Who's Pregnant Now?

An amusing anecdote that I overheard one of the girlz in the lunchroom talk about today.

Someone's sister called up their mom: "Guess what!"

Yup, I'm excited! I got newz!

Immediate response: "Who's pregnant now?"

You can feel the "here it goes again" sense of resignation in that question.

Which tells you volumes about the mother...the family she raised...and girl telling the anecdote.

"Who's pregnant now?" In a tone of resigned "again - alright, let's get it over with".

'Cause she's used to this sort of thing by now.

She expects it of all the children.

Pregnancy is no longer something to be celebrated in her mind. It's simply a signal of more family drama coming down the line, for the next few years probably.

"Who's pregnant now?"

Heheheheheh...

Rising Incompetence

Ah Aaron, so pricelessly put: Why IKEA Is The Future Of The US Economy.

I have been dealing with this myself - the rising idiocracy. Not that I consider myself smarter'n anyone else. I simply marvel at the stupidity of things that people do. As Aaron states in the linked post, it can only be because we're raising people to be lazy morons (which in cold fact appears to be true, given the rise of dipshit non-degrees and entitled cuntism).

As per my last post, ole BPS is looking into the currently-frothy BS aka New Zealand housing market. To put things in perspective: 12-14 years ago my current home cost about $300k and I got it freaking cheap then. I thought it was crackers then. Now I have over $200k cash - and looking at the housing market around here that's a fucking deposit.

First world problems, huh.

Anything really good around here is over the million-dollar mark, though I could of course shift to some economically-depressed shithole part of New Zealand. West Coast of the South Island, South Auckland, etc - though South Auckland (even though a shithole with people eternally renting and the neighbors screaming and ranting while living in each other's back-pockets) has grown way more expensive than it should be.

You can buy a big chunk of land in shitsville and get a damn good stone-and-tile home built. Yes, quarried stone blocks, tile roof, some decent landscaping, and enjoy working your gardens during your retirement. Of course, you're still living in shitsville with the fuckin' gangs and local Maori giving you the stink-eye 'cause you got fuckin' money bro and how much can we rip you off?

Economic depression coupled with unrealistic prices? Check. As Aaron puts it: there's no white picket fences around the homes in a decent neighborhood for people now. Though I'll admit that NZ towns have grown weirdly - you can go about 3 blocks from upmarket to shitsville, and another 3-4 blocks back to upmarket once more. It's weird. There's no better way that you can describe it.

So, rising incompetence. For something decent, look at the million-buck mark. If you're desperate, you can buy something around the $700k mark which has leaking-home issues. AKA it was built between 1995-2005 from non-tanalised timber, with "new" aka we-don't-actually-know-how-to-install-this-shit-but-it-sure-looks-good walls and roofs, and it leaks like fuck and rots out. To the point where the agent has a tarp in the middle of the lounge floor and is telling people to walk around it "because the roof leaked and it's rotted the floor out, it won't cost you much to replace".

Let's be clear: there has been a slow leak for years, which the owner knew about yet couldn't be arsed fixing, it's been dripping through into the lounge while the owner watches TV and screams at the kids to shut the fuck up and get me another fuckin' beer, but it won't cost you much to replace the floor.

What about all the timber framing and ceiling joists and shit that have rotted also? There comes a point where about all you can do is buy the place for the land and bulldoze it. You better have deep pockets.

From the Real Estate Agent aka worthless salesman: "The floor can be easily replaced." And someone buys it anyway. Fuuuuuuuck. Ollie Newland (a fairly famous NZ real estate guru) once described a rotting ceiling falling in on some people during dinner, rotting wood and fungal growth all over the dinner table. He wasn't kidding, that's the reality of some places.

So you have to look at the million-mark. For that kind of money it had better be fucking pristine. Even so you do the work, checking consents, getting building reports, getting an independent valuation. It all costs bucks and time and things have changed a shitload. You have to learn to look at all the Council records, interpret them, yourself.

