Wednesday 23 May 2018

Twisted Obsessions

It has never ceased to amaze me, the hamsterbations of the female mind. You'd have thought that I'd'a learned by now, yet they can still surprise me.

So here I am in America, I do talk with people. Mostly the older set, because they are actually interesting (astronomers, a guy who was in the NASA space program, engineers who built missiles, an ex-army man who was involved in the Titan II missile biz). Very interesting people.

I don't bother with the younger ones. The males're more interested in making money and showing it off so that they can get their dick wet. The females are brain dead followers of the Karshitdians and whatever loopy drama they can stir up in their lives (a weird thing by itself). The things that us old farts kinda look down on...

Youth, their heedlessness makes me feel old and fuckin' crusty.

Yet for really twisted obsessions, the older females seem to be tops. This is both in NZ and America. Probably the rest of the world too, I have no real personal experience of that though.

The number of older wimminz this past three weeks. They learn that I'm single, the first thing that pops out of their mouths is: "We need to get you a girlfriend." With the obvious "you need to be married" bullshit at a deeper level of meaning in their words.

Yep, like that's gonna happen. I'm picking that Hell will achieve negative Kelvin first.

Of course, being a single man with some spare $$$ to enjoy himself with, that's a straightforward combination of threat/opportunity for wimminz. Can't let him run around loose - he'll wake up the other plantation slaves. Besides, he's got $$$ that some woman isn't sucking dry.

This situation cannot be borne!

So I've had the fortune (aka pain in the ass) of having wimminz making ominous rumbling noises in my direction. All being attempts to curtail my freedom, disguised as "opportunities" to "get a good wimminz in my life" aka become host to a pathetic class of parasitic fuckin' leech.

When I say pathetic, I mean definitively past it. Not to say that some of these wimminz ain't good-looking for chicks in their fourties and fifties. (MakeApp. Use it. Even on the older ones - no, especially on the older ones!) A couple of them would have been real stunners in their twenties.

They're still single/divorced and looking though, which immediately clues you in to the fact that they just couldn't manage one of three things:

1/ choose the right type of man to start with (he was abusive)

2/ stick with the man they'd chosen for more than a decade or so (she got bored)

3/ find the right type of man in the first place (too busy blowing and riding those musical cocks on the carousel)

Yet at this age they are stuck with the weirdest idea that they're still God's gift to men plus still have that twisted obsession with getting married again. He'd better have a giant cock as well. As if the fuckin' world owes it to them or something.

'Scuse me, Martha. You ain't all that. Go squat on your purple cactus for a while.

Because I ain't giving up my freedom for some worn-out loose cunt that's already shat out three watermelons aka womb-turds to multiple men, and is incapable of having any more. There's only downside, no upside atall (having kiddies for the next generation is the only upside, and not much of one these days with frivorce and the weaponisation of the kiddies against the father).

So on the whole: she shoulda planned better and stuck with her "starter marriage" - a term that needs to burn in hell, along with all wimminz who think that way.

That said, there have been a couple of wimminz who knew that I'm from New Zealand and there was no hope of any relationship and who still made some determined moves on me. Perhaps it's because I'm in reasonable shape for a 52yo, perhaps they just wanted some "exotic" foreign dick, perhaps they really thought that I'd change my mind after "sampling" their "wares".

Like I said to someone: I didn't come here looking for some pussy. All it'd take is a false rape accusation and *wham* BPS is in jail for 6-8 months, game and life over man. Supremely fucked.

Though I'll admit that it's fuckin' hard at times, when a halfway-decent-looking (MakeApp, MakeApp, MakeApp) specimen is skilfully putting the moves on you (plenty of practice, that one). I'm not a fuckin' stone, aye. The $$$ that I have is a magnet that's sometimes hard to hide, the temptation is there when they determinedly make all the effort...

Bought to you from the back-bed of an RV up near Grand Canyon. By myself, driving the wimminz en-masse mad because I'm single. Just remember that rawdogging the roadwhore is a supremely bad idea, no matter how don't let the camel get its head in the tent door.

Friday 18 May 2018

White Noise

Have you ever noticed that teh wimminz just can't shut their fuckin' gob?

