Showing posts with label #poorjudgement. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #poorjudgement. Show all posts

Friday, 21 April 2017

Warning Label

There's an old saying: "She should come with a warning label."

Thankfully, many girls actually do. Better, they voluntarily put on those labels just for you'n'me. You see it all the time, you know the type of thing:

"If you can't handle me at my worst, you sure don't deserve me at my best." (You have no best.)

"I should come with a warning label." (No shit.)

"A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." (Fish have no legs to use a bicycle. Bleakly and ironically literal, actually.)

And of course, there's the usual red-flags that the halfway sensible man will pick up in a heartbeat and run like fuck away from.

A couple of days ago I was driving home after work and ran across an exceptionally well-labelled example:

* number-plate that said something along the lines of "meeeeee!" (Not the exact plate, you get the idea though - got to love personalized plates.)

* decal on the bumper that said "cute but psycho" (Actually said that.)

* a stick-figure family showing one child and one girl with a bunch of shopping-baskets (Single-mommy shopaholic warning. Not even a pet cat.)

We just have to thank these girls. They show every single reason to stay the fuck away from them, totally unmistakably. Just keep your eyes open for it, they're always there.

An amused look through Crap-Colored Glasses™, only $1k the pair and cheap at 10x the price.

Thursday, 29 September 2016

Not Even Pretty

So Didact has a cogent piece about what the real price is for being a slut or whore. The price is her soul:
He is 100% correct in saying this, and 100% correct in saying that even a virgin can have that thousand-cock stare. Especially one who voluntarily elects as a virgin to become a Dubai Porta-Potty.

The really strange thing is that this (Russian) girl just isn't that pretty.

Seriously. Look at that face, those eyes, that mouth, that body-language. It all screams "high-priced nasty entitled cunt". It's completely dark, cold and dead inside - too the point of oozing through the fake shell/casing. That's the thousand-cock stare in a nutshell: cold and dead inside. To paraphrase/rephrase Didact: the soul is gone from this one.

In a very warped way I'm kinda glad that this one has gone to Dubai to be a toilet. That is, literally, it's only possible use in life: to be shit on. To be used as a cum-dumpster, endlessly. To be infected with every disease possible, so that the rarer and more worthy women are not.

There is no way in hell that any man should ever get this one pregnant. Not accidentally, not knocked up by a client, nohow noway. That soulless vacuum, that sucking void, will inexorably suck the life out of anyone or anything that isn't coated in teflon and insulated with a foot of asbestos. Any child/ren will be inevitably destroyed.

Those Arab Princes can have this one.

With our blessings and good wishes and many hopes for their enjoyment.

Tuesday, 19 April 2016

Death of a Manspace

I've been away from my gym for a couple of weeks, it's been difficult staying in semi-shape for that time. Even doing a lot of walking, and some bodyweight exercises, I gained a couple kilos. So I go back...what do I see...
NEW
Female Friendly Workout Zone
SCULPT
(I won't put up the picture - too identifying - you get the drift.)

Oh my.

So looking around, an area of about 1/4 of the gym - that used to be filled with various machines designed to push iron to the sky - has been partitioned off with some cutesy screens with a cutout of some stylized silhouette of a sculptured chick. It's all marked up now with "Women's Only Zone" and shit like that. Said screens basically allowing people to peek through.

I walked to the entrance of the area and looked around inside. Spacious - you could almost say expansive. A few machines around the outer area, the middle totally open. Plenty of friendly space for teh wimminz to work out in.

I look at the remaining 3/4 of the gym. Most of the original machines have been crammed into it, making things cramped and inconvenient for teh eeeevil menz.

"Female Friendly" - reverse those two. Female becomes male, Friendly becomes unfriendly. Male Unfriendly.

I can smell the trainwreck coming a mile away. Cater to the pussy. One day, some man will be noticed casually glancing at the area, and teh wimminz will be going "oh, we don't feel safe any more".

These cunts belong in Contours, a women-only gym. Not in this gym. Not around guys who have stainless-steel bowling balls for nuts.