The valuation seems to be really low here. What is going on? Then you notice that the valuer only counted X square meters of home, it's short about 70 square meters floor area. What the fuck? How could you miss a 7x10 meter chunk of floor? That's the size of an apartment.

So you send the valuer the Council records and say "hey, you've said it's X square meters, it's actually X + 70 square meters according to the Council".

"Oh, very sorry sir, we'll revalue it and get it to you this afternoon."

"Where did you get the original information from anyway?"

"The vendors gave it to us, it wasn't as clear as these you've sent us."

Hold the fucking phone.

These cunts are charging me over a thousand bucks to value a house. They go to the house, look it over, talk with the vendors aka sellers who hand them a packet of papers that they printed out on their shitty inkjet printer.

Because it was a shitty inkjet printer it's not clear/easy to read and the valuer accepted that as the source from which to do their valuation anyway.

Then when I queried it and sent my copy of the Council records the valuer then accepted that as the source from which to do their valuation.

The whole point of getting an "independent valuation" is for the valuer to independently check the source of truth - the Council records - directly and use those to make certain of an actual fair valuation taking into account the local market conditions.

It does not involve taking any documentation from the vendor/seller or the buyer because it's in the financial interest of both of those bastards to fucking lie.

Both the vendor/seller and I could have slipped anything into those packets of information that we handed over. Subverting the entire process and causing God-alone-knows-what to happen if either of us were found out.

Example: If I'd bought that property and then found out that the valuer accepted the vendor's information to make his valuation - I could (and fucking would!) sue the pants off the sonofabitch. Because they'd have done their job wrongly and potentially cost me hundreds of thousands.

Incompetence.

That pretty-much wraps up everything in a neat little package and puts a bow on it. Million-dollar property and some limp-dick does that.

It's 5am here. I have indeed had a couple of Grand Marnier's over the last two nights, while I laugh and marvel at the stupidity of people.

Brought to you by Crap Colored Glasses™, only $1k the pair - and very, very cheap at 10x the price.

Checking In

Black Poison Soul, checking in. Eyes, balls, brains - all here, all connected. Let us begin.

Many things have happened over the last six months. The big one: the Big C. For two members of my family. One survived. One died. We continue on.

Sometimes you run across people who have real soul. I ran across one. I have been helping him, in my small way. Not with marital/life problems - he don't need it. (At least, not so far as I know.) Helping him with a personal programming project of his. It has zip to do with the manosphere, so a nice break during an otherwise difficult time. He offered to repay me, I laughed. Some times, some things, you just gotta do what you gotta do, you know what I mean?

Looking back - eleven years. Definitely not to the freaking day, though I can't be arsed to look it up and all. Pretty sure it was this month though - February, my parasite removed. Kinda surprising.

What has changed?

Despite the difficulties of the last six months, not a lot has changed in developed attitude. Though there has been a lot of philosophical thought going on. Some planning done. Some things are more clear-cut. Some things are seen, in retrospect, as being damned-well worth it. Even though they hurt like hell at the time. Even though it's wading through shit and wondering why the hell you're doing it and all.

The learning experience wasn't easy. The experience itself though - far, far more worthwhile than gold. Being able to write about it too. Even if Google's shitbox reckons that I'm a far-right nutjob who would destabilize society et-fucking-cetera LMAO! Oh yeah, devoice BPS, who gives a fuck? This is more and better therapy than paying some high-charging asshole.

Looking around at the FUD - Fear, Uncertainty, Doubt - that is being spread by the media and politicians? Me destabilize society? Hah. 1984, V for Vendetta, in a nutshell. The Communist handbook of destabilizing a country, followed to a T. For the stupid serf parasites: enjoy your brainwashing. Your ancestors worked their guts out for you to be free. You weakly pissed it away. You are slaves now. Much deserved, enjoy sucking cock of the rich and powerful to get ahead.

For a little while.

I find it somewhat amusing. History is there, to be willfully ignored and destroy ourselves - an almost priceless joke. Sad, yet priceless in its' way. When you watch it happen...well, that's done and dusted, innit?

