Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

December 22, 2013

Russian crashes on youtube, a bed time story.

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 2:39 pm

I have to admit to being a closet fan of these, twistednederland etc

I find them educational, reinforcement of what I was always taught as a biker, you go where you look, so if you look at an out of control oncoming car, you hit it, instead of aiming for the gap behind the oncoming car, they aim at the nose of it, as does the other driver.

It just struck me, these “accidents” they come in two categories;

  1. the lone asshole driving like a cunt who manages to take out several vehicles in an epic shunt.
  2. two separate assholes in two separate vehicles pushing their luck, alone, either one of them might have gotten away with it, together on the same bit of road, shunt.

There are parallels here to the wimminz….

One of the parallels, and I have thought long and hard to make sure it is not just some sort of observational bias or misjudgement, is driving standards are dropping, in parallel with the economy tanking, as times get hard and people have to be more aggressive about money, they get more aggressive on the road.

Lots of cunts out there are lucky I am not either a/ driving an almost indestructible GTA-V style car, b/ not really keen on being on the po-lice most wanted list, and c/ not carrying a loaded hi-power in the glove box.

I’m seeing a large increase in cunts flicking an indicator on, then immediately proceeding with that maneouver, as though that alone gave them instant right of way, and the other people who have to brake hard to avoid them, well, fuckem…

I’m also seeing a large increase in cunts who think they own the whole fucking road, in the case of motorways that means all three lanes of it, so one minute they are in lane 3 doing 70 mph overtaking some cunt in a silver car doing 60 mph in lane 2 who is overtaking a string of trucks doing a governed 56-59 mph in lane 1, once the cunt in lane 3 has taken 5 minutes to overtake the traffic in lane two, they nip back in to lane 2, and PUT THEIR FUCKING FOOT DOWN, now they are doing 85, and I have to do 90/95 to overtake them, I want to overtake them, because they are driving like an inconsistent cunt and I would rather they were behind me, but, 80 is the limit, 85 is as far as you can push your luck, if you drive sensibly and smoothly and with good spacing and watch all the road around you, 90/95 you get pulled, every time, and there is a big increase in po-lice unmarked cars, and 100 and above is automatic 12 month ban minimum, so automatic unemployment line.

I know it is economically related because in the run up to Christmas, all that spending on presents and consumerism, the driving around here has been fucking APPALLING, people entering junctions they can plainly see that they cannot exit, and then just sitting their blocking traffic the other way when the lights change, people parking just where they choose….

There is a corresponding total lack of awareness of other road users, THEIR vehicles, and the probable performance envelope of THEIR vehicles… frankly when you drive like a cunt in lane 3 until 400 yards before the exit you want and dive across 2 lanes of traffic to lane 1 and force every one else to brake, well #1 I could see you coming, cunt, and I could see you were driving like a cunt, cunt, plus I’m one up in the high end model of a popular German car that is regularly factory serviced irrespective of expense, and is less than 2 years old anyway… no.. no problems braking hard here……. it is the poor bastards in the F10 curtainsider with a load of palletised shit, the poor bastard in the Scania with the bulk tipper on back, and the poor bastard in the Merc hauling a double high Asda trailer behind me, all of whom I eased in front of about a mile back, never once having had to touch my brakes, or make them touch theirs, that I feel sorry for.

That and whoever it is in lane 2 that I would have to sideswipe in order to get out of being a Scania sandwich, and then we will all be treated to some shit from you about how it is the responsibility of the driver behind and anyway you’re running late and your wife is due a baby and yadda yadda yadda.

And by the way this is not just me, I regularly touch base with wagon drivers and motorcycle dispatch riders at roadside caff’s, they are all saying the same thing.

And the parallels to the wimminz?

Well, it is all an attitude of fuck you, I’M ok mate, fuck you if you had to brake, fuck you if you had to swerve, fuck you if you had to make someone else brake, etc etc, because it is all just a videogame anyway, until it isn’t, and then it is all someone else’s fault… 10 seconds ago you thought I was a cunt and you were more than happy to make rude gestures at me and shout and laugh and call me a cunt, now you don’t want to talk to me or anyone else except via your insurance company or lawyer, because suddenly it didn’t go all according to plan, and you don’t plan on accepting any of the consequences, consequences are for other assholes, right…

Until real world physics intervenes.

Speaking personally I can’t wait for driverless google cars and Johnnycab, I’m prepared to give up ever driving a car again, in exchange for no other fucker being allowed to, assuming I can still travel wherever and whenever I want.

Because I am aware, as are the other professional drivers that I talk to at caff’s, that despite my awareness of things, when you put me on a road where everyone else is driving more aggressively, I start to drive more aggressively, and as someone who has at one time ridden or driven everything, and who does a lot of driving, I can drive so aggressively that I can easily turn the tables on you, and it goes within a couple of miles from you thinking you are the fastest thing on the road who owns the fucking road and me thinking you are a mental cunt, to me leaving you 400 yard behind and you and every other fucker thinking I am the mental cunt, and frankly I am, I thoroughly deserve to be banned for life when I get that head on.

So then I pull over for a coffee and a smoke and chill, and drive the fucking speed limit, no matter what.

That by the way has always been my advice to novice bikers.

  1. Drive the speed limit
  2. Drive as fast as you can see, subject to #1
  3. Leave plenty of space, to decrease the gap between #1 and #2
  4. Never overtake if there are any junctions or turn offs of ANY kind between where you are and where you will be when the overtaking maneouver is complete
  5. Never overtake unless you can see every bit of road between where you are and where you will be when the overtaking maneouver is complete
  6. Always at all times make sure other drivers are aware that you are there.
  7. You go where you look…. so look where you want to go, not where you do not want to go. GLANCE at where you do not want to go.

