An announcement

The Atlantic sucks cock. That is all.

This is why I don’t do monogamy

http://diaryofakilljoy.tumblr.com/post/42126729412/the-decision

Because bitches don’t.

“Diary of a Killjoy” is an insipid scrawling, from which not a whole lot about the vile nature of feminism can be gleaned superficially. To see the true repugnance of this kind of shit, one has to dig through all the intentional vagueness, the “poetic” obfuscation, the superfluous emotional chatter; one has to cut through the insular fat, and get right down to the self-righteous, hypocritical grist, the the cuntactular selfishness that characterizes the majority of all feminists, unconditionally.

As is usually the case when I rip on feminist shit, I’ll throw you “chauvinist pigs” some block quotes as a reference:

…there I was, a bottle of wine into my night and telling him that I think we should try it. I don’t really remember most of the conversation, but I remember him asking me why I looked so ashamed.

This is a (highly abridged) summation of a typical woman in her twenties feeling an urge toward what’s known as an open relationship. Like all women, feminists are just as susceptible to their own biological urges (i.e. hypergamy); particularly in their 20’s. They try to reconcile with this ugly whore-impulse by an ideological rejection of traditional relationships.

In her blog, it  takes the broad an entire bottle of wine before she was able to circumvent the mechanisms in her little feral brain that kept her from admitting her base, mercenary motivations. It took a wilful deactivation of normal inhibition before she could feel ready to admit to him the power of her inner whore.

That’s the first thing you learn – that everyone seems to feel this way at one point or another. A tug or drift towards something else – someone else. I remember my mother telling me so over a meal. She didn’t want me to think that there was something wrong with me. That its normal. That I’m young. My aunt told me the same thing. She wished someone had told her that when she was in her first marriage. It was normal. She was young.

The legacy of hypergamy; ‘aint that cute?! I’m not sure if it’s funny or disgusting that furtive admissions of urges toward sexual pluralism between women and their offspring constitutes as female “bonding”. Embedded in the above paragraph is, funnily enough, if one examines it closely enough, a justification for the seduction/ PUA community.

Fem-cunts are quick to rationalize and encourage the utilization of the pluralistic female sexual imperatives (“I’m young! It’s my right to sleep around!”), but are hair-trigger in their vehemence when the male populace dares to move to increase their own sexual agency in response to hypergamy and the justification women are given by their “movement” to dissolutely fuck anything with a dick, riding what is colloquially known as the “cock carousel”.

I should actually take this time to identify with this particular fem-bot, however. Rare as it is and loath as I am to agree with anything a feminist says, writes, or thinks, I have to agree on one point of contention with this “killjoy”: the urge toward sexual pluralism goes both ways. As eager as women are to fuck anything with a pulse, the majority of men share the same dangerous desires.

The utility of sexual moderation isn’t in keeping one particular gender under wraps;  ideally telling everyone to keep their pants on would serve many social utilities. That was the mistake traditional social conservatism made: it attacked female sexuality and turned an inconsequential “blind eye” to male sexual desire. (Hence the biggest complaint of the defunct “slut-stud-double standard.”)

Feminism and its snarling, spittle-flinging defence of female sexual decadence is the inevitable offshoot. Pandora’s cunt was opened and now…well, good luck trying to close it now.

Unfortunately, any widespread upheaval of sexual mores, particularly when muddled in the endless expectations in this day and age to maintain a veneer of political correctness, has both ostensible and more insidious unforeseen consequences. Fem-bots will often say that certain feelings are acceptable, certain specific situations are “okay” in the public eye, only to advocate a much more private agenda secretly.

When these more selfish urges are given credence in the format of an intentionally vague blog, one has to cut through a hormonal jungle of intentionally obfuscating emotional language, like the following:

I feel emotions viscerally – my skin screamed, the sound rubbing up and down my spine, settling deep into my stomach. My heart stretched and sent stern looks to tell me to shut up. The easy thing to do would be to take it all back. But my mouth whispered softly, no…the first summer we spent apart telling my mother through gasps and tears that I thought I was falling in love with someone else. She told me not to tell him…[t]he guilt was my punishment, I thought. And I was punished. Four years have passed, but I still think about him…[You learn] how to confess. Perhaps it’s a subtle admission to yourself, an allowance to feel the way you feel… all the little secrets you aren’t supposed to share…hints of love and sex in dark corners, across rooms or in the office. Glances that turn fantasies into realities and back to closets in milliseconds…possibilities of unknown bodies, histories…

One must wade through the fetid menstrual swamp of emotions and feelings if they are to ever find what the concrete motivations are, what essence of the message behind it all happens to be.

