Friday, 19 March 2021

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...

Friday, 5 March 2021

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.

Monday, 8 February 2021

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

Friday, 27 September 2019

Big Country Back Again, Catching Up

Big Country is back out and blogging again, it's good to see. I strongly suggest that you check'm out, I'm gonna catch up over the next few days.

That said, some of his story is up in Charlie Mike Comix. I read a sneak preview of the first one before it was released. Powerful, powerful stuff. He has links to others over on his blog, check them out too.

This is real-world stuff. It's important. It's where real people bleed and die. Not the pap and horseshit that the general drama-maggot's and lefties and "newspaper hacks" seem to think is important.

==========================================

I've been talking to people and learning stories. I can't post 'em all up - way too revealing - however I can boil down a couple of them. Should get them into shape over the next week or so.

It still surprises me sometimes, just how fucked up and stupid people can be. It's no wonder that I'm generally anti-fuckin'-social and all.

==========================================

The Prime Stupid aka Jacinda Adern is really screwing things up around here. While heading off to the UN and delivering a 5-minute "stirring speech", according to the local leftist rags. (Highly important.)

Guns, guns, guns - hand in the guns you non-violent gun-owners, so that the violent mofo's who want to keep their guns can pull 'em outta the ground in a few years and shoot someone. Jesus. Some lunatics shoot a bunch of people and all the sane ones who have zero intent on murder, who are extremely serious gun owners (full E-Cat licence and all) have to hand in their AK's and similar.

Good, all-around weapons, buh-bye - we'll pay you less'n they're worth, if you don't like it we'll take 'em anyway and put you in jail. You non-criminal scum.

The sad thing is: legit gun collectors are getting shafted too. If you have a WWI or WWII collector's item that qualifies as "illegal" here in NZ, you gotta hand it over. Of course, you can get it disabled (ugh) - which completely wrecks their value, because part of the true value of a real collector's piece is that it needs to be pristine and usable (double-ugh).

Poor bastards. Can't import, can't export, and if you could export - nobody would want'm 'cause they've been disabled, they're now stuffed. You might as well melt'm down for the steel, they're worth more as that than as a collection piece.

==========================================

Yes, I've been busy. A lot. (Way too much damn work...PC crapped itself...stuff to fix around the house...ah well, fix'r'up and have another sip of Grand Marnier...)

Speaking of fixing stuff, I've been doing some general work around the house. Mostly bricklaying, old recycled bricks into some rough paths and steps. It's been decades since I've done it - the skills are still there, even if rusty as fuck.

Have a had a helluva cold-weather snap this week. Desert Road (in NZ) closed 'cause of snow. Early spring I guess, not that usual though.

So, a warm fire - a gutful of curry - and a glass of Grand Marnier for you-all. It's time to go read.

Friday, 12 July 2019

Pissed Her Life Away

Soooo, here in Kiwi-land we have the usual suspects.

The Prime Twat has to be seen to be doing something about shootings. Solution: Change the law so that people have to hand in their guns. Which criminals and potential nutcase shooters sure as fuck ain't gonna be doing.

Ebola. Ebola. Ebola. Holy shit. Someone trying to cull the herd or something?

I haven't worried too much about things recently. Work tries to Pile it Higher and Deeper (PhD). Just nod, smile, and laugh inside as others drag the chain on shit. Close to six months of dealing with governmental slowness and stupidity - someone is milking the system big-time.

Me, I can't be bothered pushing on a rope.

Every Friday we get together for a lunch, it's very cool. Best is when there is no wimminz around - the real talk happens instead of the fluffy dogshit that teh wimminz lurv lurv lurv to talk about.

Today's was a beaut. Just the two of us. We got to comparing ex-wives situations with our own. Fucking awesome eye-opener.

Him, weeeeell, he's got his mortgage back. His finances under control. Adding to his collection of motorbikes. Him and his lawyer went through everything, about all he has is an older car - everything else is owned by a Trust. On paper, he's a fucking pauper.