So, there are again obvious parallels, wimminz driving the roads of relationshits in their indestructible GTA cars, well, it’s made me drive those roads like a cunt too, too bad bitches, you wonder why you can’t get a stable relationshit when you are a single mom or in your 40’s, it’s because all the once good drivers are emulating Mad Max, same as me, you taught us this.

Which after a roundabout way brings us to where we came in, because I had some of this shit on when a wimminz knocked on my door, now, this is an ex casual fuck of mine that is now in a relationshit, but she still loves me and wants me as a friend end, yeah yeah, she wants my cock, and I’m not giving her any option except beg for it, I am not going to help her act out some scenario where she can claim it just haaaapened, she didn’t plan it or anything, so we chat for a bit and the subject comes up of STD’s, sexually transmitted diseases… she knows I only fuck bareback.

I believe, like the cunts on the road who thought they were hot shit and the fastest thing there, that I shocked her… lrfh.

“What about them?” I said.

Well, she says, doesn’t it worry you… Nope, I said, why should it… well, she says, you may catch something… and? is my response…




Hamster wheel spins but gains no traction

I told her straight, I’m in my fifties, not my teens or twenties, and I have male sexual organs, not female, and I am as far as I know done with having kids, not in any event ever able to get pregnant myself.

Now, you tell me skanky, why should I actually give a fuck if I catch an STD, assuming of course I am actually even aware I have caught something, please list the STD’s that a man in his 50’s can catch that are going to affect him seriously in any way.

Just as I can pull up good maps and show you a 75 mile long stretch of A road, and tell you EXACTLY where every single one of the good passing places are, so in real life if I am approaching one of these places and want to pass you the plans start being laid 1 mile beforehand, so when we get TO the passing place and you realise it is one, I already dropped a gear or two 400 yards back in the gap I allowed to build to give me space and vision, and planted the pedal to the metal, it’s the same with fucking and STD’s, I’m not saying all the risks are avoided or that I am the best driver on the planet, but you can do things in such a way that they are a lot easier to do, or in such a way they are a lot harder to do, and catching a dose is the same, and the downside is the same too… that accelerating and vision and overtaking space is also a fuck it brake and abort space, if the gap ain’t there to be exploited you can’t take it.

If the gap is oncoming traffic you NEED at least a couple of seconds to judge their speed, if they are doing 50 you can make it, if they are doing 80 you won’t…

And ultimately it is giving yourself that wriggle room and observation and thinking room and braking and acceleration space that allows me to pass the cunt who thought he was hot shit, not because I am a better driver of have a faster car, neither are true… I just plan ahead enough to give my self room to exploit a potential opportunity.

Which also makes me a very hard person to overtake.

You absolutely do have to be a better driver with a faster car to do it, and if I see you back there, I’ll let you go past.

The wimminz still isn’t getting it, so I explain it, in simple terms.

First off, getting an STD is very unlikely to affect me much, I’m in my fifties, I’m  man (huuge one right there) I have no plans to have kids, I’m generally very healthy anyway, in risk assessment terms if there are things in my life to watch out for it is shit like smoking and driving.

She however is female, so more likely to get an STD if she fuck a guy with an STD , because the transmission path is easier male to female than female to male, may suck, but that’s life.

Also being female / womb / pregnancy etc, loads more consequences she should be aware of there.

Also she is low 30’s, she got 20 more years of potential consequences or infection ramp up time than me.

So it’s a bit like the cunts who annoy me who I overtake, it’s not what I do, it’s how I do it… if I was in their shoes, I would not be doing things THE WAY THEY ARE DOING IT.

She is still having difficulty with this, so I make it very very clear to her, if STD’s are a concern, do not fuck around, 1 new cock every five years is pushing your luck, and not just any cock, it better be a cock that also does not fuck around, and especially does not fuck around on you.

She didn’t like this answer, apparently, like the relative immunity of man like me to the effects of an STD, is “unfair”

Over a year ago there was this wimminz, also in her 30’s, also a single mom, and she had a chance with me, we were together for a while, not living together but fucking, and knowing the small village she came from and a bunch of other factors, I tended to actually give some weight to her claim that I was the 3rd cock she had ever had, it’s not like I had anything riding on whether this number was true or not, but she did.

So it worked for a few months and then it fell apart, she did one of those things wimminz do, tried to play hot and cold with me, don’t ask me why, us guys never know, or care…

So I bumped into her a couple of weeks back quite by accident, and we grab a coffee and chat, and she shows me her whatsapp status, no, I hadn’t seen it or stalked her or anything, but it is about the one who got away… me…

well, number one I did not “get” away, you stopped treating me like something special, so fuck it.

and, number two, je ne regret rien but she regretted this, and maybe we could hang out and shit.

So tell me girl, how many men you been with in the past year and a bit since I seen you last… and her eyes go down to the coffee cup, and I didn’t give her a chance to answer, and said well, there you go, whatever you had to offer me back when I was number 3 is gone innit.

I’ll fuck you, but that’s it. And if I fuck you, I am gonna fuck you hard and dirty and at my convenience not yours. Haven’t heard from her since.

Heads in the fucking sand.

One of the wisest men I ever knew taught me hydraulics, he knew his shit because he was one of the small team who was at Vospers and developed the stabilisers for battleship guns in WW2, and when I asked him for the best bit of advice he could give me it had fuck all to do with hydraulics.

He said “You can say anything you like to your Boss, as long as you are not right, that is the one sin they will never forgive.

Well, old Peter was right about that, but he was only half right, it’s not just bosses who won’t ever forgive it, wimminz won’t either, and sat here off the top of my head I cannot think of a single instance of a potential relationshit or ongoing relationshit with a wimminz, from the casual to the live together forever serious, that did not end stone cold when I opened my mouth and said to the wimminz in question something that was right…. and of course not what she wanted to hear.

To many people, it is my one huge failing when it comes to relationshits, and employment, sooner or later I go fuck it and open my mouth…. and I’m right.