Everything that happens that might be the slightest upsetting is broadcast to all and sundry. Ad nauseum. To the fuckin' world. Most especially if it's to the detriment of a man.

It reminds me very much of No-Ma'am and The Fine Art of TV Repair.

I ran across a textbook case last night, actually. (Here in America, of course. The break is going well.) This is not to say that it only happens in America - I've seen (heard) it in New Zealand too. England. Thailand. Not personally in Australia, though I see no reason why there would be an exception.

How it came about. I went and parked my RV up at a place called Grindstone Lake, near Ruidoso NM. A nice area, reminds me of the pine forests back in NZ. It's an artificial lake actually, a dam where people can go picnic, fish, swim, etc. Also walk and mountain bike, with lots of trails. Something that I desperately need: the heat has been limiting my walking exercise, I'm literally putting on weight just because of not enough movement.

I go to start my walk, there turns out to be a wimminz in awesome form in the parking lot. Not fine form - awesome form. Dialled up to eleven.

Sittin' in the truck with the door wide open.

Full-throated bitching on the phone to someone else.

When I say full-throated, I mean looooud. I was over 30 meters away (think 30 yards, almost a third of a football field away). I could hear her plain as day.

"Reeeeereereeeeeee I'm fucking stressed out reereeeeereeereerereee I'm fucking sick of it this's got to stop rereeeeeeeererereeeeeee four more fucking days of this shit reeeeeeeeee....!" All of it with that nasty little cutting undertone that bitches can have when they're really going to town.

I turned my head and looked at her as I was walking past. Pretty good looker, IMO - for a mid-thirties bitch. Long legs, blond hair, good shape, and what probably would have been a delicately pretty face if she wasn't twisting it into the shape of her fucked-up emotional/mental state. Looked like a vicious harpy (though maybe that was prejudice on my part).

I kept walking while checking her out pretty damn obviously. She suddenly realised when I was about 5 meters (yards) away and made a lame excuse and hung up. Probably my face showed some of my disgust and she finally picked up on it - took her long enough, I was blatant as hell with the checking her out.

Goes to show: no matter how sexy as fuck she might be, someone somewhere is fed up with her bullshit.

Kept on walking. Good walk around the lake, maybe two miles - sure felt it, being out of shape, though.


Sunday 6 May 2018

Victory and Defeat

Damn. So here I am over in America - land in Los Angelos, intending to catch up with a man in Florida, and cousins up in Canada, and see as much as possible while I'm driving on the way and back. I'm driving an RV.

A week has gone past. I'm in Big Bend country, down Alpine Texas. Holy fuck, I thought that I'd be in Florida by now. I forgot how damn huge you guys are. Haven't been over here at least ten years, completely forgot. (Strong winds and routing around a fire here in Texas didn't help. Friday was ten hours driving, a few breaks. Sheeeiiit, I'm feeling like a dumbass. And exhausted.)

So I call the Florida man up, I can't just not show. Completely not fucking cool to do that to someone. "Hello, is that XXX?" "Who is this?" "It's Black Poison Soul."

We spent a few minutes jawing and I let him go back to his evening with family and all. Got to hear each other's voice, I made the effort. It's lame to say, really wanted to get there. I was just dumb. Will most probably yack with him again in the next two-three weeks.

Then called up my cousin in Canada - voicemail - damn, left a lame-ass message.

Feel like a fuckin dipshit.

Next time I'll just fly to where I wanna check out, hire a car, go see the local history and scenery and hike and stuff. You could probably spend a month in each state - I hope you Americans really take advantage of it. You have so much to go look at and do.

I'm gonna have to fly to Florida next year sometime. Do it the smart way. This time, defeated by reality.
So a quick check back with family in NZ, and friends on FaceCrap. My mate who married the hairdresser has changed all his man-shit profile stuff to wedding photos.

Sad. You once had large, plentiful balls, man. Now you've pussified yourself, and the look on her face - that you obviously can't see - is so fuckin smug with victory.

It's like my balls also winced in sympathy with him.

You know when you see another man kicked in the nuts? Your balls just clench in sympathy?

That feeling.

Stick a fork in him. He's done.

I would have a glass of Grand Marnier in, in remembrance for a dead mate...only that stuff is back in New Zealand. I'll have to do it when I get back.

Peace...driving. (Tomorrow.)