Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

January 14, 2013

It’s a wild world

I make lots of small bets with myself, like “that’s it, that bitch ain’t gonna ask me for another fuck” and so on, and often times I find myself wishing I was a much bigger cunt than I am, so that I could name names, post SMS history, use actual images.

It would be a lot easier to explain what I am trying to say that way.

For want of a better moniker, jane49 falls into this category, we met, we fucked like bunnies for a month or two, she pulled some typical wimminz dissembling bullshit on me, I called her on it, she went away with her feelings hurt, we still talk now and again, but she ain’t gonna ask me for another fuck, that’s my bet.

I’d quite like to fuck her again, massive tits, smells nice, good company, but that is just one aspect of her personality, the other aspect is the career girl…

Just this morning I was talking to another chick, this chick has been diagnosed as schizophrenic, but the ironic thing is, unlike jane49, this chick knows she has separate and conflicting personalities and desires, jane49 doesn’t, so as soon as her sexual life with me started to creep out of the petri dish that her career girl life imposed, everything got closed down.

It’s a fucked up world when those with severe mental issues are more honest with themselves and you than an apparently got it together independent career girl.

But it all serves to remind me of a simple fact of (my) male psychology, and that simple fact is that if a wimminz does not fuck me for two weeks, she is fading fast from my radar, and as soon as you start fading from my radar it is the good things that fade first, sure, I remember the GG cup tits, but with fondness not lust, meanwhile the negatives occupy more of the remaining radar plot, the skin that really should have been better on a 30 year old, the weight that really should have been 40lbs less, the way my bathroom stank of hairspray when you did stay over and got ready in the morning…

And then these fade too…

And then some months later I hook up with a chick who wants me to come over and use and abuse her, so the bitch gives me her address and zip for the GPS, and I think, “Hey, jane33 lived in that village, wonder what she is up to now” because the fact is jane33 fell off the radar, the same way jane49 is now, and so the road to oblivion and old age smelling of cats and piss is paved for all these wimminz.

There are a lot of janes’ out there that I simply pass on, unfuckable and nothing about them would induce me to waste an hour of my life in their company, and without exception if you could wind the clock back ten or twenty years, or cocks, or whatever, go back in time, they would have been different, they would have been a jane33 or a jane49.

I don’t even feel sorry for these janes’ any more, I don’t even sigh at the wasted potential… my life is too short to expend even that much time on their plight, because it is totally self inflicted.

But I am aware that there is a general social cost, a debt stored away for future redemption.

I am also acutely aware that I am living a lifestyle that is tailored to minimise my exposure, while living off the fat while I can, my current lifestyle is no more moral or high born than a crow, hopping across a battlefield and eating the eyes of the dead.

Fuck it, rather pull up some old David Allan Coe and chill.

But, I have to be honest, there is a nasty part of me that hopes he is still in contact with jane49 when the wheels fall off her wagon, ayup, “How’d that work out for ya?” and “Told ya so!” spring to mind.

See, let’s take jane49 as an example, the story and details will change with the jane, but the basic backstory and principle is all the same.

Jane49 has a house on a mortgage, but it is a modern mortgage, (back when I was a lad doing accountancy a mortgage = a debt = a liability, nowadays people call it a fucking asset… go figure) negative equity special before we even get a property crash, but thankfully for her she has some tenants in that are paying enough rent to cover the mortgage payments, so she just isn’t looking at what could go wrong here, or how wrong it could go, so her eye is firmly on the fact she just rolled a bunch of sixes in a row, and the only permit-able reality is she is going to be able to continue to roll sixes… you can try to talk to her about it, and she will accept that other outcomes are possible, dislike where that train of thought is going, and dismiss the whole issue, after all, she is rolling sixes.

She has a job here, some distance from her house, so she has a flat on a lease / rent, and her job is basically sales, and it is a foreign owned company, and 99% of what they sell is basically cheap imported crap from china.

Between this that and the other, despite the company car, she doesn’t save any money, all those salon treatments, nights out and so on.

So of course all it takes is a blip in the UK economy, which is tanking, or a blip in the chinese economy, or a simple thing like a blip in the exchange rate or shipping costs, and the whole business model of the foreign company she works for crumbles.

She isn’t going to get ANOTHER job elsewhere in sales, because the sorts of things discussed above hit the whole economy, it’s not like the kenyan coffee company goes tits up because of a civil war in kenya, so you can go work for the colombian coffee company instead.

The first thing the foreign company will do is drop the 9,500 chinese made things from the product line, and go back to the 500 EU made things, that’s called restructuring, and that means job losses across the board.

A “career” in sales isn’t a great thing when the economy tanks, and you have no savings, no transport when the company car is taken, no home because yours is rented out, and oh yeah, house prices just dropped 30% so you can’t sell as you owe £130k on a place that might sell at £100k, if you are lucky.

You’re now mid thirties, so your best reproductive years are behind you, and all you can do is wail that “Nobody could have predicted this!!!

Me coughs politely… “‘scuse me bitch, I did predict this, exactly… so remind me, bitch, this career of yours that was more important than a relationshit with me, how did that work out for ya?

And then we get to the nitty gritty… even if she threw herself at me, what’s in it for me?

It was all fine and dandy when the bitch had a disposable income and could feed and clothe herself and turn up at mine with a bottle and some eats, or I’d go to hers because she had a nice place and the heating was on and there was coffee in….

But NOW? Now you don’t have shit?

The really interesting thing, for the boy that used to do accountancy within me, is if you do a balance sheet for her life NOW, when everything is find and dandy and her career comes first, she is left with net liabilities, and if you do another one where she has lost her job / career, and her house is in 30% negative equity, she is still left with net liabilities, and to be honest, they aren’t THAT much greater than now.

The difference will be in the cash flow, income and expenditure department, she won’t be able to service those liabilities, or me…

And that little detail is what is going to screw up so many people that you won’t believe….

That little detail is why I can walk through the city centre, and see few people, and see almost nobody with bags of shopping, and all the shops are empty…. it’s not just a question of assets and liabilities, it’s a question of cash flow.