Game over man…

I could sit here and list all the shit that is wrong with me, or wrong with my life, where “wrong” is actually just “what if”, what if back when given X choice I went down path A instead of path B.

Maybe I should not be sat here in my fifties in my rented accommodations with en suite workshop, living alone, with a whole list of aspirational things and comforts that I don’t have.

On the other hand, I am debt free, I do make enough at a piss easy job that I enjoy to pay all my bills, even if I don’t live a life of a spendfree I liked it so I bought it playboy, the gaff is ever so humble and plain and outdated, but it’s mine, and I’m actually quite happy to stay here, provided no fucker puts the rent up.

And I say all this and tell these stories for a reason, and the reason is not because I have all the fucking answers, I don’t, one of the popular sayings back when I was in prison was “If you are so fucking smart, what are you doing in here?”

And this probably sums me up better than anything else, if I look back at the life I have lived, I was time and again a fool who rushed in where angels would fear to treat, and every single time I survived the experience, and everyone says I am a lucky lucky bastard, and I am, for example surviving the psycho skank ho’s FRA, I was lucky, but, I have to be honest, I have always made a lot of that luck.

Whether it is driving like a cunt, but only after I have built myself some wriggle room to allow for the other asshole and the unforeseen, or fucking psycho skank ho’s, or you get the picture.

It’s always been a double edged sword, yes, it gets me out of shit relatively unscathed, but it also gets me into shit other guys would run a mile from.

And finally the point of this bed time story.

The wimminz who popped in for a coffee while I happened to be watching Russian dash cam carnage, and who asked about STD’s.

The wimminz who was head in the sand unwilling to hear what I had to say, which was IF you are genuinely worried about STD’s, then you don’t just need to change your fucking life, but who you associate with.

The wimminz who was so far head in the sand that I could not even raise the meta-message, about the wimminz from 18 months ago, who potentially had something I might have wanted when I was cock #3, but not after I was BOTH cock #? AND put on the back burner for some un-fucking known reason.

And the meta-meta-message, Jesus fucking loves me, OK, he doesn’t, but you really do make your own luck, both good and bad, and your future is limited by your past, and nobody really wakes up to that shit in the first half century, so hope to god you had enough fun along the way that that pill isn’t too tough to swallow, and hope to god in having that fun it didn’t limit your future too much.

The meta-meta-message, play fair, be honourable, never lie (sure, keep it zipped by all means, nobody is forcing you to give your opinion) and always remember that actions have consequences, 20/20 hindsight is a bitch, YOU ARE HERE, that is nobody else’s fault, and its the only place you can start from today.

Within those limits, and make no mistake, they are limits, and pretty restrictive ones, 2014 can be what you make it…. not because of what shit happens, but because of how you choose to react to it.

Think of it as knowing a mile ahead on every road where the overtaking places are, and the accident black-spots, and being able to position yourself on the road with the right gap in the right gear and the right vision, not because you know what is coming, but because you don’t…..


December 19, 2013

Into every life, a little rain must fall.

I often see democracy described as an absolutely crap way to run a country, and the only thing positive you could say about it was that all the alternatives were worse.MjAxMy1hYzU1YTQyMzYxZGE5M2Y3

Patriarchy, eg the way we used to run the world up until 1880 or so, could arguably be described the same way.

If you want to play devil’s advocate, you can make a case that wimminz are no worse than men when presented with an opportunity to exploit an unfair advantage, and all we are seeing now is da wimminz exploiting a whole slew of unfair advantages.

It is a sad fact of life that life is unfair, some people catch cancer at 16, some people catch a bullet, some are born the wrong colour for where they live, some are born with the wrong number of limbs or senses.

You can’t do anything about those so afflicted, but you can treat them with some compassion and humanity, and that is where it all falls down, because compassion and humanity are essentially charitable things, and when you legislate giving to a charity, it ceases to be a charity, it becomes taxation.

Chivalry, or other words to describe treating a wimminz with respect, opening doors, giving up seats, goes the same way, it is a charitable act given freely by those so inclined, but as soon as you legislate it, it becomes a tax, and it is no longer given freely by anyone, even those who would have given it freely in the past.

The recipients of charity might not have liked being the recipients of charity, “living on the parish” as it was known when my dad was a boy, before the welfare state and social security, was a thing of shame, nevertheless those who lived on the parish were grateful for what they were given, and there was a certain level of influence by the parish, if you were the modern “neighbour from hell” type, don’t expect more than stale bread in your weekly package.

The recipients of a “right” obtained by universal taxation are however quite a different breed, it is my fucking right, cunts, fucking give it to me NOW! ALL OF IT!

Now, let me tell you something you may not be consciously aware of.

You know those old sci-fi stories where they talked about robots making everything so nobody had to work, and they imagined everyone would lead a life of leisure.

Well, they are not sci-fi, thanks to industrialisation and technology, to all intents and purposes, nobody has to work, if you want to be fucking picky about it, maybe at most 2.5% of the population have to work.

For the first time in human history producing enough X for everyone is not a back breaking job that involves everyone, it isn’t even easy now, it is easier than that, it is trivial, so trivial that producing enough X for everyone is the last of the problems you face, the real stick is selling X, in a market flooded with similar things.

When I grew up, there was a fucking telephone, that is it, you could walk into ANY fucking house in the UK from Buckingham Palace on down, if they had a phone, they all had the SAME FUCKING PHONE.

Today, a list of telephones that you sit down and make with pen and paper, even if you manage somehow to do the research and list every single make and model and shape and colour and design and variety available, no mean task all by itself, said list is out of date the instant you finish it.

Telephones are just an example, you can say the exact same thing about anything and everything including tins of soup, trainers, cars, pencils and even fucking toilet roll for christ’s sake.

The other 97.5% of the population who don’t actually work, well, let them be hairdressers and sales advisers and computer programmers and HR types and real estate agents and clerks and shit, and give them money in exchange for this non-work, so they can choose between ( I just did this at Tesco website, search for “toilet roll”) ONE HUNDRED AND MOTHERFUCKING THIRTY MOTHERFUCKING SIX results / matches.

