Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

September 12, 2013

It hurts, being a soldier, behind enemy lines.

In the postbag, stuff from guys toughing it out and swallowing red pills like ludes at a dead concert, yeah we know we are doing the right thing for our own survival, but why does it hurt so much?

In brief, it hurts because you are down behind enemy lines, on your own, it sucks, but it is better than being in the trenches outside Damascus.

It hurts, because not only the ones you correctly identified as your enemies are out to get you, but also those you formerly incorrectly identified as allies and colleagues.

It hurts, because it is lonely, you don’t have the faux comradeship and faux companionship you had before.

It hurts, because it is supposed to….

As for Damascus itself….

Well, in my day job, I turn up on site, after a bunch or resellers of resellers of resellers have resold a product, and outsourced parts of that product to four different suppliers at the end of four different reseller chains, of which I am but one.

The customer, the site, it is a major high street brand with over a thousand outlets in mainland England alone, you know the name, hell, you’ve probably spent money there yourself.

Fact is I could pull a couple of other equally large or larger jobs out of last weeks diary, the only reason I don’t is I couldn’t give *any* clues about who they are or what they do, or you would immediately know exactly who they were, but, the story is *exactly* the same.

So 5 site visits in a row to 5 different sites, and in every one, I cannot do the job I was there to do, and the reason I cannot do it is not;

  • that someone else forgot to tell anyone to do x
  • that someone wasn’t told by someone else to do x
  • that x itself wasn’t documented and planned up the wazoo

you get the picture.

No, the problem in every case is that everyone prior to me in the process has played their part, but the process itself is specifically designed so that no one person has any knowledge or interest in what those following on are supposed to do.

So one guy will come alone and install a new cabinet over there next to the spare power sockets, and another guy will come along and install the dsl/pstn lines over there next to the existing phone sockets, and the distance between the two “there’s” exceeds the length of the RJ11 cable supplied to connect the two together.

And nobody has done anything wrong, and everyone, even me, who doesn’t do the job he turned up to do, can get his paperwork signed, and everyone goes home happy, except the customer.

When things *do* work out, it isn’t because everyone is working to IS0/BS/six sigma or any of that crap, or because everyone is a certified nintendo developer, or because the whole project is managed and documented so well.

It is because there are enough people in the system like me, with a spread of knowledge and experience much broader than my job description calls for, who can go the extra mile in some cases, and use their fucking brain in others, so that the next guy in the chain can do his bit and forge another link in the chain.

Not *because* of the system, but *despite* the system.

If you think the fields of politics or economics or war are any different, you’re in for a rude surprise…. especially if you find yourself in a trench outside Damascus.

So, enough time has passed I can tell you a true story.

Anyone who has been in the armed forces knows it moves on bullshit paperwork, just like the jobs I describe above, with the added pleasure of you yourself being a thing with a number, not an intelligent free agent like I am at work.

So, let’s call him Pete.

Pete is an army driver, he is given orders and papers, go to the motor pool, draw a truck and 30,000 litre trailer, go here and fill the truck with diesel, then go here and deliver that 30,000 litres of diesel, then bring the truck and trailer back.

So, all goes well until Pete gets to his destination with 30k litres of diesel, and he is told we got no room, the bunkers are full, go away.

Pete goes back to the fuel depot, told to go way, no paperwork for no 30k litre delivery.

Pete goes back to his base and the motor pool, told to go away, no paperwork for a truck and FULL 30k tanker trailer.

Pete goes to a pub down the road to ponder his dilemma, everyone has been scrupulous in doing their job, nobody has done anything wrong, in fact to fix this problem, someone would have to exceed their authority and do something wrong.

Pete sinks a couple more beers, pondering all this, and a friendly local farmer offer to solve his problem, he will buy the 30k litres of diesel, at a discounted price, of course.

Pete sells the farmer the diesel, returns to base with an empty truck, waved straight through, job done, paperwork filled, away you go brother.

Of course, sooner or later the missing 30k litres was flagged and Pete got dishonourably discharged, which in reality didn’t bother him a bit, saved him 5 more years in the green.

Ok, we all know Pete did the wrong thing, but the situation he found himself in was not one of his own making, and if he hadn’t had that exact same sort of shit every other day of his life, he might have done the right thing that day.


But things become slightly more likely to escalate out of control in totally unplanned directions that have no stop, pause or rewind buttons, when you are playing around in potential war zones.

And if excuse like “but I did everything my job sheet said, and I got it signed off” or “but I was unable through the actions of someone else to complete my job sheet, but it clearly wasn’t my fault, so I got it signed off” become ever so slightly more annoying when we are not talking about a customer whose site is hard down with no net connection, but when we are talking about a village and 5,000 inhabitants turned into grit and brown paint.