The greater your liabilities, the greater your minimum cash flow needs to be to keep you above economic stall speed, but the effects are the same when you hit it, game over and you fall out of the sky as an independent economic entity.

There is an old saying about being nice to the people you meet on the way up, because you will probably meet most of them again on the way down.

A lesson the janes of this world will learn the hard way.

January 4, 2013

It’s a jungle out there

There is a lot of talk about the pinnacle of feminazism… articles like this (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2256850/How-feminism-blame-breakdown-family-Left-winger-Diane-Abbott.html), and suchlike, but I have long said that you have to go where excesses are not merely permitted, but celebrated, to find the pinnacle.

The pinnacle of AWALT can arguably be found in the swinger community, and within that community with that subsection that consists of cohabiting or married male / female couples that regularly invite extra males to fuck the wife in question.

At this point I really do wish I could post some pictures, but that would be wrong and inviting trouble.

So I am going to start by asking you to imagine a hamster wheel running at top RPM, but with the bearings and everything else shot, a huge final death wobble on, but still actually rotating at this point.

What you have in the swinger sense is the female of said couple above, but this is a female well past her sexy prime, overweight or fucking obese, time doing a hatchet job on her, has to book 5 guys to “come around tonight and fill me with cum, any holes u like” in the hope that one or two will actually turn up, and none do, and she does the same thing next night, going dogging up secluded hill, with the same results, then posts an appeal at midnight, anyone wanna come and fuck me, with no results.

Where the choices are book ten guys that you select from profile and pics and maybe 2 or 3 will actually turn up and fuck you, and none of them are after anything more than a pump and dump, or go to a club scene where you can get ten guys to pull a train on you, but you don’t get to choose who.

The days of buy me drinks all night and maybe I will let you suck my tits are back there somewhere with the dinosaurs.

Yes folks, the swinging world is the last secret refuge of the entitlement princesses, Conan Doyle style, and somewhere under the island / hidden valley there lies a volcano about to blow its top.

The 35 year old obese cum dumpster loses out every time to the 32 year old in reasonable physical shape who hasn’t yet slid that far down the slope, and that is the real volcano rumbling away under the island.

The entitlement pwincesses seeking validation are already sliding into the magma chamber, on the slippery slope of ever decreasing SMV / sexual market value, and by the time they get to the point where they drop the “I’m being picky because I can” bullshit and sycophantic verifications from the three sad dweebs they did fuck last year to the reality of having to go dogging to get some cock and taking anything that turns up to dump a load, it’s no longer a slide, it is free fall city.

Jane49 is on the back burner, as / when / if she wants my cock again she will call, nothing I can do to influence that, so nothing is exactly what every sane man should do, nothing about jane49 that is…. never ever ever ask her when you are going to meet or fuck again….

Pulling the bits you like out of Jane49 like GG tits and a juicy cunt and ignoring all the defects is like taking a dump and a piss in a pot of stew and expecting people to compliment the dumplings…  you either take a bowl or pass…

Jane50/51/52 etc serve no purpose except to substitute for jane49 while jane49 is doing whatever passes for thinking about as / when / if she wants your cock again.

In fact calling it Jane49/50 etc is misleading, better to use mathematical notation  such as N and N+1, so JaneN and JaneN+1 etc… remember it is a fucking jungle out there, and survival of the fittest means the fittest to survive, not those who can do the most reps with 25kilo barbells.

Meanwhile back on the island of the damned once you get your survival shit down pat you get time to kick back and observe, and what you will observe is that it is a jungle out there, JaneN and JaneN+1 are in competition just as red in tooth and claw as anything they were prepared as a species to hand out to you, ape man…

And you can always spot the other ape men, those who have not learned the lessons, on the island of the damned pwincesses, they are the ones cracking jokes like “She asked me to give her nine inches hard and make her bleed, so I fucked her three times and punched her in the nose” and the ones making observations like “so the profile text is full of shit about safe sex and no condoms = no play, and the profile pictures show her being sandwiched by two bareback cocks..” all of which goes down like a lead balloon and cues a storm of wimminz and their pet niggerz dissing him for oppressing other people’s freedom or some such shit, or having an attitude problem.

JaneN and JaneN+1 face a problem a lot like western economists with QE, or outsourcing, or offshoring, or any of the other shit they pull.

It is always a race to the bottom, and it is always a tiger that once you climb on its back you WILL stay there, because you don’t know how to get off and are too scared of the consequences to try.

Just yesterday alone while using the browse function, I came across two profiles that stated “no I will not fuck your dog and then you” or variations upon the theme of bestiality, which is a classic proof of the race to the bottom, obviously enough requests for this are floating around for these two wimminz to feel the need to put that in their profile, and those requests can only come about because there are wimminz with lower SMV who have already offered this to these guys… N & N+1 can only go in one direction.

And let us not forget, what we see here is NOT the depths of depravity, this is arguably the PINNACLE of feminazism, in the swinging scene where the excesses of the pwincesses are not merely tolerated, but celebrated….

……. the magma chamber below the island of depravity hasn’t done much more than pass some gas yet, we are still in reel two of the show, many years ago I told a young woman that the day would come when she would beg for the opportunity to suck some cock in exchange for a dollar burger….

I said it because I remembered some mestizo puta blowing a donkey while some truck drivers stood around drinking beer and laughing, the better the job she did the more coins they threw at her feet, and it was fucking COINS, not notes.

those days are not here, not yet, we haven’t started the third reel, not yet….

…. but… anyone with eyes and a brain only has to look around and see UNSUSTAINABLE write large everywhere, in my city the January sales have materialised, but the shoppers have not, not only are there empty units in prime locations all over the industrial estate, but in the lawyers and solicitors quarter of town there are now empty buildings and offices in the street.

The empty lawyers offices and empty shops in the city centre are more significant than the empty industrial units in the industrial estate in so far as they show how far the rot is progressing.

December 23, 2012


If you have the mind to listen, I am about the give you one of the greatest pieces of real world advice you will ever get.

I’m an engineer by trade, out back I have a yard long stainless steel ruler, when I pick up that ruler and handle it, it now being winter, the ruler warms up and expands, if it warms up by ten degrees celcius then it expands by about 6 thousandths of a inch over the yard length.