I'm already looking for a new gym. I might be shit outta luck. That's the problem with living in the ass-end of nowhere in Bum Fuck New Zealand.

Thursday, 7 January 2016

Interchangeable Will Eat Your Lunch

Let us go into fantasy-land for a bit here.

Let's say that you're employed by an awesome business. They actually do have an ethic where their employees are not interchangeable, they are valued, they are trained properly, the highest quality of service or workmanship is job one, et-fucking-cetera.

You're doomed.

You see, there's always some fucktard out there who is willing to do it for less. They're that desperate for the work, for the money, that they'll cut corners and do a cheap job.

Your employer can't match that undercutting.

The customer loves it. He'll happily take a poor quality job, so long as he saves a boatload at the beginning. Because he doesn't click to the following:
The bitterness of poor quality lingers
Long after the sweetness of low cost is forgotten
It's not that the customer's stupid (though he's definitely stupid). It's not that he's blind to what he's doing (though he's definitely blind).

It's that the effects of poor quality come to light long afterwards. It gets you through for a while - and then it bites your ass. The time between is just long enough that the general dumbass out there can't connect the dots. Especially the beancounters.

Meantime, the business which once employed you has long gone.

I've seen some strange things in life. Stuff that's made me think: "Don't you have a fucking brain?" To the point where I must believe that management and employees have a weird relationship. Like the old military toast: "Here's to inferior superiors and inferior inferiors. The stuff armies are made of."

Stuff like a beancounter actively saying that there's no profit to be made in X, then breathlessly states that "we should get into as much X as possible". Hello? The person the beancounter was rabbiting on with at the time made the commonsense observation: "If there's no money in it, why are we doing it?" The beancounter couldn't think of anything to say to that...

Stuff like a commercial manager so desperate to get his yearly bonus, that he made an absolute sweetheart deal with a customer. One so sweetheart that there was no money in it. He got his yearly bonus, the customer realized what a sweetheart deal it was and went to do 3-4x as much as was expected, and the business had to hire extra staff to cope with the load...forget breaking even, net loss to the business...

Then you get the sensible people, the rare ones who proactively think about this shit.

A small example: I've been doing a woodworking project, one which I want to bolt together (as well as nail) for extra strength. So some 24x 10mm galvanized cup-head bolts, 170mm long, are in order (actually 160mm but they're popular, they didn't have enough, so I was forced to go for the 170mm - just-in-time supply in action).

While working this out I realized: I also have to drill 24x 11mm holes through 150mm (6 inches) of solid tanalized wood. The problem is that most drill-bits aren't that long. I sure as shit didn't have any. So I head in to the local building shop looking for some bits, and the only ones I can find are auger bits that look like this:
Which is all well and good. There's the cheapass bits, and the expensive bits. Being a thinker, I go for the $29 one because:
  1. The $12 ones only come in 10mm or 12mm size, too small or big
  2. The $29 ones will last me for years while the cheap ones will crap out earlier
Now, most fucktards will go for the cheap ones. Because most people are cheap bastards and only thinking of the immediate job, not 10+ years down the line. Plus they'll ram it into an electric drill and try to use it at high speed - which will likely fuck the job up, maybe even break the bit and cause themselves an injury.

(Power tools are awesome. You can fuck the job up in half the time.)

Being a half-smart fucktard I decided to use the correct piece of equipment for the job:
Yes, it takes time. No, it doesn't take a lot of effort. And yes, I still made a few crooked holes. Inexperience. Never mind. My woodworking project should last the next 10+ years, easily.

Poor quality and low cost, versus high quality and high cost. (Make sure it's real high quality, not lip-service crap.)

Unfortunately, you can have middling-high quality in what you do. The poorest quality job, done by a bunch of clueless interchangeable knobs, will beat you out of the work just about every time. (I say "just about" because there are a few people who have a clue and recognize that high quality is better in the long run.)