Her, she's got a house and mortgage. She's had to rent part of it out to her boyfriend and his teenage girl kids - which is fucking weird by itself. The boyfriend has nothing, two teenager girls tearing the place up. A beat-up car belonging to the boyfriend is on the lawn, her car is broken down and on the lawn. Looks like trailer-trash central.

The difference between my mate and his ex: he can go out and do shit, she's living hand-to-mouth and fucking her live-in rent-paying boyfriend who has two teenage girls - one of which is not his.

Very similar situation in comparison with me and my ex-wife. Fuckin' striking.

Retirement-wise, he was originally planning to retire around 55 - now it'll be 60-odd. Me, I was originally planning to retire around 50 - now it'll be 60-65. Unfortunate.

Then we look at what the exes are doing. Ho-lee-fuck. If they'd stuck with us:

* his wife would have been on easy-street instead of hand-to-mouth pauperdom

* my wife would have been retired at 38 and traveling the world with me, instead of hand-to-mouth pauperdom

Thinking about it, my brother and his ex-wife are much the same. He's doing damn well. She's living hand-to-mouth.

These women have simply pissed their lives away.

Basically fucked themselves and their lives beyond repair. ('Cause there aren't many 50 Shades of Shit millionaires to "rescue" their shitty asses from their bad choices.)

Gentlemen. If you happen to become divorced - hold on tight. Because within 10 years, you will almost certainly be back on track.

And she will still be fucked.

On a cold winter evening, in front of a fire, I raise a glass of warmed Grand Marnier to you, my brothers. Live well!

Saturday, 30 March 2019

TGI Friday - "You're not fucking listening!" Edition

Normally it's women getting pissed at men for not listening.

Turnabout's a bitch!

One of the guys at our regular TGIF - reasonably red-pilled man, though he doesn't think directly in those terms - had himself a little "situation" with his woman recently. He was pissed off enough to tell it to us at lunch.

Note: "his woman" - he sneers at the term "girlfriend" ("we ain't teenagers") or "partner" ("pathetic neutral bullshit"). She's his woman, he's her man, even if they aren't married - which isn't looking likely.

He got sick for a couple days ("dodgy vindaloo").

Well, his woman got all concerned about this - even though he's telling her that he's okay. See, he's one of the types who just want to be left alone when sick. He knows he'll be alright. He has it under control. Just "hi, yes I'll be right, seeya" type of man.

She got so worried ("concerned") about him that she stepped well over the line of what he considers acceptable behavior towards him. I'm not going into details - though I laughed my ass off when I heard. When he's sick, he sure as fuck don't want to be bothered by anyone. I'm surprised he even talked to her - must like her a lot.

Any rate, when she realized what she'd done (stomped all over his boundaries) she got all contrite and teary: "I'm sorry! Please forgive me honey!" And shit like that.

When I heard that I laughed and said to him: "I'm surprised. It's usually men who have to come out all apologetic and shit like that. Once it happens the bitch'll never let you live it down, either." The whole lot of us laughed 'cause it's so true.

As he said though: he got really pissed because she wasn't listening. Not listening and respecting her man.

Which is ironic, because it's usually women bitching about men not listening and respecting them. Of course, as per above, in her case she'll remember it until your deathbed. Assuming she stays that long.

Any rate, he's basically turned the same behavior as women back on her. Accidental dread game, turnabout is fair play. He reckons that she's sure as shit very contrite at the moment.

Even he says though: that's a pretty good red flag right there, someone stomping right the fuck over all your very-clearly-put boundaries.

Stomping all over another mans' boundaries is excuse for a severe ass-kicking. (These days, more likely to be legal action - or if it's pathetically small "just take it like a wuss".)

When a wimminz feels her boundaries are stomped all over, she gets bitchy and whiny about it for forever, and she tells everyone socially about it too. You are mud, mud, mud forever and a day.

Well, the same for a wimminz who stomps the fuck all over your boundaries - it's time for a severe ass-kicking bitch. (Literal or metaphorical, your choice. Though as we know, a literal ass-kicking can get you into jail a fuckton faster than your nightmares - so metaphorical is best, and be prepared to walk away too. Or maybe just walk away, it might be easier.)