I was – notoriously monogamous – notoriously jealous – an insecurity I never understood.

And there it is: the real confession concealed in the blog. She was mongamous. She was jealous. She was able to limit her sexual appetites to one other person. The confession advocated isn’t a traditional outward confession. Like most feminists, this “killjoy” bends the meaning of words to suit her own skewed emotional world view. She, in confessing, is only confessing something to herself. Count on feminists to take their own circuitous emotional hand wringing and consider it an advancement, a progression of sorts.

Confession, in the literal concrete, unemotionally-swayed sense means an admission. The admission the “killjoy” makes is to herself; she acknowledges over the sound of her hamster spinning itself into a frenzy, that she understands  how unrelentingly rapacious her sexual appetites are, to the exclusion of consideration of anyone’s emotions but her own.

She doesn’t care about the betrayal of trust her pursuit of  “possibilities” (cheating) entails, she didn’t care about the impact of her base and feral actions on anyone but herself, anything but her own feelings. This is feminism exemplified: “Me, me, me! I’m a woman, it’s all about me! My choice! My feelings! Prioritize me! Give me rights…and privileges!”

And what don’t feminists want, among all those privileges and prerogatives they demand of others, of men, of the economy, of the government, of society as a whole?  Responsibilities, that’s what.

 The third thing you have to learn is to accept and let it all go. All the labels, the meanings, the expectations… myths, and definitions of right and wrong and good and bad…Know your boundaries. Be it your lover who you see once a year, or your partner that sleeps next to you every night. Let it go – but hold on to things that serve you and serve others in the same way.

Most importantly of all, the “killjoy” wants her fellow cunt-cult followers to know that responsibility is not part of the package. No matter how bad a woman feels about cheating on her spouse, boyfriend, (“partner”), no matter how little they will understand the damage they do to some poor simpering beta who they let fuck them about once a month between peremptory pounding in broom closets from assorted “lovers”,  no matter how bad all that makes her feel, she should accept that, “let go”, and disavow herself of any responsibility.

Why? Because she’s fulfilling her biological sexual imperative as a young woman, utilizing her youth to max-out the cock to which she has access. As long as a woman knows she can attract a broad amount of male sexual attention (i.e. insofar as she retains the characteristics of youthful femininity), it will be her instinct (whether repressed or not) to fuck as many dudes as possible. Even the feminist, couching her admission in inane emotional prattling, will admit that.

It’ll be interesting to see how this broad’s guilt and access to sex play out when her tits start to go saggy, her middle expands, and the first few wrinkles appear. It’ll be interesting to see how quickly her focuses changes from maximal cock-acquisition to stability acquisition with a long-haul-beta male (“domestic partner?”) at her side.

What can be gleaned, most importantly out of this is that no matter what the popular opinion appears to be, women have, generally speaking,  much more easy access to sex than men. The time has never been better, then, as a man, to rid oneself of the obsolete sexual scruples that seek traditional relationships. Traditional signals weakness in the mind of the modern sexually pluralistic woman. “Killjoy” had a “partner” (stable, reliable beta-boyfriend), and “lovers” (guys with whom she just had a lot of sex.)

The question arises: Why do women get to categorize men so ruthlessly? Why do women get to stratify those with whom they interact sexually into “lovers” and “partners” (alphas and betas), whilst men are increasingly shamed for sexual promiscuity?

Fuck monogamy. Learn yourself some sweet social skills and fuck as profligately as feminism has taught women they are allowed to. If you must continue as a monogamous commitment-seeker, don’t start looking until the ravages of time have humbled this generation’s id-driven female masses.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/STOP-Simping-Movement/201546809928555?fref=ts

http://heartiste.wordpress.com/2013/01/14/no-one-is-entitled-to-commitment/

Could these be part of the key to liberating the male masses from the slavery that is today’s culture?

Yes! Join the first, subscribe to the second. I attribute most of my red-pill awesomeness to the second link.