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I look back at what my ancestors did 2 generations ago. Only 2 generations. My grandfather and family went from England to Aussie, six months on a sailing ship, wife and two newborn kiddies. He was one of those poor suckers lied to and stolen from: "Yup, there's good land there - pay us X pounds and here's passage on a ship, there'll be good farmland when you arrive for you and your family to own and work on and grow stuff for yourselves." Poor fuckers. On arrival, welcome to the land of sand and snakes and spiders the size of your hand. Farmland? What fucking farmland?

Fuck me. Rude shock? Fuckin' aye!

He was one of those lucky bastards who managed to hop the family aboard a ship to New Zealand. Swamp and bush and rugged hills and bluffs up the Far North of the North Island. Breaking in the native bush, punga's and supplejack and kauri and manuka and swampy peat, turning it into good farmland. Slowly nursing a couple of cows into a small herd to sell the milk and some meat. Gut-wrenching work through WWI and WWII supporting the troops, bringing up 7 kids, and he died of a brain tumor.

More Big-C. Grandfather and Grandmother both. A hard pair, tough, yet it'll take them from ya. It kinda runs in the family - other members have died from it too, in various forms. Probably I'll die from it. Seem clean at the moment, you never know though: men have a higher chance of prostate cancer than wimminz do of breast cancer. Get it checked occasionally, y'know?

So. A hard pair. Not gutless in the slightest. If they'd stayed in England they'd have been serfs for the rest of eternity, which is what's happening to the remaining English anyways. Lords and Masters, and serfs and slaves. Bringing in the shitty parasites from other countries to screw up the serf/slaves even more, which is what joining the EU did to them as a whole. Brexit? Get a wriggle on hahahahah!

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So what can we, shall we say, retain for ourselves? Since most of society and das guberment seems hell-bent on taking it all from us. Some thought and philosophical bits of advice as it were...

Don't get too attached. To people, to money, to possessions. Of them all, people are the most important - yet life will take them away from you. I'm not saying be buddy-buddy with all and sundry, and fuck me I hate the people like that. Probably because I'm more the reclusive/antisocial type as it were. You'll find the occasional one with real soul though, and I'm glad to have one real close one in my brother and have run across a few others. Priceless people.

So, how to survive? There's two paths:

1/ Be a slave, own nothing, be a parasite.

2/ Get ahead, don't expect help from anyone (except maybe family) and don't let anyone else know.

That's right. Don't let anyone else know.

Practically of course, that's impossible. Someone is going to know. Lawyers and bankers, those fuckers and complete assholes. Of course, you pay them to keep their gobholes shut. Which if you're getting ahead, you can do.

Gubnermint, well you're fucked there. They will know everything. Unless you can go complete bush, go troppo as they say in Aussie (aka a little bit fucking mad), you're gonna be on das guberment's radar. You can't help that. Just keep your nose clean and your head down.

Wimminz...wimminz, wimminz, wimminz...don't own anything. Always be renting. And like how the fuck do you do that, if/when you're trying to get ahead? You get a home in a Trust, perhaps managed by someone you trust (hahah) and you act like all the rest of your liddle weeble fellow-slaves. Don't bother talking to 'em though - be the antisocial type.

So far as anyone knows you're just like everyone else, living hand-to-mouth and paying the fucking rent to some rich asshole. The difference is that you are quietly becoming the rich asshole. Call the trust something very innocuous ("IMF Trust" - "In Mala Fide Trust" - In Bad Faith Trust heh) and you pay rent into it every freaking week year-in, year-out. Especially after the house is paid off, you keep paying that fucking rent while the Trust goes and quietly gets another house. And another. Ain't nothing and nobody to say different.

If you *do* decide to retire early (after say 3-4 properties in the Trust) - nobody needs to know that either. You're just changing jobs. (To stay-at-home fisherman, and handyman, or antiques dealer, or whatever - you know it makes sense.) This is actually what my brother's in the process of doing, though he's stupid enough to tell people he's retiring. I'm thinking of suggesting that he "find other work". His current employers doesn't need to know that his new work is as a freaking landlord.