How many types of fucking soap powder does the planet fucking need, Tesco ALONE has more varieties of fucking soap powder than Heinz used to have as fucking product lines…

But far from the sci-fi dreams where this 97.5% of the population who don’t actually fucking work live carefree lives of leisure and pleasure, we all know is the reality is they would all be bored shitless, and within 12 months all of them would have become radicalised suicide bombers campaigning for the rights of rabbit droppings to remain undisturbed or some such crapola.

Hence, the pretend make work that they all do.

So, what price the economy, if 97.5% of the populace serve no purpose whatsoever other than being given some make believe make work to keep them out of trouble and make them think they have earned the money they splurge over choosing between which of 2,635 varieties of cup cake to eat with which of 385 varieties of coffee flavoured beverage?

If they stop “work”, it just means more idle hands for the devil, it doesn’t actually make the slightest bit of difference to how many different varieties of tampon the various manufacturers are able to produce.

Which goes some way to explaining something.20131124_o10corps

This… click it for the full size version

All that variety… not.. all those separate companies competing against one another…not… all that choice… not.

So here is a thought, as evil and crap for everyone except those who directly own and run those ten companies that own almost everyone one else in consumerland, what if like democracy and patriarchy, the only positive thing you can say about it is every possible alternative is worse, many of them much, much, worse…

If 97.5% of the population never having anything except a make believe fake job is crap, what if all the alternatives, including the sci-fi life of leisure, are worse, many of them much, much worse.

What if, everything about society and the economy and politics was fucking crap, but it just happened to be better than all the alternatives, so instead of leaving well enough alone all we have been doing if fucking with it in the name of equality or liberty or freedom or human rights, well, suddenly, not only is it all still crap, it is even more crap, so much so that increasing numbers of people start to question those alternatives, yeah, I know they are all worse than what we HAD, but in reality, how much worse are SOME of them, than what we have NOW?

What if, now things are going to hell in a handcart, the brakes, which were appeals made to my better nature, to my charity, no longer work, because the charity was taken away and replaced with a taxation, moreover, a taxation without representation, an unjust tax, one I DO NOT FUCKING LIKE…

What if, in an attempt to ensure that exactly the same number of raindrops of the same composition and the same size  falling at the same speed and same temperature on everyone, equally, we end up destabilising the weather to such an extent that only the extremes are now possible, fimbulwinter, or 40 days and nights of rain, or a Bradbury drought?

I’ll tell you something else that has changed, DRAMATICALLY, since I was a child, no, not human nature, that is immutable, but human beliefs.

Never, in all my born days, have I met so many people who GENUINELY believe in all kinds of arcane, improbable, implausible, and down right impossible shit, but then I wasn’t around in the middle ages.

Combine this with the facts that;

  1. the last of those who saw first hand the effects of a real war on white man’s soil are now in their 90’s
  2. the last of those who saw first hand the effects of a major economic bubble and depression are all dead
  3. the last of those who saw first hand the final stages of the rollout / step change from one fundamental set of technologies and industry to the next are all dead

And it doesn’t look good, unless you find change “interesting”, and I use that word in the sense of the Chinese curse, may you live in interesting times.

How ever much rain is falling on us men as individuals and absent fathers and guys living alone etc etc etc, it may well be time to invoke chamberlain and peace in our time, and macmillan and you never had it so good.

December 15, 2013

Integration cost and abolition cost.

These are two things that, in my experience, are either universally ignored completely, or universally analysed in such a way that the only numbers that ever come out are totally unrealistic best case scenario numbers.

The thing is, these two things, I’ll call them IC and AC, apply to *everything*… even wimminz.

Let’s take a really simple example, you have a 5 year old Dell laptop with an old core2duo, and you move to a newer Stinkpad with i5. Sticker price on the stinkpad is 950.

OK, now before we go down that road, let’s press pause, and look at something else as a thought experiment.

Guy has a rifle, let’s say an AR15, and 1,000 rounds of ammo.

  1. Does he own the rifle, which is a treasured and loved and customised device to better throw those 1,000 rounds downrange
  2. Does he own 1,000 rounds, and the rifle is the method used to get them downrange

These are, in reality, two separate tasks / jobs / approaches.

It becomes interesting when you ask a gun owner a simple question, which none of them every know off the top of their head, how many rounds do you have to fire downrange to expend the same amount of money as it costs to purchase the gun?

This isn’t a dig at gun owners, you can ask the exact same fucking question of a car owner and gallons of fuel, the question is how many units of consumables equal the capital cost of the thing.

It’s interesting, because if you can’t answer that, you don’t even have the basis for guessing at your IC and AC.

Let’s pop back to the guns, Bob buys an AR15 for 800 bucks, Jim buys one for 1,600 bucks by the time it’s tricked out…. they both buy 1,000 rounds of Winchester ammo, say a buck a pop if they 20 or 50 at a time, (say .50c a pop if they buy the whole load in one go.)

Bob = gun for $800 + ammo $1,000 = $1,800
Jim = gun for $1,600 + ammo $1,000 = $2,600

Bob sees his rifle as nothing more than a tool to get his 1,000 rounds downrange.

Jim sees his rifle as a personalised top quality yadda yadda to get his 1,000 round downrange.

Sam, says to Bob and Jim, right after they have bought their respective rifles, y’all have a budget of two grand total, now go buy ammo at a buck a pop.

Bob has 1,200 rounds

Jim has 400 rounds


People used to take the piss out of me because I would quite happily pay cash and buy a car for 700 notes, they would buy the 4k car on credit, but the point of a car is you pull up to a gas pump and feed it, and since I had no outgoings for the car finance I could feed it easier, so yeah, my car got less mpg than yours, but I could afford it…. I wasn’t paying HP

UNLIKE the gun analogy, the CAR analogy there is no ammo in a specific calibre, there is just a choice of petrol or diesel, but even so, IC and AC aren’t limited to just what ya paid for it and what ya sold it for.