This means that at any temperature but the one at which it was calibrated, this ruler reads wrongly. Fact is in the real world it is accurate enough, known as meaningful levels of accuracy.

Another thing you come across in engineering is round stuff, pistons, bores, you name it, and round stuff defines the ratio of diameter to circumference, also known as Pi, fact is, like the inaccuracies in the steel ruler, saying Pi = 3.14 is inaccurate and gives you wrong numbers, but in the real world it is good enough, meaningful levels of accuracy.

Within these meaningful levels of accuracy, you can go anywhere on the planet and ask for a piece of brass square bar an inch a side and twelve inches long and get the exact same thing.

You, the speaker, and them, the person you are speaking to, are in effect using the same dictionary… 1″ x 1″ x 12″ means the same damn thing everywhere on the planet, just to be sure you may get asked the question “plus or minus a sixteenth” (of an inch) just to verify that you are both talking about the same dimensions, AND the same meaningful levels of accuracy, TWO dictionary definitions, add a third dictionary definition such as “British Admiralty Brass” and you just nailed it.

With me so far?

However, when it comes to people in general, and niggerz and wimminz in particular, you start to run into real fucking problems.

The real fucking problems are based on the simple fact that you do not share a common dictionary.

I’ve talked before about the wimminz who didn’t count blowjobs as sex, but it goes much deeper than that, and spreads much further than that.

The fact is that every word in everyday use has a different meaning, depending upon who you talk to, you relationship to them, the time of day, how they are feeling, etc.

The fact is that this is DELIBERATE, because it gives room for maneouver and manipulation and expansion and expression and so on, these people really do NOT want to talk to you like an engineer.

The downside is it makes it almost impossible to communicate accurately, I had a pingback today that refers to me calling Jack Donovan a fag, and assuming that I used that word fag in a somehow negative or pejorative way, and that as a result I must dislike Mr Donovan, or fags, or something.

For the record, I’ve never met the man, but quite like a lot of what he says and sees, and only saw fit to mention his sexuality because it was pertinent to what I was saying, that it must be a lot tougher and more distasteful for a fag to use a straight wimminz as camouflage to get accepted by society than it is for the likes of me, who likes cunt, to use a straight wimminz as camouflage to get accepted by society.

But, the above misconception by the person making the pingback is a classic example of the difficulty posed by the lack of a common dictionary.

Jane47 eventually came around to being a fuck buddy by coming around to accept something I said the day we met, that the first challenge is to work on a common dictionary, all the “problems” that she imagined existed between us were in fact no more than artifacts created by the lack of a common dictionary… no more significant or meaningful in themselves than the moire patterns and compression artifacts in a jpeg.

But, I must repeat that for 99.999% of human beings this is a state of affairs that they prefer, they prefer no common dictionary, and if we are talking about a wimminz or a niggerz then they absolutely fucking depend on an arbitrary and constantly changing dictionary.

Trying to get a wimminz or a niggerz to ever agree permanently to the definition of even one single word is like trying to nail smoke to the wall.

Which is why, as alluded to in the previous post, you have to judge them all on their actions alone, NOTHING ELSE WHATSOEVER, just their actions.

As long as you have a hole in your ass you will never make any progress on the common dictionary with these people, and every explanation for that will be made in words taken from arbitrary and constantly changing dictionaries.

From their perspective, arbitrary and constantly changing dictionaries are a great thing, everything you can possibly find fault with, from being late to things not being done to last minute changes of plan or shifts in priorities can be neatly dealt with by these dictionaries…that’s not what I meant, or worse still, you should know what I meant or you should know me better by now.

For example, one of the greatest victories of the feminazis and those behind them is to constantly shift the definition of words so simple even a 5 year old can comprehend them, words like “rape” and “violence” and “family“.

Words like “democracy” and “freedom” and “taxation” and “budget deficit“.

Words like “shame” and “decency” and “honour“.

How can a man, or anyone else, “live by his word” or “be as good as his word” or be said of “my word is my bond” when words themselves are rendered meaningless?

Our words, or language, are not just the programming language with which we describe and interact with the world we have built, it is much more fundamental than that, our words and our language are our very DNA of the world and society we have built.

Destroying language is like destroying DNA, it doesn’t just give the odd cancer here and there, it fucks up all life everywhere, and all relationships between living things.

I cannot be a “father” not because of any lack within myself, or any fundamental physical or economic or social barrier, I cannot be a father simply because the meaning of the word has been annulled.

NOBODY can be a “father” any more…. and without a “father” there cannot be a “mother”.

At this time of year, it is perhaps appropriate to mention the Bible, and the roots of the Bible itself, the Book of Genesis.

After the great flood the survivors all spoke one language, and determined to take steps to see that such calamity would not befall them ALL again, so they determined to build something to prevent them all being scattered again.

God came down to see what they did and said: “They are one people and have one language, and nothing will be withheld from them which they purpose to do.” which of course would never do, so he said “Come, let us go down and confound their speech.

So it is hardly the first time the destruction of language was used to break the collective power of man.

Nor are these actions the actions of a being that is any friend of mankind.

December 19, 2012

Security theater vs real security.

A quote from a comment made by 8oxer to the last article

When I would talk to the hardcore MGTOW brothers, back in the day, I got the business constantly. It is as though some people believe that a redpill life is equivalent to joining a monastery, never having sex nor anything to do with wimminz again, and anyone who does not share their vow of celibacy is deluded, a fool, or a mangina white knight dog who is not true to the brotherhood. Such polar thinking does nothing to me. With that sort of black/white thinking one may as well just drop out completely, go live in the woods as a hermit, cut off his nose to spite his face, cut off his cock right after, and never talk to anyone again.

There is no shortage of people such as Bruce Perens who talk about security theatre, screening all passengers at London Heathrow airport for box cutters / stanley knives to prevent another “raghead muslim terrorist atrocity” is no more than security theatre, not real security, because Heathrow airport is only a couple of miles from several large indigenous raghead muslim enclaves, where lo and behold most of the airport and aircraft cleaning staff are hired from, at low wages, and they aren’t routinely screened and they could leave box cutters and anything else hidden on an aircraft for an accomplice “passenger” to find and exploit.

