Tuesday, 2 August 2022

Leftism, Pissing It Away

The joys of leftist politics. I forget which comedian once said, something roughly on the lines of:

"Leftists. They will fix it all, if they have to spend all of your money to do it!"

So Das Guberment, lead by Das Fraulein Horseteeth, have in their infinite wizdumb decided that the poor people of NZ are in need of a "cost of living payment" aka vote-bribe to help them cope with the sudden rise in cost of food and stuff. To the tune of $350 total, split up over 3 months.

In other words: A whopping $116 a month for 3 months.

To get this, you need to be earning under $70k a year. Which shows just how fucking worthless the NZ peso is becoming, even inside New Shitland itself.

How many people qualify? About 2 million.

When you do the sums:

$350 * 2,000,000 = $700,000,000

Or getting up there towards a billion NZ peso's.


Now, if these fuckwits had spent that on something worthwhile - like decent roads in various places *coughcough* - I would consider it as 'okay, that works and is worthwhile'. (Hah, like the Labour Fuckwits are gonna do anything other than slurp from the trough.)

This is just pissing it away in an attempt to buy votes.

In my estimation: About the only possible slight, miniscule, hint of a hope that NZ has - is if Das Labour Gubermint gets their ass booted out and Das National Gubermint gets in and tries to fix things.

Assuming that it's not all too late already.

Also assuming that Das National Gubermint is any better than Das Labour Guberment. I more-than-sometimes wonder.

At the very least I'm expecting things to go shit-storm-south down here, socially. Only the very rich are gonna get any sort of protection from the police (which is something that Big Country has noted recently on his blog).

Hunker down and buckle in tight. It's getting really, really rough out there.


Thursday, 21 July 2022

You Will Move On

No, this is not a "BPS is moving on from the Manosphere" post.

It's an observation of over the last 4 years or so, plus spending a month or so reviewing the past 12-odd years of my life. Also a few observations from my formative years and all.

Surprisingly, it's also an observation about growth. I'm not sure if Captain Capitalism has put it into his Curse of the High IQ book - I will reread and see. It's easy to do when it's winter here in NZ, after 6pm everything is dark and the fire or heat pump is going.

(Yes, cold. Yes, wet. Thank you Tongan eruption. Weeks on end of rain. Good that I have both a fire and a heatpump, because I'll run out of seasoned wood soon. I need to stock up, double the amount that I had and let it season for a couple of years. Maybe I should triple the size of the firewood shed and triple the amount on hand, to be absolutely certain.)

At any rate, two observations. During your life:

1/ You will grow.

2/ Others will sit in one place.

This is not a condemnation of their choice - MGTOW, that's the path they've chosen. Go for it.

From the perspective of the Man who is growing, you will move on.

As you grow, you will move on to other and (in your personal opinion, per your personal path) more rewarding things in life.

Others will stay in their place.

They might be upset at you moving on. They might not care. From your perspective, it is not relevant. 

You have moved on.

In the end you are only a tiny little ripple in the river of humanity. Your moving on will not make any big changes to others. They are where they are, they are doing what they are doing, because that is the path they've chosen.

You have moved on.

Over my life, I have moved on from many things:

* My home town.

* My friends.

* My new town.

* My new friends.

* My new-new town.

* My new-new friends.

* Several communities (some in the real world, some in the internet - 5 in the past 12 years, 3-4 that I can remember in the years prior to that).

Some things you will stay in distant contact with. Family members. I have several extended whanau who are still where they are. I have moved on - though I stay in contact with them. I'm basically forced to, even though we have nothing much in common. They are still in their place.

I do stay in contact with at least one person from one of the prior communities. He's a good bloke, much nicer than I am. We still have a TGIF on Fridays - at least, when we're not working from home or in Covid lockdown. There will be a few people like that. That's good.

Growth demands moving on. Otherwise you become stuck, to sit in one place all your life.

Having moved on from a community about a month ago, I've been reflecting back on things. Moving on seems (for myself) to be a part of growth.

Growing my life (in this case: income) by a substantial amount in the past year, it has been evident to me that it was time to move on. That community was taking a lot of my personal energy and time. Personal energy and time that would be better put somewhere else, for my personal benefit.

I've been asking myself questions: Should I seek another community to become a part of?

Answer: Why bother?

I will grow and move on from it in a few years.