In New Zealand terms, it's the difference between:
  1. A house put up in the 1960's by an experienced tradesman with quality materials, and
  2. A house put up in the 1980's by a jackleg builder who was frantically slapping everything together in the middle of a housing boom - most of which housing starts falling to pieces in the 2000's due to leaks causing the guts of the house to rot and fall apart
By which point the bloody jackleg builder has long ago closed his business down, only to open up another one under a new trading name. Want to bet that the quality of building done is any better than the shit that's already falling apart?

I wish I could shake the hand of the tradesman who put my house together. It's 50 years on, a little maintenance (new longline iron roof), a little bit of upgrading (air conditioning), and still going strong. Built like a brick shithouse, in a time when the idea was that it would stay in the family for generations.

So I live in a 50-year-old house with brick exterior and original matai wood floors that have been sanded and polished (that's a native New Zealand wood, fucking beautiful). While my parents live in a semi-modern 1985 house with fibrolite exterior and wool carpet with disintegrating rubber underlay, laid over fucking particle board - which is so soft and rots so easily that you could just about piss a hole through it.
Quality. Shines. Through.

Except when you're blind, dumb, and stupid.

Thursday, 3 September 2015

Choose Your Fights Wisely

A lot of people out here in the festering swamps of teh interwebs seem to pick some damn stupid fights at times.

How here's a solid example of a good fight to pick: Vox Day when he got together the Rabid Puppies. Targeted, effective, achieveable, measurable. Plus it stuck the knife into some SJW pricks and twisted, good'n'hard. Good bonus there, watching those little pieces of shit squirm and listening to them squeal. Excellent payoff for all and sundry, whether participating or just watching from the sidelines.

Now here is a rough idea of a bad fight to pick: exchanging internet jabs with a pansy/troll/thing that you just know for shit-damn-sure will absolutely refuse to fuck off and die. No matter what you do, you're never going to be able to finish the job.

So I find myself wondering at times, why people do this. These pointlessly boring internet feuds. It's not like an old-style family feud, where you can punch the sonofabitch in the face or shoot him. You can't nuke the site from orbit. Even if you could and did, this cockroach just comes back.

So why waste the energy and time on a brainless troll? All you're doing is validating the troll. "Wooo, he answered me! I must be important!" Preen, masturbate, etc.

Targeted - yeah I suppose so.

Effective - not at all.

Achievable - hell no!

Measurable - only in its overall banal pointlessness.

When you see two people do this, it comes across as - to use "mainstream manosphere" terminology - a pair of Gamma's engaging in an endless bout of verbal posturing and ego-masturbation. Like women, they attempt to drown the other in a bottomless pile of shit - the one who piles on the most shit "wins".

Though of course, neither can admit to being beaten - the eternal posturing part - so it's always hammer-and-tongs banality, ad infinitum.

Dull. Boring. Pointless. Juvenile.

Tuesday, 28 April 2015

Slipping Camouflage

So, over the long weekend (ANZAC day, special here in New Zealand and in Australia) a guy I know asked me if I had plans or was available to go do something. (Long story that I'm not going to go into. Suffice to say it involved driving for about 6-8 hours, depending on the weather.)

Now, I had no intent for such a long trip. A guy needs to have some time to recharge, you know. Plus I wasn't spending my hard-earned cash on petrol for somebody else's benefit. I asked him: "Why don't you and X do it?" (X being his girlfriend.)

"X would kill me."

Now I thought that this was weird. This guy and his girlfriend enjoy doing the same things - the guy wanted it done really really badly - I figured his girlfriend would be happy to go along with him. If only just this once. Yet even so: "X would kill me."

After thinking about it for a while, I realized: his girlfriend is a well-disguised chameleon/predator. However, her camouflage has obviously slipped a few times in the past. Thus his comment, that she'll kill him if he does something like what he was wanting me to do. Even if he takes her along.

Me being single and all, I can do what I damned-well please. He cannot. Plus - which fuckin' annoys the shit out of me - he presumed that he could ask and I would chirpily say "sure!" and happily perform. Fuck that.