To you my man, I raise a glass of Grand Marnier. May you live long and well! And the same to all of you, my brothers!

Wednesday, 13 March 2019

Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!

"What about me?"

Eh what?

"It isn't fair!"

Who the fuck are you and why should I care?

"I did what I was taught!"

You mean told, 'cause you followed someone else's script.

"I should have gotten X!"

Let me laugh at you for believing the con-man.

"Whyyyyyy...." <crying>

Idiot.

<more crying>

Meh. Fuckwit.

"I'm going to do more!"

Sure.

"Why don't you care?!"

Humph.

"I want to be married."

Tats. Piercing. Tits sagging to the floor. Fucked weird hair. Giving everyone the finger. Taken it up the ass. Several threesome/foursomes. Had a gangbang. All checks out - you're exactly everything I want to be with.

"Why don't you pay attention to me?"

Who are you.

"I want a baby."

Hah.

"You should pay for my IVF."

Of course.

"Whyyyyyyy am I all alone...!"

Fuck that's shrill.

"You're selfish!"

Pot. Kettle. Black.

"Listen to meeeee...!"

I'm'a go do something interesting and meaningful and worthwhile.

"Me me me mememeeee...!"

<disappearing into the distance>

Wednesday, 28 November 2018

Forget Why

Why is irrelevant.

Do you get that? Completely irrelevant.

There is no rational why.

I remember back to the ending "conversation" with my last girl, must be close to three years ago now. ("Conversation" hah! She turned up at an awkward time of night, barged in, and was basically being a self-centered bitch on the whole instead of leaving me alone when I made it clear that I wasn't interested any more.)

I got her the hell out of my home in the guise of "dropping her off to her hotel". She asks if she'll be seeing me again.

Me: No.

Her: Why not?

Me: I don't want to.

Her: Finish that sentence! (A quite loud'n'clear self-centered "I am entitled to know why!")

Me: I don't want to see you again. (Yeah, it's a total lack of interest, now stay the fuck away.)

Her face scrunches up and she heads away to her room, probably because I shattered her heart'n'soul. I leave, not caring at all.

Yes, teh wimminz would call me a fuckin' psychopath. Given what she did to me, there was no interest left on my side. That is my "why" for treating her like that.

Yet still. There is no "why" in life.

There is only: I want to X/I don't want to X.

I want to see you again. I don't want to see you again.

I want to fuck you again. I don't want to fuck you again.

I want to read that book again. I don't want to read that book again.

I want to see that movie again. I don't want to see that movie again.

I want to continue hanging around those people. I don't want to continue hanging around those people.

Why? I can come up with a million "reasons" for "why". They're not relevant. Not really. The "why" is just the brain attempting to provide a rational reason of some type. A rational reason for an internal emotional reaction.

Essentially it boils down to: I want to / I don't want to. The rest of the palaver is just social self-justification and face-saving.

In the guts of it, the want-to/don't-want-to is an emotional inner reaction, not something intellectually reasoned out. Not in the guts of it.

She wants to fuck you. She doesn't want to fuck you.

She wants to fuck you again. She doesn't want to fuck you again.

Why do you care why? Why do you want to know why?

Forget why. There is no why. There is only a gut-basic reaction, a feeling, of: "I want to / I don't want to".

She wants a boyfriend. She doesn't want a boyfriend.

She wants to be married. She doesn't want to be married.

She wants to be married to you. She doesn't want to be married to you.

She wants to part her legs for you. She doesn't want to part her legs for you.

Even when the basic "I don't want to" shatters her/your soul. And you, or her, start going down down down the rabbit-hole of emotional turmoil and horseshit.

>>>> Why?!?!?!!!! <<<< Add insistent whiny brat emotional crap as appropriate. You and/or her both.

There is no why. Down at the core, it just fucking is.

Make me want to, rather than not want to. Teh wimminz, leftists, femiwhores, the unwashed mass of generally shitty people on the whole, will never truly grasp that. Make me want to, rather than not want to.