Especially the communities which are rife with nasty people. They're like lice or maggots, they appear everywhere. Remember: You don't have time for that crap. Places, echo-chambers of toxic crap will drag you down and hold you back.

The only thing that you have time for is your personal path. Period. Remember: You Are MGTOW. You are following your path.

Some people are good to stay in contact with. The rest of them in said community though, sad sacks of shit who are in one place. No time for their constant femicunt-inspired drama and horseshit.

In the end, like many things in life, it was time to make the decision. I chose to pull the trigger...

...and Elvis (hah so conceited on my part) has left the building. Silently. No drama. Like a ghost that was never there.

After a month - not even a ripple to remember me by. Good. They are not relevant to me. I am not relevant to them. They will continue, the community and its members going on as always, in their path as mine diverges away.

I have moved on. As will you.

Friday, 8 April 2022

Hate Speech - Coming To A New Zealand Near You

This is old news - a year ago Adern and co of Das Guberment started making burbling sounds about introducing Hate Speech laws.

Hah. We know where that goes. For current background of NZ laws:

Is there freedom of speech in New Zealand?

In particular, freedom of expression is preserved in section 14 of the New Zealand Bill of Rights Act 1990 (BORA) which states that: "Everyone has the right to freedom of expression, including the right to seek, receive, and impart information and opinions of any kind in any form".

Which by flat-out definition means that those pricks in Google who decided that this channel was hate speech and thus devoiced it, and me, broke New Zealand laws. Of course, good luck - those leftist opinion-shapers are above the law, as well as being outside of NZ jurisdiction anyways.

Remember the Golden Rule: He who has the gold, makes the fucking rules.

Then very conveniently, the Delta - and Omicron - variations of Covid broke out here and all of that 'question' and 'debate' suddenly was swept under the carpet. Like many other "inconvenient truths" do, when a convenient excuse appears.

I can currently say "so and so's particular family of fucktards - who happen to be Maori - are known by the local police as being responsible for 90% of local breaking-and-entering crime, including doing such things on my property". The local police are helpless to do anything about it, beyond giving them "a visit and a good talking to". Which of course said family of fucktards just look all serious when the police show up, and laugh their asses off afterwards and continue on their merry robbing way. Getting them on camera means zip, zilch, nada, nothing.

Because it's "politically incorrect" to and "doesn't follow Das Guberment's approved narrative" to "discriminate" against said family. They're Maori! The fact that they're known criminal scumbags is conveniently swept under the table.

Remember. There's The Law. And there's the law of the jungle.

So it's quite easy to casually pile up some rotten timbers which just so happen to have rusty nails pointing accidentally upwards, right behind the fence. And some leftover wire as well to make things a bit harder for anyone who gets stuck in that mess.

"They came over the fence? What the fuck? I wasn't expecting that. See, that area behind the fence is a bit of a junk-heap Officer. Always has been, is why I threw that rotting junk there after tearing down the old fence and building that new fence. I wasn't expecting some idiot to climb the thing and go face-first into all that busted-up stuff and discarded wire."

Yeah, fucking right.

These pricks won't protect you? You have to accidental-like protect yourself. And your family. And your stuff. Even though your taxes are a bribe to keep these scum from getting really desperate, they still go their merry little way and GTFO you law-abiding citizens.


On a lighter note, last night's fire was very nice. The first one of Autumn here - I can feel the bite in the air. Given a certain volcanic bang over Tonga ways, I'm not surprised at that bite.

So the Northern Hemisphere won't be feeling the results of all the Sulphur Dioxide that came from that - most of it stays in the Southern Hemisphere (and the Tropics). That's the way these things go, Northern and Southern parts of the globe essentially have an insulating barrier between them. A good thing that it was underwater too.

Even so, a lot of that shit went into the atmosphere. The scientists reckon between 53-58 teragrams.

Being a nasty, suspicious, paranoid bastard - I ask why the scientists used the word "teragrams". Because it has the word "grams" in it, and therefore doesn't seem that big after all?

To translate:

* 1 teragram = 1 billion kilograms

* 1 billion kilograms = 1 million tons (should I say 1 megaton? hah)

Or at least 50 million tons of sulphur dioxide garbage which turns into atmospheric sulphuric acid droplets, which reflect sunlight away. Right up high in the stratosphere, where it doesn't get cleared away that easily. (There's another 0.4 teragrams aka 0.4 million tons of volcanic ash also, though nobody's really reporting on that.)