The airport body scanners are therefore no more than theatre, and jobs for the boys of course.

It may make ya feel safer, but it doesn’t actually make you one iota safer in fact.

Which brings us to 8oxer’s comment, dropping out completely, living in the woods as a hermit, and cutting off your nose and your cock may make ya feel safer from the tentacles of the feminazi state, but it don’t actually make you one iota safer.

If anything, it makes you MORE at risk, because your false sense of security will cause you to dismiss shit that would otherwise trigger an alert in you, after all, all the other passengers were screened JUST LIKE YOU, so they can’t have gotten anything on the plane…. right?… right??

Unbeknownst to you, some skank ho who doesn’t even know you exist, in need of an explanation for staying out late and having a threesome, tells her darling beta male she was raped by some freaky hermit guy as she was waiting for a bus down by the woods.

When the po-lice find your hermit hideout, you are going down for 15 years for a rape you didn’t commit, what’s that? No penis? Well clearly you’re nuts and used a sex toy to compensate, after all we can’t expect the poor rape victim to check for a real penis vs a fake one while you hold a knife to her throat etc… have an extra 10 years for being nuts…

The yanks just pulled a guy out from halfway around the world, for allegedly not paying alimony to a wimminz, which is why I said yesterday;

  1. I can never change the bit on my birth certificate that says “male”
  2. I can never change the law.
  3. I can never escape from all interaction with wimminz.

All I can do is indulge in security theatre, which basically is sleepwalking into an even more vulnerable state, or I can do something to address my security, which is what this blog has always been about, and why those links are always there on the right.

As 8oxer has seen, you have to differentiate between a dogma and a strategy.

I happen to like fucking, which makes me one of the fortunate ones because I can combine my need to empty my balls into some slut with a constant search for the “camouflage jane” of the day, week, month or year, all of which makes me safer than the hermit in the woods, or the guy who runs away half way around the planet…

A dogma is lazy, I followed instructions and went to the woods and built a shack, job done, I am now safe from wimminz.

A strategy is dynamic, that shit I did last week with jane47 I need to do again this week with jane47, fresh, not just cookie cutter.

Fuck, I have to breathe, not like I didn’t breathe yesterday, or eat yesterday, or take a shit yesterday, or exercise yesterday, or sleep / rest yesterday, the stuff I talk about here, smartphone and archiving everything to the cloud, it’s just more of the same man, shit you have to do every fucking day until the day you die in order to live / survive.

If you’re a yank, you’ve probably been “protected” from having to read this.

Arguably it is a moot point whether kids or dogs in afdiggastan most need to fear death from the skies with no warning from Brandon Bryant’s replacement killers, the only thing not up for discussion is whether the kids and dogs in afdiggastan are paranoid, the x-box killers ARE out to fucking kill them… HEAD SHOT…. collateral damage… re spawning in 3…2…1…

If you are a kid or a dog in afdiggastan, or a man in the western world, there is no re-spawning, no saved games, no pause button, no exit button, you may just be collateral damage and virtual shit to some other wimminz or niggerz, not an actual intended target, but it makes no odds, the shit is still 100% real to you, and your belief in security theatre over actual security strategy is only going to contribute greatly to your grave situation.

Like I said above, I’m lucky, I like cunt, could be a lot worse, I could be a fag like Mr Donovan who would presumably find courting a wimminz for camouflage repulsive, or a 30’s Hollywood actor, needing a sham marriage to a wimminz for camouflage… just as the drones in afdiggastan kill kids and dogs as easily as crazed raghead terr’rists, the feminazi drones in western society fuck up the lives of fags and hermits and negroes as easy as white heterosexual males….


Bryant saw a flash on the screen: the explosion. Parts of the building collapsed. The child had disappeared. Bryant had a sick feeling in his stomach. “Did we just kill a kid?” he asked the man sitting next to him. “Yeah, I guess that was a kid,” the pilot replied. “Was that a kid?” they wrote into a chat window on the monitor. Then, someone they didn’t know answered, someone sitting in a military command center somewhere in the world who had observed their attack. “No. That was a dog,” the person wrote. They reviewed the scene on video. A dog on two legs?


December 14, 2012

I have been challenged…

… by a friend, to explain exactly what is going on with a current FWB

(I should explain, in the spirit of full disclosure, there is a reason for his question, this FWB has come a lot closer to my affections than the usual pump and dump material, for the purpose of this post we will call her “Julie”)

uuuh, it’s a wimminz, innit…” was my reply.

He laughed and said you don’t get off that easy, I want you to be charitable and play devils advocate and argue in her favour.

You mean blue pill?” I say

Nope, I mean red pill, but on an individual level, like you’re a cunt because the wimminz have taught you that is what they want and how to survive them, so do the same for her, on an individual level, who taught her to be what she is?” he says

As always happens, we soon drifted off topic, but I woke up this morning and found myself still thinking about it.

The fact is, it was a good question, and it is a good question because it is a hard question, and it is a hard question because to answer it honestly, I will be forced to examine some of my own armour and learned reactions to the wimminz….

Imagine if you will a man living alone out in he wilderness, and imagine a wild dog floating around the man’s camp, sniffing for scraps, there are a few possible scanarios;

Group 1

  1. Man shoots dog
  2. Man chases dog away
  3. Man stays in camp, dog stays outside camp 100 yards away
  4. Man entices dog into camp.
  5. Dog decides to walk into camp.
  6. Dog decides to attack man

From options 4 and 5 above some further options pop up;

Group 2

  1. Man attempts to domesticate dog and succeeds
  2. Man attempts to domesticate dog and fails
  3. Dog attempts to attach to man and succeeds
  4. Dog attempts to attach to man and fails

Group 1 option 1 is Jonathan Vass, as discussed yesterday, Group 1 option 6 is of course the FRA

Group 1 options 2 & 3 is the MGTOW theme…. I’m sure you can work out the rest.