Being a complete cunt is not making me want to X. It makes me not want to X. Fill in the X with whatever is appropriate.

Summertime in New Zealand. I'm starting to do more outdoor stuff.

Why? I want to. There may be many "reasons". They all boil down to: I want to.

Deep down in the guts of it. It's an emotional thing. There's no real reason as such for it. That's why.

Sunday, 4 November 2018

You Talk Too Much - TGI Friday Edition

Most times something interesting comes out of our TGI Friday. (Guns, wimminz, hunting, customers, archery, bikes, camping, surfing, life - all sorts of stuff that I don't share on here). We had a goodie this Friday though: guy finally got (aka paid) his ex the fuck out of his home (it took 3-4 years?!?!?! and cost you how much in the end?!?!?! fuck me...)

When she's out of his life, last few bits of driving her shit around, just to make sure it's the fuck out and etc. She starts jawing and jabbering about her family shit. "So and so brother's, sister's, husband's, second cousin..." blah blah fucking blah.

He had a moment of sanity. As he said to us: "Hey. You walked the fuck away from me. I don't know why you want to tell me this crap. This is no longer relevant to me. Not interested."

Object lesson right there on getting her the fuck out of yours ASAP when things go south. Otherwise you're still wasting time, energy, life on someone who has basically said "I don't want you between my legs, piss off..." yet she is quite happy to suck the rest of everything out of you.

The actual words and excuses she used don't matter. They are meaningless. She still wants out of your life...

...and you're still wasting your time, energy, life on that. Until you realize.

You ain't related to it.

You ain't married to it.

You ain't best buddies with it. (Fucking aye you ain't best buddies with it! What, you nuts?)

You shouldn't have it in your life any more. It's just another leech on you.

Literally a leech. Still sucking down your time, energy, life.

When what you really want to do is what he's doing. Makes his dinner in the skillet. Eats out of the skillet. Cleans up and puts it in the rack. Life is simple, life is great.

Nice, simple, easy, not 15 separate pots per meal for something that really tastes only mediocre. Then she bitches about how long a day she's had etc. That doesn't actually matter. Not to you. You just want a decent, filling, tasty meal. Here she's put 15 separate pots into the sink, is bitching about cleanup (trying to get you to do it), and she asks the loaded question: "What'd you think of dinner?"

You can be the tactless "complete asshole" and say "it was okay". Because that's all it was. It was an okay meal.

You learn not to do that if you're married. You *know* what she'll be like for the next month - and intermittently for the rest of your life, whenever she feels like being a bitch.

So you grit your teeth, praise the meal to the skies, then go over to her and hug and kiss her and guide her to the couch and sit her down and clean the goddamn 15 pots that she messed up. Funny, this one looks like all she did with it was boil water. Better not mention that.

Yet hang on man.

She doesn't want you between her legs. Piss off.

By all means, be as stupid as you want. I'll continue to laugh at you for bein' a fuckin' dipshit.

The longer it takes you to wake up, the harder I'll be laughing at you once you get it together.

Yes, I know that's crushing your soul. So? Do you really have any actual, valid reason for being such a completely stupid idiot?

I didn't think so.

Do I *actually* enjoy your pain? Fuck no!

I am gonna laugh at you though. The more that my laughter hurts you, the harsher the lesson. Which is really all that I can honestly do for you. Drive that lesson home into your heart, rub salt into it, and make you hurt so badly that you will never forget that hurt which was done to you.

By me? You know better. You did it to yourself. You let *her* do it to you. You're just too chickenshit to admit it to yourself.

Back to him. He's been dating around. As I guess many do, when divorce hits us. Conditioned to have a wimminz in our lives, come hell or high water...

...except that these wimminz are expecting to go out. All the time. "What are we going to do this Friday night?" she asks him. "Eh. The weather's not that great. I think I'll have myself a nice bourbon on lemon ice, sit in front of the fire with a book, relax and read for the night." Sounds good to me. To her though: "What what what what what?"

And she completely cannot understand it. The concept of actually stopping, relaxing, doing something quietly - it means nothing to her. It's meaningless. She has to be *out there*, *being seen*, *doing something* - all that social shit that in her mind means "a good time".