If you have already taken out a loan to buy the 4k car, chances are your credit is maxed out, and you wouldn’t get another loan, whereas me buying a clunker for cash, I could in theory finance a loan.

Finally, before I get back to the Dell and the Stinkpad, I want to talk about rules and laws, we all have to live by them, but there is that grey area, as with all regulations, where doing something this way is an illegal act of tax avoidance, and doing something this way is a perfectly legal act of tax avoidance, and this doesn’t just apply to taxes, it applies to all laws and to all life.

I took advantage of one such grey area, I was ahead by 125 a week, every week, week in, week out, for seven months, but I made abso-fucking-lutely sure going in that not only was I not breaking any laws, but that nobody could argue that I was… IC and AC, the implementation cost of adopting a avoiding tax strategy may be quite minimal, just a signature on a piece of paper and a postage stamp, the abolition cost of getting out of that shit and back to where you started can be incredibly fucking high, if anyone things you avoided that tax illegally.

Yeah, y’all are way ahead of me here, IC and AC as applied to marriage.

Except you’re NOT fucking way ahead of me here.

Because IC and AC applies to everything, and by the time you get to marriage you are already stood in the middle of the fucking minefield, and at THAT point you learn the true nature of IC and AC, the mines know which direction leads deeper into the minefield, they don’t trigger on anything moving that way…..

You were NOT lucky to get this far, intact. You were a dumb shit.

You just racked up a ton of IC, blind, and as for the related AC, that’s going to be a bitch. Bend over and grab those ankles. Lube? Fuck that, this is supposed to make you bleed and cry.

OK, still, with me, now we can get on with the old Dell core2duo upgrade to Stinkpad i5. This was / is a computer literate person, who is the go to guy for friends and family when they have pc probs…. this is a guy who is happy to type ipconfig /all in the winders command line and doesn’t need books or websites to prompt him to do it or to interpret the results…. and who knows all about coffer.com

THe only thing you need to know about this deal was that the guy wouldn’t be able to get the stinkpad before he got rid of the dell, which wasn’t a problem, as be bought an external usb3 portable hard disk, and not only copies all the working files and data from the software he uses most on to this disk, he also uses the rather good Windows Easy Transfer tool, which he has used dozens of times before, to create a transfer file on this hard disk.

He wipes the dell HD and installs Suse and off it goes, he sits back and waits for the stinkpad to arrive.

At this point he thinks he has his IC and AC managed.. he doesn’t, he just doesn’t know this yet…. each *thing* in your life has a separate and unique IC and AC, just like an individual company, and he has not only not realised this, he has compounded the problem by taking the AC for the dell and putting it towards the IC for the stinkpad, and in doing so he has transposed the sign, so instead of a cost for abolishing the dell he has taken the money he is getting by selling it, and offsetting that against the purchase cost of the stinkpad, and he thinks the purchase cost of the stinkpad IS the fucking IC. It isn’t.

Next morning at 8:30 am the DHL man drops off the new stinkpad, he unboxes it, it looks perfect in every way, exactly what he wanted, then the problems start, of course, he does not realise that these are really problems with IC and AC.

That evening he has called me in, for a coffee and some help.

NOTHING has gone according to plan, his problems are just starting.

The wiki page says WET doesn’t support moving from 64 bit windows to 32 bit windows, I got news for you, it doesn’t support going from 32 bit to 64 bit either.

Other shit he didn’t figure on is 4 of the applications he paid for and used daily on the dell will not continue to work on the stinkpad, because they were older 32 bit versions, and to get the 64 bit versions he has to pay to upgrade, and I am not talking 20 bucks a pop, put em together and we are at about 50% of the sticker price on the stinkpad.

Other shit he didn’t figure is one of his hardware peripherals, they don’t do updated 64 bit drivers for that kit, y’all have to buy the new kit, that’s about 50% of the sticker price of the stinkpad too.

Now, these are the headline grabbers, there is no guarantee whatsoever that if I can decompress and process the WET archive to make it 64 bit compatible there will not be other issues elsewhere.

I told him, matey, you have two real choices, we can wipe the stinkpad and put Win7 32 bit pro on there, which means you wasted all that money on the kingston RAM upgrade too, which just landed, or, you can bite the fucking bullet, I’ll patch across the WET files, and you’ll have to upgrade all this app software, and we can run the old external hardware temporarily in a VM but it will not be seamless with the rest of the OS.

Either way, you are looking at 2 or 3 hours of MY time, which you get to pay for too.

He bit the bullet, guys have this ability, he said I’ll pay you the full fucking day, do your stuff with the WET and the VM, and spend the rest of the time teaching me where I went wrong.

That was back in February this year.

He has just been in touch, his employers are moving everything into the cloud with chrome boxes, he tried to talk to them, telling them the lessons I had taught him, they didn’t listen, I said swing by my place, I’ll loan you a pair of wire cutters, you can place them over the net connection cable and look at them meaningfully… lrfh


Integration cost and abolition cost.

When dealing with wimminz, treat every single penny and second you spend as a complete write off the instant you spend it, other wise you will fall into the trap of throwing good money after bad, and signing yourself up for abolition costs that you really can not afford.

You’ll be a lot less keen to buy the bitch drinks to get laid, fill your tank to go see her to get laid, buy her flowers to get laid, lend her a 20 to get laid, etc etc etc.



December 14, 2013

Three coins in the fountain.

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

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

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

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

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

Way to go NSA / CIA / FDA / WTF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No man is an island”

maybe, no wimminz is ever anything else but.



October 14, 2013

Love = ownership

Got this skank, she has been proclaiming undying love for me for some 18 months now, thing is, to her, her “loving” me means she should be able to control me.