This is the kind of thing that abounds when you look up the feminist reaction to the legit rape crisis in India

Let’s preface this shit with a little memetic action up there to set the mood. It’s an increasingly proliferative truth that the “modern feminist” is a hideous impersonation of her predecessors. With a predilection toward whining from a place of complete privilege and unwarranted self-importance, spouting dated statistics, bloviating over exaggerated and inflated claims of “injustice” and “oppression”, and spouting a preponderance of hate toward men. At least when feminists had legitimate grievances, they were doing it from a place of self-concern and not outright hate of men (for the most part).

I, being the inquisitive bastard I am, decided to do a peremptorily wide search for the fem-cunt reaction to the rape situation in India. One of the first blogs I encountered was this superlatively histrionic fem-cunt scrawling: Justice For Women; a work that illustrates just how profound the force of hatred runs amongst today’s feminist thought. When the blog-post on Indian men opened with the following, I knew I was in for a treat:

The male-chauvinist pigs, that Indian men are, time and again prove that they are an embarrassment to the human race. They pick their nose in public, they eat disgusting things like gutkha, tobacco and pan and paint any and every area with it and they urinate just about anywhere. They are untidy and filthy. Now many would disagree, try to argue that they are not untidy and filthy, that they are rather very well-mannered and very presentable. May be… But inside every Indian man’s mind there is filth, dirt, grime and grunge. Not only are they disgusting, they all are rapists!  

–  ♀U GO GRRRL! ♀

I figured you motherfuckers in my readership would dig the fact that I chucked up the last line in bold. It gives you some idea of just how seriously anyone should take this kind of material. As you can see, the master rhetorician   who penned this piece has such clever ways to decry the evils of India’s male populace. AD- HOMINEMS ARE YOUR FRIEND, WHEN YOU ARE A FEMINIST.

Now in her (and without a doubt it’s her)  defence, at least the author isn’t disparaging or condemning the entire male sex! Nope, just all Indian men. Not a particular class, not a particular denomination of the group; all Indian men. Apparently if you’re part of what amounts to around 9% of the planet’s population you are a chauvinist pig, have deplorable hygiene and(!!!) are a rapist! 

Inevitably the inherent misandry of modern feminist blogs rears its grotesque head at some point or another.  Justice For Women earns a wretched distinction amongst its hateful ilk, lacking even the pretence of it being anything more than anti-male hate-mongering. Count on the fem-cunt brigade to elevate any problem to the level of hysteria if it involves rape. Suddenly, entire demographics of the male population are condemned as hazardous potential predators, latent rapists, creepers looking for the right time and place to wantonly rape!  How convenient it must be to know men so well, that you can make sweeping generalizations about them! It must come from that profound understanding they have of that BIG BAD PATRIARCHY.

The author, whose sex (mostly due to the incoherency of this piece) is difficult to determine, has the temerity to continue and elaborate their stance in their loathsome diatribe, claiming:

As offending as it may seem, its the truth. They are all rapists. We know enough cases through the media to know that rapes and molestation cases are alarmingly high in India, with its capital, Delhi, also being termed as the Rape Capital. In India, every 26 minutes, a woman is molested; every 34 minutes, a woman is raped; every 42 minutes, an incident of sexual harassment takes place. Let us do the math… in a year, 20215 women are molested, 15459 women are raped and 12514 women are sexually harassed. Thats one shameful stat!

Alright folks; case closed! Some fem-cuntinista has spoken! “It’s the truth”! We have it on the absolute authority, now! Good thing we had that cleared up! Certainly, rape is a prolific crime in India, but apparently that’s enough evidence a person needs to claim that all Indian males are rapists.

I have (and I’m sure you have) heard the word “rape capital” thrown around a fucking lot in the news. The last I checked, South Africa had that distinction. A week later, someone’s calling Somalia the rape-capital. If a rape happens somewhere in DC, it’ll soon earn the same moniker…that is until the media finishes its “progressive” circle-jerk over the matter and some new place gets elected “rape capital of the world!”

In short, it’s sensationalist bullshit; heavy-handed agitprop intended to stir people up to a frenzy. The moment you start seeing someone touting a place as a fucking “rape capital” is the moment you start questioning their sources. (A cardinal sin in any debate with a feminist, because how dare you question her credibility!)