Group 1 options 4 & 5 are the interesting ones though, because they involve contact between man and dog, and either option 4 or 5 can lead to any of the options in Group 2, and I’m sure you don’t need me to point out which is an analogy to what when it comes to men and wimminz…

But, if I am going to be truly honest with myself, which is where my friends question comes in, Group 2 option 3 is what we all seek, the dog bonding to us, always assuming it is a dog we like the look of in the first place… the love of a dog for his master.

The unquestioning love of a dog for his master.

To be fair, this is the kind of love men want to give wimminz, until they get the shit kicked out of them for their troubles, so we end up either cowed and tails between our legs niggerz or fuck it growl at everything and bite first chew later post wimminz men….

Which is my friends question, but it was sneaky, because it did not allow me to generalise all wimminz, but asked me instead to look closely at one individual dog, and judge that dog on its individual merits.

It’s doubly sneaky because it invokes the nostalgia and yearning for Group 2, Option 3, that thing we all seek, the companionship and love of a good dog.

It’s trebly sneaky because it makes me choose between actually coming up with a considered answer to his question, or simply chucking out a stock answer, AWALT, end of discussion.

It’s quadruply sneaky because it is not a challenge to AWALT, this individual wimminz is still AWALT, the question is, how did she come to be that way, and is it by choice, or was she as much a made thing as I am?

It makes me examine my own thought processes.

  • Notably, it is a man, and not a wimminz or a niggerz that poses such a question.
  • I realise that much of my though processes with wimminz involves a negative check-list or weighted score, quantity and quality of tramp stamp skank ho tats, check, she’s a skank ho.
  • I realise that much of the “slack” I give the more favoured long term FWB is simply no more than the absence of certain of these check-list items, wow, this bitch only has 84 of the 100 possible flaws, and only 6 of the 10 most serious red flags…
  • I realise that somewhere in my sub-concious, with this particular FWB, as well as a reasonably low score on the negative check-list, there are actually some things about her that I like and approve of…

So group 1 option 3 dog attempts to domesticate man, man looks at dog and grins, it’s a mangy cur of a mongrel bitch with plenty of bad habits and fleas, but… it makes the man grin.

The man’s friend sees this, and asks the man, why does this individual dog make you grin, it shares more in common with the other curs roaming around your camp than it has to set it apart from them… and what caused this individual dog to be the way it is.

It is a bloody good question.

It is a bloody good question because I cannot answer it without also answering the same question about myself, and not in a superficial way that I have, because I got accused of wanting to fuck my own kids up the ass by my psycho skank ho ex who also made an FRA against me for good measure… but in detail, what sort of man ignored the red flags with the psycho skank ho ex, and why, and how was HE made, and so on back in time….

All the way back to the pre-pubescent me who just knew various things, the sun rises in the east, water is wet, and one day you will grow up and fall in love and get married and have a family of your own and boys who will call you daddy.

I have been making a serious, possibly fatal in the longer term, mistake.

Take a 5 gallon pail of water and tip it out at the top of a slope, watch how it runs downhill, how obstacles and other things change the flow, you can never get the same effect twice, if you think so you ain’t looking close enough, that flow is life, my psycho skank ho ex is a large rock downhill of where I was tipped out into this world, and my serious and possibly fatal flaw was looking at where I am now, the pattern I have made so far, and assuming that that is pretty much it, this form has basically been determined.

I am the pinnacle of my evolution.

The flaw is that change only stops with death, so I must continue to flow downhill into the future and find new patterns and channels and obstacles, or I can die.

I did not HAVE to allow my psycho skank ho ex to do what she did, at the first touch of that obstacle in my life I could have rebounded and found another path, one that cut around her instead of one that washed over her.

I face the same choices in the future.

“Julie” the mongrel cur faces these same choices in the future, and the future starts now.

The man in the camp grins at “Julie” the mongrel cur, because she chose to do what 99% of the other mongrel curs who walked into camp did, but with variations.

The man’s friend asked the question, and the man is forced to conclude that some of those minor variations are that in this mongrel’s history are that it chose to rebound and find another path when it met certain obstacles…. unlike the man, who just assumed he was smart enough and tough enough to overcome… the cur yelped and ran away… who was smarter?


In 1988 I knew an alcoholic, nobody had any time for him, but he had respect for my father so I would talk to him and buy him the occasional beer.

He was an alky because he fucked up, married into a banking family, and blew it by drinking too much and becoming an asshole.

He said one thing to me that I have never forgotten, and the older I get, the smarter it seems.

When I was 20, I knew everything and my dad knew fuck all,
when I was 30, I knew a fair bit, and my dad wasn’t as stupid as I thought,
when I was 40, my dad knew a damn sight more than I thought he did.


“Julie” the mongrel who has wandered into my camp?

Well, I’m sitting here laughing to myself, remembering my dad pissing himself at a scene in a Pink Panther film.

Sellers / Clouseau is harassing an organ grinder outside a bank, of course he completely missed the fact that the bank is being robbed, as he fixates on the organ grinder, does he have a permit etc…

Sellers “Do you have a li-cence for ze minky (monkey)?

Organ grinder “Listen mate, I don’t take his money, and he doesn’t tell me what to play.

That’s kind of the deal with the man in his camp and the mongrel.

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.



November 21, 2012

Judge a man (and a wimminz) by his actions, not his words.

Ironically 24 hours after saying “I have nothing else to say” and thus taking any pressure to say anything off, something happened that caused me to have something to say…

That something is a sense of deja vu, but not quite.

Some 20 odd years ago three separate wimminz came up to me and said “I am pregnant, and it is yours” over a period of 48 hours, so I arranged separately for all three to meet me at a bar at 7 pm sharp, which they did, whereupon I introduced them all to each other, told them all that each said they were pregnant with my child, and that they now need to work out amongst themselves which one I was going to marry.

So here I am, 20 odd years later, and three separate wimminz have come up to me in the past week and basically pledged their love and desire to have a permanent relationshit with me.

Being 20 years older and wiser I’m not about to tell them all to meet me in a bar at 7pm and sort it out…. remember I am a guy in my early fifties, been through the wringer of FRA and kids and assets abducted by psycho skank ho ex and the secret family courts, po-lice, lawyers etc all sticking their nose in the trough.