I am not talking about “I love this person so I don’t want them to hurt me” which can be a huge grey area depending on the definition of hurt me, but I love you so you should do x to please me.

I had this discussion, what is love anyway, with a FWB over the weekend, and I had to admit, I had no idea what love actually is.

It’s not that I am a robot or psychopath without feelings, it is that no definition I can come up with carries any more meantingful, empirical and semantic content than Meh, bleugh, wibble… though I was able to tell her that every time I had felt what I would have described as love, I ended up getting hurt, often badly.

So, what is love, other than some sort of catch all code used to cover and express the indefinable and inexpressible?

I can remember that ache in the chest, “such sweet sorrow”, but I am always reminded of something my dad used to say, that yawning wasn’t a sign of tiredness, but a sign of not being well, he was right, I yawn when I’m running on empty, grab more oxygen the body says, not when I could crash out 10 seconds after putting my head down… but looking back that is what that ache was, the realisation that something wasn’t as I wanted it to be, the ache was because my dog was gone, not because I loved him.

They also say love and hate are two sides of the same coin, I’m not sure what hate is either, but it sure isn’t the inverse of love, I’d toast the great spaghetti monster if the psycho skank ho ex had a long and painful battle with cunt cancer, but I don’t feel great that those I care for are healthy.

I literally wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire, but it is an apathy and a refusal to participate, not a participation in her downfall.

I conclude that actively seeking her downfall is going to be down to one or both of two things, anger and obsession.

Hate is a word that is abused as often as love, “I hate broad beans” no, I don’t, I just don’t like the taste of them.

It seems that in fact both words are used to describe a state of irrationality, of being absent from your senses, and therefore absent from a state of both rationality and sound judgement.

Back in the day, one day Queen was unheard of, then a week later they were all over the radio and telly, seven seas, my dad took one look at them and said “Queen,. Queer more like”… and thirty years later people were still debating freddie’s sexuality, and not debating the rest of the band, someone who should be in the know once told me that deaky was the only band member never to have sucked on a cock… but to the female fans, which was most of them if we are going to be brutally honest here, boys were more into Purple / Foghat / Zep / Yes / BTO, falling in love with a lead singer who preferred cock was a state of being absent from reality.

I fail to see how something that defies description as well as love does, can play a functional part in POSITIVE evolution, and I fail to see how something that fails to play a functional part in POSITIVE evolution can be anything else but NEGATIVE evolution.

Positive evolution is me fucking the psycho skank ho ex and creating a son to carry on the DNA

Negative evolution is me not reproducing.

Homosexuality is negative evolution, save for those rare cases when faggy uncle chris can save the life of nephew joe.

Homosexuality is not eliminated by evolution, therefore it is an artefact of evolution, and it is not the fact that fags are created that we should be focusing on, but the fact that fags (by and large) do not reproduce, DNA don’t care what you are, just what your genetic legacy is.

And when I say homosexuality I mean homosexuality, only being with one sex, your own, not people who put “bisexual” on a profile because it makes them sound trendy and everyone else is doing it too.

Loyalty and bonding, they play a part in DNA, and are therefore real.

Love and hate, no, don’t buy it, so they are just “noise”, plenty of signal, but no valid data.

Which ties in with the fact that I can quite easily explain and point to examples of loyalty and bonding, no difficulty whatsoever, unlike love.

In the final analysis it always appears to me that “love” is used as a get out of jail free card to justify actions and behaviours that would otherwise be beyond the pale.

When a child does something unforgivable, and that act is then forgiven, it is always love that is used as an excuse… whereas loyalty and bonding between a parent and child can be destroyed totally by that same act.. never darken my door again.

The skank that started this off, who proclaims undying love and then gets all upset when I don’t dance to her tune, she will never get the fact that it is the very fact of her getting upset when I won’t dance to her tune that puts her firmly in the “have fucked, won’t fuck ever again” category.

Her self declared love for me survives all this undiminished.

In effect her desire to remain irrational and absent from her senses remains undiminished.

My failure to comprehend love, is, I feel, not exactly unlinked to my failure to feel guilt and shame at being a deadbeat dad.

Only someone who is irrational and absent from their senses would feel guilt and shame over something that he would nether wish for nor make happen nor had any control over.

Grief, yes, I feel grief and sorrow, as I would if my dog was run over by a truck that crashed into the garden, something I am neither responsible for nor have control over.

With the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, it is telling that a phrase that was mentioned a *lot* in secret family court, along with “the child’s best ‘interests” was love, “duty” was only even mention as something belonging to the court, and “loyalty” didn’t get a look in.

I did a word analysis of the affidavits filed with the court by by psycho skank ho ex, in which I was accused of a decade of every manner of vile and disgusting and violent and abusive actions possible.

What was remarkable was the fact that until I did this, no matter how often I had read the documents in question, I completely failed to notice what words were missing.

World like pain and agony and bruising and uncomfortable and so on were either completely or totally absent, I’d run though the house waving a dagger and screaming I was going to kill her, or she would wear high necked and long sleeved tops to cover the bruises (used once) but no mention of the things a body feels when it has been subjected to such treatment.

Words and phrases that can be found in every other affidavit seeking child custody ever written were littered throughout, feelings and controlling and abusive and violent and scared and afraid, dozens and dozens of mentions of all of them.

What is love?


September 29, 2013

How times change.

I just met some stupid skank who is going on a solo backpacking trip to Thailand, she is excited but one part of the deal that gets no thought or attention whatsoever is the flight over there.

When I was a baby it was called Siam, and the flight was three days, not so much because of the top speed and range of the piston powered DC-9 and Constellations and Super Connies of the day, (There were deHavilland Comets too, but not enough to run all the services) basically converted wartime bombers, but it was hugely expensive, so certain minimum levels of comfort and relaxation were required, and of course instruments weren’t that good, the flight navigator had to actually navigate, albeit with RDF assistance, so if you were flying London to Singapore it was two overnight stops in hotels.Air_France,_Sud-Est_SE-161_Languedoc

The alternative was going by ship, I did that once too, 28 days journey time.