And of course, we see statistics here. Are they true? From whence do they originate? These numbers are extremely suspicious because it’s a commonly known fact that there are blessed-few reliable statistics on rape in India.

My caveat on that shit is that the conditions are deplorable in India. Like many countries languishing in poverty and inhibited with stiff socio-economic disparities, India has an extremely lugubrious record pertaining to how it deals with sexual crimes; this includes the amount of sexual crime that actually gets reported. It’s only been recently that the true depth and prevalence of sexual crime against women has been coming to light. The only thing worse than the prolific amounts of rape and sexual crimes being perpetrated in the country are the battalions of fem-cunts jumping on it, attacking the male sex as a whole, and spitting exaggerated, dubious, inaccurate statistics trying to validate their spiteful, regressive, destructive ideology. If you see someone talking in numbers and percentages, and they can’t give you a source at the end of it all, you’d best be doubting that shit.

As with any fem-cunt’s hate-ridden scrawling, “Justice for Women” abounds with the chemical weapon of the (bowel) movement’s favorite weapon: SHAME.

…you would say that you never raped, molested or sexually harassed any one…I would ask you to reconsider. Every minute, some girl is groped in a crowded bus, inappropriately touched …eve[r]-teased and demeaned by shameless pricks These acts of sexual harassment are done by otherwise decent men.“

I think at some point, the author of the blog, in her frenetic hate-masturbation, realized how unreasonable it was to accuse almost 10% of the people in the world as cold-hearted rapist-pigs, and modified her stance enough to retain some modicum of credibility in her own vapid mind. (Let’s not get into the mess she made of the English in which she tries to write.)

You may think you’re not a bad guy, but wait! Maybe you’re contributing by committing lesser sexual crimes. “You may not be a rapist, but you’ve probably sexually harassed someone at some point or another, you Indian-male-chauvinist-misogynist-pig!” What an impeccably logical argumentative progression! Here’s a translation:

“If you won’t admit to being a rapist, I realize I can’t prove that, but, you’re a shameless sexist pig!!! I just know you are!”

-Angry  Feminist Cunt

There’s more where that came from!

Now, a few of you would still say that you never sexually harassed or violated a woman. And I would ask you again to reconsider.By my guess, 98 percent of Indians, men and women alike, feel that women are raped, molested or sexually harassed because of the way they dress, they talk or the way they behave. And those who feel so, are the rapists to be. Because, one fine day, their judgmental small minds would conclude that a skimpy dress, a sweet talk or a friendly hug is an ‘invitation’ and they would do everything possible to honour the ‘invite’.

And just when you think it couldn’t get any more inane, the author, deluded wretched puerile thing she is, decides to jettison her ineffective attempts at argumentative logic in their wobbly inefficient entirety! Now, she doesn’t need statistics! If you can’t find big scary numbers to prove your point, start throwing around sums you dug out of your imagination and appealing to people’s feelings.

I don’t know anyone else, but if someone tells me  that “by their guess”, a whopping “98 percent” of a population feels something, I generally see the presence of high-balled numbers,  words like “guess”, and “feels” as a cryptic way of saying the following:

I’d try and decipher the rest of the Gibberish-resembling-English that constitutes the rest of the quoted paragraph, but I literally cannot be fucked to do so. I left it in there so that you could marvel at  just how majestically indecipherable it is. Consider it a microcosm of feminist argumentation and theory: people who barely know what they fuck they’re talking about and making increasingly less sense the more the talk.

That’s all I’m prepared to write about “Justice for Women”. The rest is the same circuitous ad-hominem repeated with a few instances of back-pedalling and implementations of good ole’ shame. I’ve made my point.

Sources:
http://justiceforwomenindia.wordpress.com/2012/07/17/tor-men-tors-why-are-indian-men-disgusting/

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/3575994.stm

Female “work” vs Real Work

Behold, compatriots, the red pill. Unfortunately, the damn thing is so hard to swallow that it has to be chased…usually with the “safe” buffer between hard truths and cozy political correctness known as “comedy.”

Bill Burr is taking a bold shot, here at the heapin’ mound o’ shit that is the current marriage paradigm.

Women, when married and carrying children have the audacity to claim that theirs is the hardest job, so Burr states. He repudiates, in no uncertain terms (if you understand the subtext and from whenc it originates) the myth of motherhood being the “hardest” job.