As he says: he'd rather sit in front of a nice fire, sipping bourbon, reading a good book. The drama and insanity can stay out of his door. He's got his shelter, warmth, a good-tasting drink, and some interesting and thoughtful mental stimulation.

He's starting to realize the joys of personal peace and quiet.

Not hanging around with someone who talks too fuckin' much. Especially about utterly meaningless drivel.

Brother, have a bourbon. You've earned it. Good on you for starting to realize what life actually *is* to you, versus what other people *think life is* and *think your life should be*.

Wednesday, 31 October 2018

In Your Face

A few weeks ago I noticed some younger bloke driving a car with a number plate that essentially stated: No fucks given.

While I applaud the sentiment, something about it has nagged me. Quite a bit. My brain being slow at times, it has taken a while to figure out what was bugging me.

Actually, he does give a fuck. It's straight there in the "in your face" attitude that he's displaying to the world. Which is all cool and all, that's his thing. At least he's up front about it.

It occurs to me though: a true "no fucks given" attitude doesn't feel the need to slam it out in the world's face. A true no fucks given attitude just goes off and does what it wants. It doesn't require telling others about it (essentially, angrily giving the world the finger).

It just buggers off and does what it wants. If you don't like it, so what? You're not relevant. Certainly not to me. Stop poking your nose into my business, my life, my thoughts. Just leave me be and we'll get along swimmingly.

Which is I believe what the disappearing types of MGTOW do. They're doing their own thing. They don't have the urge to tell others what they're up to. They don't care about those others - the others are simply not relevant to them.

Which is an interesting thought when it comes to much of the Manosphere community and MGTOW. I've noticed it over the last three-four years. Some people become...

...less communicative...

...and eventually disappear.

They're slowly growing to the true point of no fucks given. While they might have philosophical thoughts about the subject, there is no urge to pass those thoughts on. It's just internalised and acted upon in the way they see fit.

I've noticed it with Hawaiian Libertarian. He's off doing his own thing, there's almost no interest in letting others know. (I applaud that by the by. I hope that he's doing well.)

I see Aaron Clary, Captain Capitalism, still putting up examples and the like of social stupidity. There is still much anger and frustration in him, in many of us. Somehow, I think that if he starts changing to a true viewpoint of no fucks given, he will slowly and quietly disappear from the scene. Good luck to you, Aaron.

I've noticed it a bit myself since my holiday in America. Something about the silence and being away by myself for a month has seeped into me. Maybe lodged itself into my soul, for want of a better metaphor.

A slow point of reassessment? I am unsure.

The stupidities of the world, society, and people are still there. I still look at them and marvel at times.

In the end though ... No real fucks are given. It's too big, it's too stupid, it's too sheeplike, it's too self-destructive. I refuse to stand in the front of the stampede, screaming warnings, only to be crushed into a bloody pulp.

Ghosting? No. I like many things about the world. There are many places to visit, many people who are actually worthwhile to meet (damn it, I missed out talking with Big Country in person - there is a Man with a fuck-ton of life and experiences!), many things that I find interesting.

Just not the damn social lemmings charging headlong over the cliff. Dull, uninteresting, bland. The sooner they are over that cliff and gone, the better.

I don't really have much of a point to this post. I suppose that it's a kind of explanation and apology of why I've not been around much.

I do strongly suggest, though: get yourself some camping gear and go bush for a while, even if it's just driving around the tourist traps and staying in hotels and camping grounds. Try to keep interacting with people to a minimum.

Talking and yap-yap with the useless types can be your enemy these days. Seek the more interesting people who have actually lived and have stories to tell. Especially the older people. Even if you have nothing to tell in exchange, they are giving you the gift of experience to listen and learn from.

Something about doing that changes your mindset. You start to realize what actually is relevant, what is needed, what is useful, and what is pure garbage.

Then you can work on purging the garbage.

I am still around and do check back fairly often. Just not huge on the talking at the moment. Maybe the urge will come back, not sure.

Be well, Brothers.