You could write a letter, par avion, on thin cigarette paper notepaper, often blue, and the envelopes had a red and blue pattern around the edge, and would take a week to arrive.

If it was really urgent you could send a telegram, that should get there in a day or so.

*BIG* businesses with offices around the globe by the late seventies had the Telex, think of it as a 50 baud point to point SMS.

We had one of the new fangled e-lec-tro-nic transistor (as opposed to thermionic valve) radios, it was a good one, it had a whole twelve transistors inside it, it said so on the front, and you could get long wave, medium wave, and short wave, (for the BBC world service) and of course it was all AM amplitude modulation, nobody had heard of frequency modulation.

We got our first TV in time to watch the moon landings, 425 line VHF band with a tuning dial and variable capacitor just like a radio, black and white of course…lol… and you could tell when any of the neighbours cars points and coil ignition systems needed a service…lol

We got a phone then too, you know, in our own house, in the hallway… I can still remember the number, 811, of course if you wanted to ring anyone outside the town you lived in you still had to dial the operator, (“Whitehall 1212” to be connected to scotland yard) as STD standard trunk dialling or direct dialling hadn’t come in yet, (it actually didn’t cover 100% of the UK until the late seventies) hell, the ability to direct dial local numbers without needing an operator to make the circuit was all new…

You could actually navigate by the phone lines, because the cross trees and insulators were always on the same side with respect to London.GlenTay Train wreck 4

When I went to school you got handed a little book of tables, log, sin, cos, tan, etc That and a pencil and a piece of paper was how you did your workings, if you needed to work faster you could use a slide rule, three digit precision pretty much, but in reality that was enough for most real world calculations.

This was all long long long before you actually saw the first pong game in the shops, or the first LED digital watches, or anything else to do with the silicon chip, which was still a pipe dream.

As a boy from the age of 12 onwards I made *many* solo and unaccompanied journeys comprising of a train from wherever I was in the UK to either Reading or London, grab a bus or a cab from there to Heathrow, find my flight, check in, board it and arrive at a destination half way around the world.

By *many* I mean when the then BOAC started their first jet services in the late fifties, even though 99.9% of the routes and flights were still piston & propeller driven, there were a great many Englishmen working abroad in all corners of the Globe, doing what Englishmen did, building the railways and mines and shipyards and so on, pretty much all ex-servicemen, and of course they all had kids, and so it was quite common for those kids to attend school “back home” and fly out for school holidays, depending on how senior (well paid) your folks were and how much they disliked you, you could get flown out once, twice or three times a year, so you could easily do six flights between London and Singapore for example per year… so BOAC brought in a thing to keep all these little shits well behaved called the junior jet club, I think 7 was the lower age limit, and every flight you got 5 minutes in the cockpit in flight and your little book stamped, and you got certificates at 125k, 250k, and 500k miles…. of course it didn’t take long to add that up, and by the time you were 12 you’d dumped all that crap and the stupid “unaccompanied minor” lapel pin that meant the BOAC staff would look out for you…. do you know where you are flying to little boy, would you like a drink, lol

Tickets and all were of course pre-paid and pre-booked, but looking back I used to carry astonishingly little cash, probably fifty bucks in today’s money.

In theory you could make an international phone call, but I personally had never heard of anyone who had done such a thing, and I knew people who owned and ran fucking huge multinational companies, either my dad worked directly for them or I knew their kids…

I could go on and on and on, but, you get the idea.


Perhaps, just perhaps, it is because I come from a time when communication was either face to face, or slooooow, you didn’t expect instant gratification, it could take a week or more for the letter to get there, and a week or more for the reply to get back..

So on the one hand I find the whole modern what the fuuuuuck!!!! I sent the cunt a message three whole fucking minutes ago and I still haven’t had a fucking reply, what the fuuuuuck!!! rather amusing and stupid, on the other hand I do come from a time when each communication was considered valuable, so SOME FUCKING RESPONSE would be nice, not some “lol yeah” either, a fucking response, with content and meaning and information.

In part this is because of the modern obsession with “multitasking”, but of course there ain’t no such animal, all there is is “time slicing” and if you find yourself unable to hold six face to face conversations simultaneously or make six phone calls simultaneously or play six games of chess simultaneously, then it really is no wonder that you fail utterly at using a variety of different methods to;

  1. whatsapp person #1
  2. sms person #2
  3. sms person #3
  4. web/mail/portal person #4
  5. email person #5
  6. kik person #6

all the while checking fuckbook and twatter and so on.

If you chop the time slice for any of those jobs below the minimum required to do that stage of that job properly, then you just added to the noise and detracted from the signal for all the rest of it too.

I see this ALL THE FUCKING TIME, particularly with wimminz, but to be fair not a hell of a lot less with guys, they are operating under information overload and as a result the instant you drop off the mental radar you are forgotten.

It is the same process whether you are waiting for an update to a job in a work email or waiting to her from a skank on a fucking site, you just may give more of a shit or be more annoyed by one or the other, because it matters more to you personally at that moment, but, to the other person involved you are just noise that fell off the radar.

You were lost in the immediacy and urgency of the moment.

It’s nothing personal, you fell off her radar, someone else stayed on and got their balls drained.

It’s nothing personal, in fact, that is exactly it, the time slices are cut so thin there is no room left for anything personal, and so the obsession everyone has is with what they do not have, not what they do have.

Apart from an empty belly, I have yet to meet a dog, or any other animal come to that, who spends any time at all worrying about what they do not have, and they are better for it.

I could sit here and make no changes of any material kind whatsoever to my life, and start worrying about what I do not have, including all the hundreds of wimminz that have not sent me meaningful personal communications, and ruin my life by doing so, because I would end up unhappy with it.