  1. Wimminz #1 is 40, not the prettiest thing on the planet, works in the health sector, kids flown the nest, been banging her on and off for a year or so, she will do anything I want, but it has to be said she don’t light my fire sexually any more, been there, done that, tick it off, but she is keen and obedient and all that. She has ridden the cock carousel of course.
  2. Wimminz #2 is just over 30, nothing to look at, badly overweight, works in a social services type of job, drinks too much, kids at home, and frankly doesn’t get it. Worth dumping my cum into but that’s about it. She has ridden the cock carousel of course.
  3. Wimminz #3 is just over 30, actually quite fucking hot, overweight but fairly recently and you can still see the solid 9 inside dying to get out, works in sales, no kids. Has ridden the cock carousel but not nearly as much as #1 and #2.

So, there we have it.

What is interesting is this;

  • From the perspective of my cock throbbing, #3 gets the vote.
  • From the perspective of letting me get away with shit, #2 gets the vote.
  • From the perspective of actually doing shit for me, #1 gets the vote.

To be strictly fair, from the perspective for example of doing shit for me #1 has had more time to do more, but has also had more time to fuck up, and hasn’t yet.

To be strictly fair, from the perspective of me just being me, spending a life with #2 would be desperately tedious, her work is everything that is wrong with the country, spending a life with #1 would be ok-ish, her work is valid and good, but nothing I can do or relate to, spending a life with #3 would be fun, her work is neutral but her attitudes and approaches and ethics are something I can relate to.

I’ll give you another one, #1 hates the word cunt, #2 doesn’t use it but doesn’t cringe when I do, #3 loves it and uses it as much as I do.

I’ll give you another one, #1 and #2 are the product of broken homes and crap early relationships that resulted in bastard offspring, #3 has a mummy and a daddy and they are still married to each other.

I’ll give you another one, #3 has by far and away the most expressive face, every thought and emotion that crosses her brain is already written all over her face. #1 and #2 keep stuff hidden and wear masks.

I’ll give you another one, none of these things up above is unrelated.

Has AfOR fallen out of the MGTOW / AWALT tree and landed on his small head?

No, he has not, and he is well aware that the current legal landscape is such that all three can fuck him up in an instant and on a whim were he married to any of them or in a co-habiting relationshit with any of them.

But the fact is that that text in bold above is the secret to #3’s relative lack of negative traits and aspects, everything else comes from that, and so while #1 and #2 talk about long term relationshits (which in the eyes of the law are the same as a fucking marriage) leading to marriage, while #3 talks about marriage….

#3 wants what mummy and daddy have.

#1 and #2 wanting what mummy and daddy have is like a blind man wanting a red house, they don’t even know what the fuck it is.

Judging a man, or a wimminz, by their actions means also judging them by the actions of those whose company they kept, voluntarily in later life, involuntarily in earlier life.

In much the same way that as a time served engineer I have little in common with so called engineers who learned their trade in a college or university or any other way, as a time served child of a mother and father who remained married to each other I have little in common with #1 and #2, and much in common with #3

As a time served engineer I had it easy, compared to my father, back in his day the parents LITERALLY paid the employer / master to take then on for the first year, because a first year apprentice is literally less than useless and literally decreased the output and productivity of the master, but compared to the modern engineering “apprentice”…. makes me puke they dare call themselves that word, shades of “A year ago I couldn’t even spell engineer, and now I are one”

The first engineering tools I had to master were the fucking broom and the kettle, I shit you not.

Then you get given an old “whistler” kettle and the gas axe (oxy acetylene cutting torch) to boil the water for the tea, there is a stock of these for sale to you for exactly one day’s wages each, for when you blow through the bottom of the kettle and all the water leaks out… or… you can grab to scrap from the gash bin and try to “fix” the kettle you just blew a hole through so it will hold water and bring it to the boil with a gas axe.

Then you get given some lumps of soft gash metal, cheap shit like zinc anode material or babbit metal than can be re-melted and re-used, and a metal file and a hacksaw, with ONE fucking blade, and a brass brush to clean the file and saw blade, and a metal vice and a place at a bench.

First make a perfect one inch cube, accurate to ten thou…. that takes you about four fucking days, you learn hands on about materials science, differences in hardness and friction between differing metals such as files, saw blades and the gash, you learn that every time you put the gash in the vice and tightened the vice you deformed it, you learned to file flat and saw straight and square.

Pleased with yourself that the task given to you on a Monday morning has been completed by Friday lunchtime, you are given some more gash metal, this time you must make TWO pieces, one is a U shape and one is a T shape, so that the T shape fits in the U shape perfectly to form a much bigger piece, oh, and you have to be able to rotate the T and U shape with 180 degree symmetry so they fit together perfectly BOTH ways…. no gaps anywhere you can get a ten thou feeler gauge into….. that takes two or three weeks

Failing in these tasks is the end of your apprenticeship, you can fuck off and be a fitter or a grease monkey or a car mechanic…. meanwhile you still have to practice with the broom and the kettle.

Got any lip? I dunno how often I have seen strong tough full of piss and vinegar good in a fight 13 and 14 stone all muscle apprentices punched in the mouth by a 10 stone skinny fucker in their forties or fifties for giving some lip, and they learned they may have double the muscle mass of the old fart, but the old fart was all HARD muscles that basically spent 8/10 hours a day in the “gym” of the shops, that and sinew and bone… apprentices all had broken teeth, me included. On the other hand I still have all my limbs and fingers and toes, which was the result of those lessons not to lip your elders and betters and FUCKING LISTEN.

So I tell some young cunt today who thinks they are time served that it took me 4 weeks to learn how to use a fucking file and a hacksaw, and it is like the blind man wanting a red house or the modern #1 or #2 wimminz wanting a relationshit.

The young shits not only do not know how to use a file or hacksaw, they cannot even begin to judge or guess how much they do not know, or how greatly that lack impacts EVERY SINGLE OTHER ASPECT of their so called professional skill.

#3 may be just over half my age, but she was time served, old school, growing up in a house with a mummy and daddy who were married to each other and stayed together.

Sure, #3 is AWALT, same as #1 and #2, which I can’t respect, but #3 is old school time served, which I can.