Sure, that shit isn’t without its challenges and vicissitudes, but as he puts it, full time motherhood sure looks a whole lot easier when you compare it to some of the hazardous blue-collar jobs out there that the majority of MEN are doing.

His entire spiel, as unfortunately short as it is in this clip I was able to find of it, is reminiscent of the writings of Dr. Warren Farell, describing a phenomenon called the “glass cellar”.

The glass cellar is a concept referring to the fact that the most dangerous for which people get the least thanks are in almost all cases, done by men. (Miner, garbage collector, infantryman, etc.)

This male prevalence in such dangerous careers suggests a broader unappreciated expendability, that even to today, spits in the face of any flimsy pretence of “gender equality” in the workplace, (or hypocritical criticism thereof!)

The “glass cellar”, of course, is rejected with apoplectic vehemence by any fem-cunt within ear-shot. God forbid that it’s proven that women aren’t the only ones oppressed!

It’s time to take up the reins

What’s up, you fuckers? It’s the Chauvinist Kaiser back again, here to roofie your drinks with the red pill, and heap as much scorn, contempt, ridicule, and all around DISRESPECT as I can onto the femnazi cuntocracy. Let the Swiftian good times roll! 

I’ve been inundated with a bunch of other exigent shit in my life these past few months (it’s almost been a fuckin’ year!), and I feel I need to let you all in on some important facts.

1) I’m back – There will very soon be a proliferation of awesome posts that are almost as surreal as my past work. (FEEL FREE TO REFER TO IT, TO GET MY DRIFT.)

2) No, “bro” – In an effort to maintain some modicum of anonymity in my past posts, I patently “bro-ified” them with all kinds of attempts at interjecting colloquialisms and expressions I don’t normally use in my speech or writing.

I shall disavow myself of the superfluous bro-suffix and cut the fuck back on that, in order to get my message across a little more concisely. Addending every second sentence with “,bro”, or “mother fucker” is a tiresome, baleful process, of which I’ve become thoroughly disenchanted.

 

My Reaction

The above depicts my candid reaction to the severe censure and censorship to which “manosphere” blogs are the all-too-often recipient.

Post-Wall Sexual Desperation Leading To the Desecration of an Archaic Social Convention. The Hamster is Strong with This One.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/samantha-parent-walravens/women-in-their-40s-having_b_1670101.html

Behold, if you bros can stand it, another sterling example of just how strong the hamster is with the fem-cunt reporters churning out bucket after bucket of menstrual shit under the auspices of the Huffington Post. Samantha Parent Walravens, hypergamous whore extraordinaire decides to enlighten us with some real talk about marital infidelity. Buckle up, bros. The hamster’s strong with this one.

The article opens carrying the typical implication that traditionally, married motherfuckers cheated way more than married bitches. Bitchass-bitch Walravens wants to have us think that those big bad patriarchal men have always classically been the unfaithful ones in monogamous relationships more times than not.

The fact that any numerical motherfuckin’ quantification of infidelity rates being a fucking moot point notwithstanding, (which she at least has the presence of fuckin’ mind to mention in passing), it takes this femmbot cunt-rat an entire paragraph before she starts thrusting the fat finger of feminist blame at the male population. In ex-fucking-emplar, bros:

What is surprising is that it’s the women — not the men– who are cheating.

Note how the bitch approaches the issue: without even the mother-fucking pretext of objectivity. This level of baseless presupposition should be reason alone not to take a fucking thing this cock-carousel-riding slut-muffin says seriously. A pivotal premise of this article is the presupposition that men have been (and are) unfaithful. What is that if not pure mother-fuckin’ conjecture and sexist stereotyping? I’ll tell you what else it is: wrong.

I don’t have any mother-fuckin’ stats to throw at your asses out there, but I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to assert that the complete opposite of this horse shit pablum is true. On account of hypergamy, I’d say bitches have been the bigger offenders for cheating throughout western history. I’ve seen plenty of relationships go down in flames and leave a bloody smear where they touch down. Of all those spectacular failures, the majority of them have been rendered such by a lovely little phenomenon I like to call: female infidelity, bitches.

But enough about my experience. There’s only so much of that I can throw out on here before I’m on my mother-fuckin’ soapbox, bros.