To give perspective, normally world sources (human and volcanic) threw about 40 million tons of sulphur dioxide crap into the atmosphere across the entire globe, in a year (as of 2019). About 2/3rds of that is human-made.

For more info, a big chunk of it was from the shipping industry. They've been using nasty high-sulphur fuels for decades, until back in 2020 they got told to cut back on that. Which means less cooling chemicals in the air - yay for global warming. (Oh wait. I mean "climate change". The term "global warming" is no longer politically correct.) At any rate it's probably a lot less than 40 million tons now, maybe as low as 30 million tons globally.

Except that "global warming" just got a massive kick in the nuts in the form of 50 megatons of crap shoved straight into the Southern Hemisphere. Which has essentially so little industrialized stuff down here in this hemisphere that we probably only account for 10 million tons of the worldwide crap, total.

We just got 5x as much dumped on us in one burst.

Yeah we're going to feel cold for a few years to come. You Northern Hemisphere types won't be feeling it so much. Due to weather patterns most of it will stay down here.

So yes - I'm glad of that fire. It's feeling cold, and it's going to get colder (and wetter) down here in NZ.

Man-made climate change, pfui. While big in aggregate, and while keeping a sober eye on what we do dump out, it's still nothing in comparison to what Nature can and will do in an eyeblink.

Stay warm, brothers.

Black Poison Soul

Wednesday, 6 April 2022

Keep Your Head Down

A bit over a year since my last update, hahah.

Had the head down. There's reasons. Good ones.

Some of them involve family. Been a few deaths, more cancers, heart attacks, that sorta stuff. Amazingly I still seem to have my health. At my age too. Bit of a miracle.

Probably time for another check-up. Don't fucking tempt fate, eh?

More personally, old BPS has been head-down, arse-up, getting shit right'n'tight'n'untouchable as hell.

A chunk of good-sized land, some fruit trees on it, some wildlife, plenty of birds (including pheasants), plenty of places to fish. Still workin', of course. Enjoying life on my terms, at my pace. Not bothering much with chasing teh wimminz, they're full of greed'n'shit'n'drama.

Not bothering with most people actually. Most of the ones that you can meet are pretty-much useless, shit'n'drama types. The ones a bit like me, well, they tend to stay by themselves. You don't meet us much.

As to why to the getting it all done right - when you get to the point of being worth a couple million, a sensible person doesn't flash it around. 'Cause that attracts every money-hungry slag for a couple hundred kilometers. Claws crooked and grasping, the eternal whine of "pay attention to meeeee!".

Fuck that's shrill.

Since I don't like my ears raped with endless crying and whining and demands, and I especially don't want to be dealing with someone else's womb-turds - or getting trapped by someone who wants a womb-turd with me, so that they can control me (they think) - it's best to stay away from the non-professionals.

Like Steven Seagal said once: "You pay whores to go away." When you're done, of course.

Eventually the urges will all slow down. Hell, I'm pushing 56 - it's amazing that I don't need a bloody pill or something to perform. Of course, having them young'n'hot'n'different every time helps. They're new and you're not attached. Keep it thataways.

If you *must* do something long-term, make sure that she's:

1/ sane (hahahahah!)

2/ has something worthwhile besides tits'n'ass (aka money)

The very few times that I run into the inquisitive aka nosy bitches who want to evaluate if I'm worth being around I just laugh and shake my head at their questions.

For the guys, I just snort and say "I pay someone else's mortgage". Which is true enough, though the "someone else" is a Trust. I leave it at that. Not that I don't trust 'em, I simply know that teh wimminz will somehow worm the information outta the poor bastards. So if they don't know, they can't accidentally pass it on to some cunt on the prowl for her next victim.

I'm pretty-sure that a couple other guys get the idea. Preening your feathers for teh wimminz is a good way to end up as a plucked chicken. Which sure as fuck ain't enjoyable. Especially at my age.

Remember. Go and enjoy life, brothers. Don't be a plucked chicken.

For me, it's time to take a chainsaw and axe and chunk up a few deadfalls. Preparing for a nice fire on a winter evening and a good bottle of Grand Marnier - life doesn't get much better.

Black Poison Soul

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?"


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.


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?


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!


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.


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.


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!