Out of respect for #3’s time served status ALONE, I would not put her in a bar with #1 and #2 and tell all three to work it out between themselves.

On a related note, I know it doesn’t seem that way at first blush, I hear from emails that YET AGAIN Bill over at the Spearhead is holding the fucking begging bowl out.

Judge a man (or a wimminz) by their actions, not what they say.

November 4, 2012

You can’t wind back the clock / things were different man.

Time is a funny fucking thing, especially when looking back upon it in your own personal life and history.

I cannot, with any shred of honesty, look back on myself at 25 and state that I was the same person I was then, and when I was 50… to be sure I can say I aged pretty fucking well, despite all the lifestyle, and I can in many ways favourably compare myself with a modern 25 year old in 2012, but, there are still huge differences.

Some things in life fluctuate over time, such as the age at which a child becomes an adult, and the age at which an adult retires, and one of the walls you hit is the one that states if you have a kid NOW, you will be a fucking pensioner before that kid is an adult.

Other things you become aware of is the realisation that murderers get separated from their family and society for a shorter period of time than young kids in an acrimonious separation / divorce, and whatever the future holds for those kids no-one can put time back in the bottle and give them the childhood they deserved, complete with both sets of parents and extended families.

One of the conversations that I keep having with young wimminz is the conversation about actions having future consequences, usually utterly predictable ones, and having to carry forwards the burden of whatever actions and choices you made in the past.

Wimminz are SPECTACULARLY crap at this, I will relate a story about a young wimminz who with toddler age kids who ends up with videos of her being gang-banged all over the internet, and the wimminz go all oh noes, but until I mention that in 10 years time those toddlers are going to be in school with the 2022 smart-phone and one of their classmates is going to walk up in the playground and show them videos of mummy being gang-banged… then the wimminz get SCARED… but until I mentioned it, it never occurred to them.

I had a chat with a young lad in his twenties last week, I used to roll with what he now calls the grey-beards, legends of old and 1% ers through and through, and I kept saying the same thing to him, things were different man.

And I find myself like some cross between Hunter and Hopper, a modern Mephistopheles who was lucky enough often enough to walk away unscarred and unscathed, trying to impart words of wisdom to the young buck, who is all “Wow, you were THERE for that legendary event” and far too fucking eager to cut me slack I do not deserve.

We’re sat there at the table, smokes and phones and keys and coffee.

I say to him “You know the old adage about there being no such thing as an unloaded gun?” He says yes, but I stress the point as he has little hands on experience, there ain’t no such animal as an unloaded gun.

He’s up to speed on that one so I reach out and tap one of the smartphones on the table and say “There ain’t no such thing as a digital device that ain’t recording

I wait for that to sink in and add, “and that includes the digital devices you can’t see.

That sinks in for a minute or two and I go all Hunter / Hopper on him again.

This is the digital age man, this shit is everywhere, so common it is invisible, but it is there” I take a sip of coffee and refer him back to some of those “you were there!” legends, and hit him with “… and I wouldn’t be fucking sat here now, if this digital shit was around back then… dig?

Slowly, ever so slowly, the penny is dropping.

We only got away with that shit because it was organic, analogue and hand written or hand types paper records and hand filing, no instant recall or access to anything, a record search meant someone going into a cellar and going through boxes of paper files, by hand.

Back then I knew a guy who used to forge post office savings books, deposits and withdrawals and remaining balances were written by hand into a book, and then stamped, and this guy had some artistic talent and used a socket set to make the concentric rings of the stamp, forge a £5k balance, which was a lot of money back then, and go into a post office (not the same one where the deposits were allegedly made) in overalls and draw £300 a day and talk to the cashier about just having moved house and doing a mountain of renovations..

How far would that shit fly in the digital age?

Computer says you have no money.

And this applies across the fucking board.

Cut’s both ways too bro, if you were smart or lucky or crooked enough to get files altered during the transition to the digital age you were golden.

Computer says you have no history of violence.

Just as bad is when the computer records are fucked the other way.

Computer says you have a history of sexual abuse and domestic violence.

I tap the fucking smartphone again, say “Digital age” again, and look at one of the skanks there, and say “If you had been recording that night last week, instead of complaining to me about being assaulted, which frankly you bear 95% of the responsibility for creating the situation where it happened, Mr X would now be in prison on remand awaiting trial and guaranteed conviction and prison time for sexual assault”  Which would be wrong, because the whole truth is that everyone involves was drunk as a skunk and what’s more were all scum. Just because the guy was born with a penis however he would take the fall.

The digital age man, edited sections of a story are even more powerful than listening to or watching the whole tape…

So, back to the subject in question, and the two wimminz there who are available for pump and dump, but who want more from me.

The edited sections of the story that portray you as a decent young wimminz only work in scenarios where the man doesn’t give a fuck about the story, because you are pump and dump material.

The whole story is another matter, the whole story is what eventually comes out when you spend enough time with someone, and if the whole story involves you being pump and dump material in the past, no way you can expect the current man to see you as anything else.

Changing the story doesn’t change the person.

Just as the only way you get to hear about any legendary stuff we pulled back in the seventies is to listen to one of the greybeards, because that wasn’t a digital age.

It also means that very, very, very few of those stories could even happen today, and if they did, we wouldn’t be sat here grinning and shooting the shit.

It also means that the shit you DO pull today is gonna follow you around forever, for values of forever that fall short of mushroom clouds over what were once google data centres.

Not only can you not wind back the clock, you also can’t get away from digital surveillance and recording, and those data points never fade… what I typed in to a web forum in 2002 is as fresh as what I typed here a decade later in 2012.

The Jimmy Saville story isn’t really a story about privilege and fame and groupies and sexual exploitation, JS lived his life like groundhog day, HE never changed, it is really a story about how the changing technology changes the landscape.


October 31, 2012

Ain’t fattening no more frogs for snakes.

(It means do not put too much effort into improving someone when they could leave, and you will have lost too much of your money, time, and energy/love. The moral is you should find a fat frog to begin with.)

The red pill is a curse, a bit like the toxoplasma gondii brain parasite, once infected, or more accurately once the infection is cleared, you just can’t look at some shit the same way ever again.