The bitch, as I’ve alluded to before, cites an insipid pop-science “study” that indicates that rates of female infidelity are increasing. What those brilliant social scientists and statisticians forgot to mention is that it’s been pretty fucking high already! Their conclusion stated that they saw a marked spike in the phenomenon in married women in their 40’s.
Now, let’s reflect on that, bro-skillets; put your thinking caps on.

 

According to these numbers, female infidelity may one day rival or even surpass male cheating.

Already there, bitch. But I guess you can’t expect every bread-and-butter-unwitting-liberal-zealot journalist to be familiar with the sordid minutiae, the grim, stank, acrimonious reality that is the general sexual conduct of the majority of women in the western world…right, bros?

The author decides to consult some women who were brave enough to (anonymously) admit they’re cheating whores who go back on their marital vows and from their vulgar, vapid, vaginal annunciations the hamster’s frenetic exertions are exemplified. Lemme break this shit down to a science for all you bros out there who don’t have the time to sift through the womanese this bitch has been spitting for your edification.

“My husband and I were so busy with work and the kids…”

Spin hamster, spin! This is your classic rationalization, plain and simple. Technically every quoted thing this pseudonymous bitch is in its entirety, but this is basically what we’re dealing with. Being busy ‘aint no excuse to jump on another man’s cock. No matter how much a woman wants her cuckolded chump of  husband to believe cheating “just happens”, it’s not and the bitch is lying like a dog on a hot day. Cheating doesn’t “just happen”. Cheating is a deliberate fucking course of action, bros. Following on this (impeccable mother-fucking) logic, wouldn’t you think that having less time would make it more difficult for the bitch in question to ride some cock on the side? Yeah, exactly. So basically her first rationalization is a dud. BIG SURPRISE THERE.

 

our life together had slid into the background…”

Here’s a translation of the above from womanese, courtesy of yours, truly:

“I have lost interest in my husband because he’s proven himself to be a boring male-provider-figure in my life. He no longer gives me ‘gina tingles like all the alpha-male sports players I wanted to, and did have sex with when I was younger with reckless abandon. Therefore, ergo, I, as an empowered woman in the western world, am going to cheat on him, secure in the fact that even if I don’t manage to acquire sexual attention from other males I find more sexually appealing I have the security of a marriage, a social (and sexual) contract that obliges my boring provider-figure of a husband to provide for me no matter how fat, ugly, argumentative, difficult, unpleasant, and unfaithful I am, or allow myself to become. If he doesn’t, he faces still legal penalties and enormous amounts of debt to me because archaic laws still consider my sex as a whole to be more vulnerable and in need of unnecessary assistance and privilege. I need a platitudinous excuse to justify my rampant sexual misconduct and incognito violation of vows I made, so I’ll use this canned line I heard from watching an episode of Doctor Phil where I bore witness to a predicament similar to the one I’m bringing about with my own family.”

“It became all about ‘who’s doing the laundry’ and ‘who’s picking the kids up from daycare.’ I needed confirmation that I was still sexy and that other men found me attractive.”

(See above translation from womanese for an explication of this quoted bullshit.) Also, the “confirmation”-thing is a clear hamster-turd in the form of a woman needing an escape from her own inevitable march toward sexual obsolescence. An interesting note, bros, is that this alleged “spike” in marital infidelity in women coincides with a pivotal moment in their lives: middle age.

Any fucking dumbass with a modicum of familiarity with the zoological Pandaemonium that is the sexual market knows that once women pass their “prime” years of reproduction they tend to soon thereafter hit a metaphorical mother-fuckin’ wall. In case you dumbasses don’t know what “the wall” is, (no, it’s got nothing to do with fuckin’ Pink Floyd), it refers to a point at which women start to lose their sexual value to the male population as their physical appearances start to decline. Women tend to age fast, ma’fucks. Real fast. Faster than men. And I’m sad to tell you bros that bitches ‘aint no wine or whiskey. Almost none of ’em improve with age!

