking won’t


The guy was a fucking MP for christ’s sake, even I can remember the rumours about him and I lived hundreds of miles away, and yet, purely by coinkydink you understand, enough “blunders” are made in several investigations to ensure that basically it all gets hushed up until long after he is dead and buried.

This is just one of numerous “scandals” that just sort of run out of steam before anyone gets thrown in jail in Rule 43 (segregated for their own protection) so all there are are rumours and allegations about north Wales kids homes, channel islands kids homes, Plymouth (Devon, UK) social services and judges and abused kids, and on, and on, and on.

Now finally the UK is in line with the rest of the western world, the head of the national bank is an ex (ho ho) Goldman Sachs employee.

It’s all just coincidence y’understand, and it is, in fact, once you factor in the real salient factors.

The real factors are that once you are in the club, you associate with people from the club, and you appoint and employ and promote other people from the club, after all, that is what they did for you.

Sure, people in the club may have moral issues of one kind of another, but they are in the club… and those they fuck over aren’t in the club.

If this sounds reminiscent of some inbred Texas chainsaw massacreee, well you wouldn’t be far wrong, cousin Delbert may well like choking chickens, but he is a cousin, family, after all, so fuck all them darned outsiders.

I have a mate who emails me about the dire state of things at his place of work, where he is tasked with doing various things and implementing various things in the IT department, of course he is given a budget of four bucks and some change to do this, and the next thing that happens is the board members just over-rule everything he does and appoints a nephew to run the corporate website and a friend to run the GPS/3G mobile station network and in clear violation of the IT policy they themselves told my friend to create and implement they authorise the purchase of some high end macbooks and ipads for current favourite managers and department heads.

I ask him what the fuck he expects, and if he thinks any other company in the country, or indeed the country itself, is run any different.

Last week I got a call, rescue me, from someone in his situation, nobody else in the company knew that the head of IT and I were old friends, so I turned up on a daily consultancy and made sure I stayed long enough for all the presentation bullshit and especially the free lunch, so immediately after lunch (3pm) it was my turn to speak.

So they are all sat there nursing black coffees after the cognac and cigars at lunch, and fiddling with their ipads slicing vegetables, and I am asked to stand up and speak about the corporate website and change driven technology buzzword buzzword leveraging the marketing paradigm etc.

So I stand up, “good afternoon gentlemen, thank you all for an excellent repast, now if you will all please pick up your ipads and enter this URL“, me holding up a piece of A4 with black marker saying http://www.competitor.com where “competitor” is one of the main competitors of this lot, and whose inroads into their sales figures are what prompted the whole “innovation driven change” policy and even more “friends and relatives” being brought on-board in senior positions.

So they all do this and the website in question pops up.

As you can see….” I say “….a traditional website design, navigation area on the left, search box top right, footer containing the usual links, but in its favour it loads quickly and works well

Heads are nodding but I can see I have already tried their patience, after all I was brought in to talk about THEIR new website, not their competitors….

So I hold up a new piece of A4 with http://www.yourcompany.com written on it, and ask them to enter the URL.

It takes about 60 seconds for all of them to do this, frown, poke their ipads some more, before someone else pipes up “It doesn’t seem to be working

Quite so,” I state, “….and that is because your new website is a steaming pile of crap that uses flash for EVERYTHING, and so to all your potential customers they are presented with a choice between competitor.com which won’t win any awards but just works, and yourcompany.com website which doesn’t work on any executive devices because it is 100% flash, and which is still a slow and steaming pile of shit on PC’s because apart from all the other design failures, the page turning animation sound for the catalogue section is a file that is big enough to contain all the text on competitor.com’s entire website.

Smiles around room

Thank you once again for the excellent lunch gentlemen, that concludes my presentation, for which there will be no charge.” Walks out of room studiously ignoring my mate who looks like a man surrounded by greedy relatives who has just realised he has a winning lottery jackpot ticket in his pocket.

I’m outside corporate hq trying to decide what to do with the rest of the day when my smartphone chirps, I have an SMS from my mate, “Man, that was fuckin awesome

He rings me later that night, still enthused, and tells me he wishes he has the balls to do what I did.

I tell him, it’s not a question of balls old son, it’s a question of no longer giving a fuck, and I no longer give a fuck because I have no overdraft, no credit card balance, no mortgage, no hire purchase, no car finance, no store cards, and of course no fucking wife.

In short, I am exactly the sort of person LEAST wanted by the boardroom, or indeed the club as mentioned above, because let’s face it, I make have fuck all, but I have fuck all to hide, so I can’t be presured or manipulated etc.

So here you go Jimmy, this one’s for you…

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