A little more reflection on him and his girlfriend and I realize: she must use emotional manipulation, mind-games, and that kind of thing on him quite a bit. Screaming shit-fits and the cold shoulder might ensue. You name it. Else there would not have been the fear to go and do something that he pretty overwhelmingly wanted to do.

Now, I've met his girl. While generically pretty, there's not much there. Obviously less than I thought, if she's that selfish that she'd fuck him around if she doesn't get what she wants. Which, from what I see today, included a fairly lavish brunch in a fairly upmarket restaurant. Must have cost $30-40 each, from what I saw. The girlfriend was across the table, looking generically cute, smiling at the cameraman: "It's all about meeeee!"

Guess who paid for it.

Guess who would *not* have been repaid for petrol and time or given a lavish brunch in a fairly upmarket restaurant.

At any rate, this leaves him catering to her all the time without being able to do what he wants at the drop of a hat.

Poor bastard. I wonder if he'll ever wake up.

Extra message: Protect your personal time. Lots of people will try to make use of it - if you let them.

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

All About Her Experiences

I love, love, love FaceCrap for all the attention-whoring that it reveals amongst my woman "intimates". A prime example has cropped crapped up in the last couple of days.

The Eagles are coming in concert to the Vector Arena in Auckland, sometime in March. Which is all cool and shit, 'cause I kinda like the eagles. I grew up with 'em.

Along comes this decent-looking 35+ self-entitled twat splurting out with: "I spent $2,200 to go see him in March!"
I'm raising my eyebrows - really, $2,200 to go see a live performance of The Eagles? What fucking crack have you been smoking? Some of her other male friends seem to be just as incredulous - one commenter asks if she got gold-plated seats and gets to keep them. Oh no - she bought tickets for herself, her mother, and her father. Over $700 apiece (platinum seats - gold, so passé).
Incredible daughter alert indeed! She's also dribbling about this being the 3rd time seeing them live. One of her (female) friends is dribbling about how it's worth every penny (note the female validation from the herd).

Myself, I'm laughing inside. Half a week's wages per ticket for a fairly hefty-working Joe around here. Someone on minimum wage (about $15 an hour) that's a week's wages per ticket. More actually, once das gubermint rips out the taxes. Spent on a concert.

But wait - there's more! She's hoping that she can throw her bra to the stage from her seat.
A few more comments, then she decides: actually she's going to throw her undies! Just need to decide whether they should be clean or worn. Decisions, decisions...so hard...
Yes, like he's going to want to specially pick up your undies and sniff them. "Mmmmm that smells soooo good. Get that cunt up here, I'm gonna ream all her holes seven ways from Sunday."

The best part: I know this chick doesn't make this kind of money. Her hubby, however, makes some decent dough. Her slave-man just spent a couple weeks wages so his slut can take her mommy and daddy to a concert, throw her panties up on stage to the musician that she has the hots for, and (maybe) get some high-status/famous cock crammed into her cunt. At least, in her dreams.

Damn amusing, seeing such cautionary tales for all men coming up in social media. Not even hiding it. Silly, silly cunts.

Wednesday, 12 November 2014

Wednesday Lunchtime - Female Bad Judgement Edition

So I'm having lunch with some people. Casual talk, yadda yadda...

This girl up and says: "I dumped my fiance to go with the man I love. I'm so happy, and so are my children."

Some more casual conversation and it comes out:

  • girl has two kids to ex-fiance
  • girl and ex-fiance had been fighting for 1½ years
  • girl went over to Sydney (unhappy) with a group of friends (no fiance)
  • girl fell in love with friend on trip (and fucked him)
  • on return from Sydney, girl left fiance to be with (new) man she loves

This is an excellent example of extreeeemely poor judgement on a girl's part. Have two kidlets to a man who she's having fights with. Yeah.

I'm betting that ex-fiance is paying child-support.

Stupid bastard "true love" man bringing up another's child.

It was all I could do to not laugh my ass off.