So, really, from a mother-fucking theoretical standpoint, it would make sense that women, glimpsing grim sexual death in the eyes of men, in the wake of the agony of their violent acquaintance with “the wall“, turn into superlatively whack-ass bitch-ass hoes, trying to catch another elusive ride on their beloved cock-carousel. It makes a lot of sense. Only now, approaching sexual doom, they have the security of knowing that their cheating dimply cellulite-ridden asses are legally bound to some poor chump who’s looking after the kids and who has no choice but to suffer  their selfish hypergamous mother-fuckin’ urges. It’s a bittersweet depravity that characterizes the frenzied hypergamous gratification in which cheating whores-masquerading-as-wives engage. Sickening shit, bros.

 

 

She May Not Get Much Cardio, but Her Hamster Sure Does!

Enter: Union Bar Iowa City. The night is dark, with a lick of mild winter cold still clinging to the night air. The dance floor is buzzing, and the typical nocturnal “hustle ‘n bustle” is in full-swing. Bitches are bumpin’ and grindin’, dudes are chugging some brewskis and the bolder, drunker, and more attention-hungry of the feminine masses mount the bar in their high heels and immodest attire with the intention of making a fuckin’ spectacle of themselves.

Among those aggressive, obstreperous broads suffering from a chemically-induced impermeability to concepts of dignity, shame, discretion, or modesty is a particularly  robust specimen, bros. In the herd of foxes and minxes, an aurochs appears.

Basic laws of physics notwithstanding, this “bigger” woman decides she too must partake in the rapacious attention-mongering in which her skinnier, prettier counterparts are engaged. It should be noted that women have little enough a capacity for rational thought (say, the kind necessary to realize you’re too big to be perched on a narrow counter top with an armful of other women, dancing around if you exceed 200 pounds). Add alcohol into the mix and an already innate propensity towards “group-think”, jumping on the band wagon, and otherwise divesting one’s own capacity to think for themselves arises in women. This innate propensity manifests itself all too readily in a familiar scene played out at every venue from class tavern, and homely “bar and grill” to the stereotypical “moribund biker dive bar” or syphilitic “club” bumpin’ out the latest “coon toons”.

What’s this scene, you bros may ask? Women “doing as the Romans do” whilst in “Rome”. Gang-mentality, childish adherence to trends, ovine copy-catting of what everyone else is doing without a second glance awry to think for themselves.

It is because of this nasty herd-mentality that it’s never just one bitchass-bitch shakin’ that ass on the bar. Within seconds, another pair of “gal pals” mount the bar for a carnal display to all the high-status males and a torturous display for those who “aren’t good enough”, a call to arms for all the other attention-craving chicks, a challenge to see who can discard their morals the most quickly and expose the most in the most profligate and licentious manner, bros! This shit gets real!

Alas, I digrees, ma’fuxxx. Anyway, this fucking land-whale decides she wants to partake in the unabashed sexual exhibitionism that the other bitches decide they need to engage in, in the interests of attention-acquisition. Unfortunately for her, the proprietors of the bar promptly give her a nice little slap in the face that I like to call a reality check. The brave motherfuckers risking committing the grave fucking offence of political incorrectness tell the young sow that she’s not allowed to dance on the bar!

*CUE VEHEMENT FEMINIST RESPONSE AND INCESSANT INANE VOCIFERATIONS EQUIVOCATING SOMETHING TO THE EFFECT OF “STOP HATIN’ US FAT CHICKS; ALL WOMEN ARE BEAUTIFUL” AD INFINITUM*

I imagine you ma’fuxxx can already guess how shit hit the fan with this one! That’s right; the heifer who actually has the audacity (props?) to describe herself as “plus size” took exception to the rather crude and blunt reminder of her low sexual market value she was given by one of the bouncers at the bar.

By her own claim, bitch wants us to believe they told her something to the effect of:

“You’re not pretty enough; and you’re obviously pregnant”.

Depreciation of female emotional hyperbole and hazy drunk recollection of the actual exchange of words taken for granted, (or set aside for the time being), it’s not like those ma’fuxxx aren’t allowed to tell her that! Often at bars and their ilk, letting chicks dance on the bar (choppy waters prone to the tempests that are law suits) is a promotional stunt: Bar proprietors let “hawt bishez” dance on the bar, drunken entranced horny bros go home, tell their friends “how rockin’ the bar was last weekend”, and the next weekend the establishment earns a few more patrons looking to immerse themselves in an inebriated ephemeral estrogenic Elysium.