Or, I can sit here and be a dog, actually I have everything I fucking need, hell, I have things that were beyond any science fiction to the little boy I once was, and be extremely happy and content with life.

Sure, there are things I do not have, but the lack of them does not detract from what I do have.

The bitch who started this thread off, her “backpacking holiday” will be centred around her fucking iphone, and taking selfies, and updating her fuckbook page, and roaming charges and wifi hotspots and mains charging adapters, and her life is sliced into time slots so thin she might as well have stayed at home and joined Second Life, because lets face it, her first and only real life is passing her by in multi-tasked slices too small to achieve anything of merit.


September 28, 2013

When you buy a new Mercedes..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she will say “I dunno”

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

People do what they are gonna do, wimminz particularly.

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

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

I want to tell you two small true stories.

wimminz #1

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

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

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

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

wimminz #2

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

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

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

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

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

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

She dissembles.

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

I decline to go over and fuck her.

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

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

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

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

I devote zero CPU time to em, except;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



September 8, 2013


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You got outwitted by a dumbass, dumbass.


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

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

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

Engineering is no longer taught this way.

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

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

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

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

September 4, 2013

Grab a beer, pull up a chair.

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

The answer of course is NO

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

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

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

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

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

I myself am not that kind of man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think back, what you felt was wanting to puke.

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t feel BAD, you feel SAD.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Serious question.

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

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

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

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

August 29, 2013

The friendzone – from the wimminz side

Filed under: Wimminz — Tags: , , , , , , , — wimminz @ 8:04 pm

Oh, how I lol’ed….

I have discussed before how wimminz will never, ever, ever break a so called “friendship” with another wimminz, no matter how horribly that other wimminz behaves.

We all also know all about (thanks in part to the manosphere) that beta male zombie living death known as being friendzoned by a wimminz.

So, what happens when a man friendzones a wimminz, you ask?

I’ll tell you, it’s as if god reached down with a magic eraser and wiped you from said wimminz life in mere moments flat, suddenly you cease to exist, if she had your phone number, email or other electronic contact details, they all get blocked permanently.

Even if said wimminz gets in the shit, she won’t call you, she’d rather walk 5 miles home in the rain and dark.

Mark Twain said something along the lines of it being anger that got men in to trouble, and pride that kept them there, but never were truer words said about the wimminz…

Of course, trifling with a wimminz pride is never a safe occupation, so I would caution against seeing it as a really great way to end a relationshit.

In other news, with the imminent Syria shit, and knock on effect on the economy in general and price of fuel in particular, I can see a lot more wimminz facing the financial wall, so we may see if my often stated observations about wimminz being in need of men to provide for them in exchange for kinky sex hold out true.

I suspect they will.

A recent commenter said that “people do what they wanna do” has to cut both ways, and apply to me to, and he is quite correct in this.

  • I don’t take shit from wimminz or niggerz
  • I fuck skank ho sluts, zero emotional or financial involvement or outlay
  • I live alone
  • I am accepting of the fact that while my lifestyle might not be what I once imagined, or hoped for, or dreamed of, in reality it is sustainable and pretty cosy, and any faults I could find with it are probably of the grass is greener next door variety.

I’m sure you get the idea, so yes, the commenter is right, there are many things that I should be doing that I ain’t, but the flipside is there are very very few things that I am doing that I bloody well shouldn’t be.

One of the things I am doing that I should not be doing is going all Nightrider on the roads, particularly towards other assholes (lol) who are exhibiting signs of road rage towards me.. In the past week there have been three fucks who are all rather fortunate that it is illegal heah-abouts to drive with a loaded 44 automag in the glove box.

The interesting thing is not so much what pisses them off, but what tips them over the edge.

What pisses them off is (here in the UK) the rule of the road is keep left, you ain’t the fastest mother-fucker on the road, and just because YOU are doing 0.1 mph below the legal speed limit, some of us are happy to go faster… that and me just tailgating the cunts till they get the message… OK, I drive like a cunt, or as one observant wimminz said, you drive a car like you’re riding a motorbike.

What sets them off is this fine example of German automotive engineering has automatic everything, and everything includes lights and wiper, and being cautious and practical, this means the lights come on early.

So, cunt up their ass in the fast lane they could possibly deal with, cunt up their ass with headlights on when it is merely cloudy at 3pm, they flip, thinking said cunt has physically reached down and made the decision to put the headlights on to intimidate other drivers.

Yeah, you guessed it, you can only think like that if you are driving a piece of shit Vauxhall or Peugot or some such shitbox, not a German shitbox, and not an 18 month old German shitbox, and not an 18 month old black German shitbox, with a driver wearing a black shirt and tie (you choose, mafiosi / barista / doesn’t give a fuck field tech) but thank fuck no mirror shades.

Those suitably set off tend to fall into one of three categories, wimminz, niggerz sat in their own car with a fucking hi-viz vest on, and ricers.

The thing they ALL have in common is none of the cunts can drive, smooth is fast, placing yourself correctly and then taking a smooth run up you can take 3 or 4 or 5 vehicles at once, driving too close and jerking out at the last moment and planting your foot without selecting the right gear, you hold up every other cunt trying to overtake.

My 2012 eco box German car will return (imperial gallons) around 49 mpg at a sustained 95 mph on a flat dry motorway with no crosswinds, it does that by using a small 1.6 litre 4 pot inter-cooled turbo diesel, which means below 2k on the rev-counter there is no boost and no torque, so if you are trying to hump along a hilly A road such as the A35 south coast road at 85/90 with the occasional spurt to 99 mph, or overtake a couple of arctics and caravans on a hill in one of the few dual lane overtaking spots, you just GOT to be smooth, or the motor will never get you there.

And the point of all this fucking drivel?

Well, if you are gonna be doing something you din’t oughta be doin’, for fucks sake at the very least do it with some style and measure of competence.


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