Once you rid yourself of the blue pill that tells you to fatten frogs for snakes, well, you just can’t look at some shit the same way ever again. No Sir.

When the wimminz realise that you have given up frog rearing, they will look at you with that peculiar “does not compute” crossed with “waiting for the predator to strike” look, and that shit you either know what I am about from first hand experience or you don’t.

But, once you have swallowed that red pill and had that particular meme / parasite burned from your brain, damn but that shit makes you aloof and philosophical, 100% of wimminz endeavour and 100% of niggerz endeavour, which means 95% of human endeavour, is like watching cows graze, it apparently has purpose, but it is devoid of all sentience.

A couple of PoF chats I have had recently…

Wimminz “I am waiting till I find someone who is my equal!

AfOR “Well I suggest you become a lesbian then.


Wimminz “Why are you so nasty to me when I lust after you so much?

AfOR “Whatever


Thing is, I’m more than willing to date a “fat frog”, but she better have got fat by her own efforts, I am totally unwilling to date skinny frogs that expect me to feed them, or partly fed frogs that got fed by other men, they are pump and dump material, and self made fat frogs are like the proverbial unicorn shit….. in theory there may be some out there somewhere, but scientists have yet to discover them.

Sometimes you think you may have found a potential candidate, but bide your time, chances are she is just holding her breath, blowfish style, or if you are really unlucky, so inflated with toxins she is about to burst.

And so I have become, Zen like, the Restaurant At The End Of The Hypergamy Universe for the wimminz, and they want to come along and choose from the menu of my accumulated wisdom and experience, they want to order scrambled eggs, but they want it without any milk or butter in the ingredients, and free range zero calorie eggs, and by the way I have no money so can I have this on layway where the bills never come due and I can sit here and keep ordering exotic dishes.

So I point them to the sign above the door, “Ain’t fattening no more frogs for snakes” and the sign above the bar “No credit” and the sign over the other door, “Exit

They look at me like I am mad, and gesture around my restaurant at the end of the hypergamy universe, where all the tables are empty, and say but I have NO customers, you have to treat frogs nicely if you want to have customers, so I just smile at them with a well fed predator’s grin and say, “That’s the way I like it baby, this is MY place, and I LIKE IT LIKE THAT

I remember Frank Future, he was delicious.

And so the penny drops, and most of them stomp out of the exit while telling me I have a very small penis and will never get a real woman (thank fuck for that, the plan must be working) and a few of them start to blubber that life just isn’t worth living, so they too stomp out of the exit when I direct them to the funeral parlour 5 doors down… of course, being wimminz, they end up in the massage parlour next door… hey, it was nearer and easier, right…

October 1, 2012

Bakerman is baking bread


I dunno….

Thing is, it’s like this, just been to a family do, and watched 5 wimminz in a kitchen trying to organise a few fucking rolls and snacks and a bit of cake for an old guys ninetysomethingth birthday…. and making a clusterfuck of it…  some poor bastard bought him a bottle of whiskey, so birthday boy, not being old enough to vote and all, has his fucking single malt confiscated, and it will be doled out to him in small drams…. he was old enough to go and fight the japs in WW2 while they all stayed at home and fucked the yanks.

It’s like all this shit on swinging sites, we do not do piss play, but she likes to gush….

And the other shit “Boys, don’t send me a cock pic, seen one, seen em all…”  OK skanks, so tell me why your profile is nothing but pictures of your cunt and tits and bloated ass? seen one, seem em all bitch….

Basically if you eat cunt, EVER, you be a niggerz, and these swinging sites are fucking full of niggerz.. which is all good news for us non-reconstructed cavemen who want to pump and dump…. because what sets us apart is all this wimminz delusional fundamental dishonesty and basic suckage at anything requiring any level of competence never gets less obvious to us than a large and painful boil on our testicles.

And so it came to pass that last night I am talking to a wimminz who wants to fuck me, but who I have deemed unfuckable, (so naturally she adores me) and we got onto the subject of kissing, and eating cunt.

I dunno what stopped me eating cunt, I dunno that I could ever actually be classed as having started if we are going to be brutally honest about it, but while talking to this skank out of the blue comes the bit in Catch22 where the guy has eaten her cunt and is leaving and notices her dog nosing at her cunt, and remembering the faintly doggy smell to her cunt….  I think that that and my first actual sexual experiences being with skanks who managed to arrange things so they blew up in their face and I got exposed to the truth went a long way towards it.

See, that “managed to arrange” thing is the bit for today’s sermon.

Thing is, men like to get shit straight, you’re meeting some skank for the first time tonight at a bar or cafe, you want to know and establish going in, is this just a social meet, hi how are you coffee and a chat, or is some rumpy pumpy on the cards, or is it guaranteed.

I like to know this because unless it is guaranteed I’ll meet the skank for a coffee, that she buys, and arrange for some other slut to swing by and blow me later, and make sure the coffee buying skank knows this.

Wimminz, they aren’t like that, and it all comes back to that self delusion and denial and deceit that is intrinsic to their nature, and gushing not being playing with piss.

To many wimminz, simply arranging in advance to meet a different man to suck and fuck 5 nights a week makes them a bad slut, not a good slut… it’s not the kinky sex or the 5 guys a week they have an issue with, it’s the premeditation on their own part.

That bit above in red is CRUCIAL, every man who has been the victim of a morning after role reversal and regret knows where I am coming from.

So, what is the poor little skank ho to do?

Why, the answer is obvious to every single cupcake out there, simply arrange things so that each step in the process can happen “spontaneously” and without any apparent pre-meditation at all.

Why, then it isn’t their responsibility at all, they just happened to be there and your cock just happened to slip into their mouth, I mean, who could possibly have predicted that.

Of course, to a guy, especially a cuckolded guy, such artful fantasies of self delusion are about as credible as slipping in the shower and just happening to land on the shower head, which got lodged up your ass, which is the story you tell to A&E / ER anyways….

But to a wimminz, these things are the very stuff of life itself, they are, quite simply, the reason wimminz will never, ever, ever accept any personal responsibility for their own actions.


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