Maybe he mows lawns and does handyman work for a living, aka maintains his property. Hell, maybe he can actually do that on the grey market, under the radar, for the other old dears.

Best is that you're still under the radar to teh wimminz and other assorted maggots and parasites of what we will loosely call society.

I don't say avoid teh wimminz. You got needs, yah? If that's your way, that's your way - be careful, make sure not to get the wrong one preggers and all. Never lettum know you're rich as Croesus - never let that Camel get it's head in the damn tent. Little head should never override the big one, you know it. If you do accidentally latch up with one, you're still paying rent, only it's for fucking eternity now that you have wife and kidlets to provide for as well.

If by God you manage to actually find a halfway decent wimminz (few and far between, maybe 5% - 'cause it's statistically impossible for them all to be complete and utter shit and without redemption et-fucking-cetera) you're always, eternally, paying rent. Unless you happen to know without a doubt that she's got a boatload of stuff as well. In that case, your choice. Little head, big head, remember! Just take it fuckin' slow and all.

It would be a disaster if she turned out not to be as great as you thought. Your Trust will be broken up "for the good of the childreeeeen". Which if the bitch had never learned about it, the childreeeeen would have been well-taken-cared-of until well after your death. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren as well. Lemme draw you a picture:

* Every house that the Trust buys and rents out for more cashola etc will be theirs eventually. You're just a friggin' handyman hired to keep the things in decent shape.

* You can "help" organize the kids into a rental home for a long while, which if they fuck the place up aka cause damage to it you can by God ream their asses and "fix it up before the damn landlord finds out and evicts you stupid fuckers". And charge them for it out the wazoo as an extra lesson. 'Cause in this day and age, renting forever is about all that most people will be able to do. Especially if they have the massive student loans that is the whacked-out peculiar way of doing things these times.

* On your death, it'll be a nice little caring touch - showing you *actually* fucking care deeply for them and always did - when they learn that the house they've been renting has been their fucking inheritance all along. As well as a few more houses owned by the Trust, and a tidy fucking sum in cash and other assets, etc etc etc. None of it where anyone can get their sticky damn fingers into and spend like a sailor on shore leave.

* By that point nobody but nobody can break it all up "for the good of the childreeeeen" - 'cause the grandchildren have zero, zip, nada say in the whole bizness. Teh wimminz, if she survives you, will be cared for and cannot split anything out to fritter it away on dresses/handbags/shoes and running around "finding herself" aka chasing foreign cock. By that point she shouldn't fucking want to anyway, though some'a them are still bloody deluded and think they're God's gift to young men and young cock 'cause 50 is the new 30 for fucks sake.

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So there's a basic how-to. My brother and I are both following it, in our different ways: his kids and grandkids will be provided for anyways by him, and my stuff will go to them as well 'cause goodness knows I have no kids to be weaponized against me. Which sucks in a way. I guess that I'll have to spoil the fuck outta my grand-nieces and -nephews instead.

"Grand-Uncle! Stop spoiling the kids!" And I'll laugh my ass off 'cause I can. 'Cause in the end, family (so long as they're raised right) and people with soul are the only thing really worthwhile.

I ain't saying it's the only way to do things. At least you (I) will be well-cared-for in your (my) old age. And a helluva surprise for the extended whanau (family) as it were.

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There it is - BPS, still hanging in there. We Men survive and recover, generally no matter how grim things get. Being thoughtful, not pissing it all away, life is still very very good. And always getting better.

Almost in my position of Fuck You. Though I refuse to pull a dramatic Fuck You with work. That's juvenile, stupid stuff. Currently looking around in the crazy New Zealand housing market - frothy as hell here, especially in the last 3 months - for my next house to buy. So much leaky-home dogshit to wade through, ugh.

Still doing it though. 'Cause I'm damned if I'm going to be dependent upon someone else when I get older. I'm gonna enjoy my final years on my terms, a little travel, a little photography, a little Grand Marnier, and Fuck You to anyone who wants to deprive me of that.

Glasses high, brothers. To your health and life! - BPS