So, brothers, it may be unpleasant to find yourself down alone behind enemy lines, but it will get several orders of magnitude more unpleasant if you are dumb enough to stick your head up outta your foxhole and ask where the pussy has gone.


August 8, 2012

“Take my hand motherfucker!”

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 4:31 pm


So you’re drowning, about to go down for the third time, and someone appears and says the above… do you;

  1. With heartfelt gratitude grasp his hand for all you are worth
  2. Jerk away from him and his filthy obscenities

Sure, gratuitous swearing is annoying, but how do you know when it is gratuitous? If you didn’t know who the guy in front of you in the gas station checkout queue is you may deem his expletives gratuitous and unnecessary, from his perspective he may have just had a phone call telling him to get to the hospital 150 miles away as his dad has had a serious heart attack, and he really doesn’t have time for the bitch in the queue holding everyone up while her precious kids run back and forth to the sweet counter grabbing more stuff… “Select your fucking items BEFORE you join the fucking queue!”

I get it all the time here, the stuff you say is great but your language puts me off.

Well, I guess you are too fucking stupid to notice you are being slowly boiled, Mr Frog.

Fuck you very much.

Fact is, my obscenity gives others an excuse, they can avoid addressing what I am actually saying, and instead complain about my obscenity.

So, it is a valid point that refraining from obscenity takes away that escape avenue, but the fact is (as anyone who has ever been in family court knows) that just because your language is polite does not mean that what you are saying, no matter how true, valid and pertinent it is, is going to be addressed.

The problem is not actually your language, the problem is the other person.

Your language is just a convenient hook for them to hang on their refusal to address anything you have to say…  but it gets worse…

By refraining from obscenity, you are in fact showing them respect for their attitudes, while in return they show utter contempt for yours (just not in obscene words, merely obscene deeds) which is not a good thing.


In real life when I say something obscene, such as “Fucking bullshit!” the reaction I always get is an embarrassed sort of shrug and snigger, and importantly, THEY STOP TRYING TO SAIL THAT LINE OF BULLSHIT PAST ME.

They know, if they don’t the next line is “What makes you think you can talk to me like a cunt and I’m just going to kiss your fucking ass?” or sentiments similar, and they never, ever, ever want to go there.

If I had a dollar for every asshole on the internet who said yeah, but in real life you’d be a right wimp, and then they meet me in real life and find that I am exactly what I sound like, you push into my space and I push back, hard, and yes I will call you a cock sucking motherfucker to your face, if that is how you act in front of me, or a fucking asshole, if that is how you act, or the best part of you ran down your mommy’s leg, if that is how you act.

Your move, asshole….

and their move is invariably and inevitably to find something far more interesting to do elsewhere…… I guess I was kind of taught this long before my own serious red pill FRA days

I was with this guy, we’ll call him Peter, I won’t mention real names but he isn’t exactly unknown, for an ordinary man, he has done some extraordinary things.

So anyway we are in a bar and some skank ho decided to play “lets you and him fight over me” and so the niggerz she is with starts to front up to Peter.. says his piece and it is Peter’s turn to respond.

So he drags on his smoke, toke style, looks at the skank ho and says “Here is how it’s gonna be, the winner is going to fuck you up the ass, hard, and then I’m gonna fuck the loser up the ass, hard.” Peter then sort of inclines his head side ways at me, he still hasn’t taken his eyes off the skank ho, and says “You want seconds?

I grin and (knowing my part instinctively) say “After your diseased cock? No thanks Peter!

The niggerz, throughout, because I have been watching him, has been watching the skank, after all, she was the one pulling his strings… now he turns to Peter and says “You’re fucking crazy

Peter now looks at him, all serious, and says “No, I’m the only sane fucker here, you want a crazy motherfucker, you go talk to my friend there” (meaning me) I grin…

At which point the skank ho, having realised that old Pete really will fuck up her shit for real, and fuck the consequences, pipes up with “Fuck these assholes niggerz, they ain’t worth it“, turns and walks away without a backward glance at niggerz

Niggerz sees his general abandoning the field, says “Yeah” in a macho voice, and backs off a step and then walks away.

and here’s the bit nobody ever sees…

Peter leans in and says thanks, I say no worries, glad it all blew over, Peter says not as glad as he is, last thing he wanted was a fight with some asshole over some slut and then one of them ends up in hospital and the other one ends up in prison, so he had to bluff them because basically with the skank ho calling the shots, but with no literal skin in the game, she would not have let him do what he wanted to do, which was just walk away.


No, I can’t cover this bet either, and I don’t even want to play or make the bet, but I am NOT gonna fold, and if you MAKE me play, I will bet everything I have and everything I might be on this hand.

You have to be REAL good and REAL lucky to beat someone playing that way.

And of you were that good, you wouldn’t be trying to bluff me into folding over a bet that I can’t cover anyway.



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