As much as those shrewd proprietor-ma’fuxxx want to promote their bar, I’m sure those bros also want to ensure they don’t scare potential future customers away. No offense, Jordan Ramos, but seeing you flail your elephantine limbs to and fro isn’t my ideal fap-fuel! In fact judging by the depiction in the article of this particular behemoth, seeing something her size on the bar would probably scare me off! I wouldn’t want to frequent an establishment that clearly has no concern for the safety of their patrons, allowing something that hefty to heave itself into such a precarious position. I wonder how long it’d take before the bar collapsed under her prodigious weight?!

There was only one difference: I am a plus-sized individual,

says the hippopotamus-queen who looks like she’d need to extracted from the crater she’d leave in the floor after falling through the bar, with a fuckin’ fork lift.

Here’s a handy head’s up bros: I call it the Fat Chick Denial Lexicon. It’s basically a hamster-fuelled jargon-translation chart I’ve made so that you can weed through the nasty inconsistencies that exist between a “bigger” woman’s weight and her own slanted estimation.

I hope this does rustle a few feminist jimmies, bros! I delight in unmercifully trout-slapping those self-righteous affronts to humanity as often as I can avail opportunity to do so!

Any-fuckin’-way, the bitch I was talking about earlier decided not letting her on the bar was discrimination against her on account of her weight! (NO SHIT, SHERLOCK!)

To add self-inflicted insult to injury of the same origin, big Jordy decides to go back and try to heft herself onto the bar another night! As you ma’fuxxx might have already guessed, history repeats itself a month later, with the bouncers feeding the bitch the same line (probably the only thing she doesn’t like to be fed! ):

 You’re not pretty enough and you’re [obviously] pregnant.

Fat bitch, meet the chugging freight train that is reality. The bar doesn’t want to use your cellulite ridden abomination of a body as a means to promote patronage. DEAL WITH IT.

And how, bros, does she deal with it? This impossible whale, this irascible cankled leviathan waddles out and files a complain to the Human Rights Commission! Here’s the muthafuckin’ kicker, bros: They told her to scram. There are no laws against discrimination against people who are fat!

Big Jordy was given a rare glimpse of reality beyond the frenetic fuckin’ exertions of her hamster. I guess you bros could say the little ma’fuck tripped on his wheel for a second. The resultant glimpse of reality she was afforded is encapsulated thusly:

It made me start questioning myself and thinking, “Are my friends so much better than me?” I know they’re thinner, but those bouncers made them seem more valuable.

So close, bros! Bitch is so close to seeing things as they are. I’m sure the world seems like a cold and unfriendly place when you’ve allowed yourself to go to shit in terms of appearance and struggle as vehemently as this bitch does against the inevitable sexual depreciation that follows.

Just like she’d never be able to bring herself to feel “gina tingles” for a guy with a nasal voice, stuttering countenance, pair of slumped shoulders, and collection of Azumanga Daioh fuck-dolls in his wall scroll-adorned bedroom, most guys would never be able to get a boner if she spread her gargantuan thighs. This isn’t “society”; this is biology, ma’fuxxx. Fat chicks are gross, “cultural constructs ” aren’t a scape goat. They’re the reason someone somewhere will erroneously take pity on the fuming mountain of adipose tissue that Jordan Ramos is, and the reprehensible motherfuckin’ farce that is her contrived moral indignation against not getting perferential treatment because of her weight.

Bars aren’t known to be exemplary in their classiness, big Jordy! Perhaps your weekends would be better spent at the nearest Jenny Craig venue! Stop deluding yourself and hit the fuckin’ treadmill you fucking heifer!

CK Out!

Bitches be Crazy

In a number of my previous posts, I’ve alluded to a bitter fuckin’ pill to swallow. I’ve alluded, in no uncertain terms, to a phenomenon that is part of a broad masculinization of bitches.

This phenomenon is a marked increase in the amounts of violent crimes perpetrated by women, ma’fuxxx! Check it, this ho-ass-ho squeezed a motherfucker’s balls until he died…in a fight over a fucking parking spot!

In the (hopefully unlikely) event you ever encounter a feminist and deign to engage the butch-cunt in an argumentative verbal joust, be sure to cite an article like the one I cited above to prove that shit-whore wrong when she starts pontificating about men being “inherently aggressive compared to women” or some shit on account of the BIG BAD EVIL-SERUM that is TESTOSTERONE.