One of my life’s pleasures is observing ass—high school ass, college ass, twenty-something ass, spinster ass, and old but pre-menopausal ass. Every female who is menstruating is worth a peek.
After I went through puberty and my balls doubled in size, I created a null hypothesis that all asses are the same. Every age group has the same ass qualities that include firmness, roundness, and gripability. (Because I could not test all three qualities with every ass I saw, I used my imagination to guess how hand-to-ass contact would feel.) After compiling several massive volumes of ass data, I’m confident that we can reject the null hypothesis. I conclude that time alone is a devastating factor in the deterioration of a woman’s ass.
When I’m checking out the asses of a gaggle of 16 year olds, I can’t help but notice how universally plump and round they are. Even the flattest of the group is still able to embarrass most women 10 years her senior. It is not until her twenties does this ass meat migrate to other parts of her body, like her ankles or the area above her vagina. This is similar in concept to how an aging man’s hair flows from his head to his ears, toes, and anus hole.
After 35 years, it’s all over. The ass meat loses its cohesive ability and starts to degenerate into a veiny blob of tissue. Even the grip factor declines as well: instead of squeezing an ass that feels like a ripe tomato, your hands squeeze through cookie dough—the grocery store kind that is bought in those plastic tubes. This didn’t use to be a big problem for women because they would already be married when their ass peaked, but now with the advent of equality and club guestlists, the modern woman does not get serious about marriage until the ass decline is in full effect. The same society that gives women cosmopolitans, voting rights, and Coach bags is the same that robs them of attention from quality assmen like myself at the time she most needs it. Unless our culture regresses back to the time when dual housing incomes were unnecessary, it will just be easier for me to find a juicy wife through the reputable mail-order bride industry.
Couple reader blogs to check out…
Ask Jimmy Suede – Dating column for men.
The Art of the Possible – Liberal-slanted blog without the screeching.
Tin Heart – Blog of my Craigslist missed connection. I think I am an inspiration to her.
I was out writing when a guy and girl sat near me. The girl was a Brazilian bombshell, maybe 18 years old with a curvy thin body and wavy hair. With her was a black guy, maybe as young as 16, who had a generic urban style topped off with a skullcap.
Her personality was fun—she was laughing at him and teasing and cursing. I like girls full of life with a little bit of drama and she had all the exaggerated looks and movements. I made the assumption that he was banging her after she started touching his hands and calling him baby.
Most average guys would immediately hate on the guy—or attribute his ability to get her on things other than his game—but other than those very obvious cases where the girl is after some guy for money or status, the answer is game when she’s hot and he’s not.
So I observed them. He had an iPod headphone in one ear and was listening to her with the other. He would space out and look elsewhere when she was talking to him where she would have to say “Over here!” She was initiating all the conversation and doing more than 70% of the talking. He was sitting back, relaxing, and letting her do all the work. She complained to him about many things, such as his “disgusting” smoking habit and his attention span problems. At the end they got in a mini fight and she made a dramatic body turn away from him. Then he just pushed her head with his hand and said, “Come on let’s go.” And off they went.
I’m sure guys treat this girl like a princess, but here you have an average guy who treats her average and she is all over him. Guys only hurt themselves when they hate on another guy because there is always one thing he does which you don’t do, or don’t do enough of. Observe and watch before you go negative. This particular gentleman had access to her, took advantage of an opportunity, and served the right game that works well. And that I respect.
Alright let’s try again.
The signal to noise ratio on comments is getting out of hand. There are trolls trolling trolls and the ban list is almost at 100 IP addresses. I decided to eliminate commenting completely but after looking back on older posts I noticed there are a lot of productive discussions that expand on the topics I write about.
So I want to backstep and try registration first. In order to comment you have to registered. You can change your password that is sent to you and add a web site to your profile that is automatically linked when you comment. (The cool thing about being logged in is you can see the titles and times of upcoming posts.)
Let’s check back in a month and see how it worked out.
Almost every girl I know has told me a “Some guy at the bar put something in my drink” story. And I never believe them.
The purpose of date rape drugs is to render a girl unconscious. But to isolate the girl where he can rape her, a guy has to pick her up on his own and leave the bar or club with her. If he is already able to leave the club with a girl, he doesn’t need drugs to have sex with her because she’ll have sex with him anyway. Do girls honestly think a random dude they never met is drugging their drinks so she will pass out randomly on the dance floor, making a discreet rape impossible?
A few months ago I was with three other friends at a bar when one of them was accused by a white girl—who he didn’t exchange a word with—of putting a roofie in her drink. Even though no pill was found, the bouncer kicked him out because their policy states that the accusation alone is enough. But this only applies to men because I reverse accused the same girl of putting a roofie in my drink and she got to stay. There was a policeman there and I told him that if my friend really did that then why doesn’t he investigate and arrest someone. His response: “Get out of my face or I will arrest you.” Girls don’t hesitate to make up false accusations because they always get the benefit of the doubt (they are honest angels) and there is no punishment if they are caught lying.
“I think I was drugged” is just a convenient excuse for girls to binge drink and lose self-control. The girls you see stumbling in the bar and vomiting on the street are victims, not morons. Well now we have a study which proves these girls are not getting drugged:
Women who claim to be victims of ‘date-rape’ drugs such as Rohypnol have in fact been rendered helpless by binge-drinking, says a study by doctors.
They found no evidence that any woman seeking help from emergency doctors because their drinks were allegedly spiked had actually been given these drugs.
Around one in five tested positive for recreational drugs while two-thirds had been drinking heavily.
Next time a girl tells you she thinks she was drugged because she passed out or can’t remember anything, remind her that those are side effects of alcohol. Then watch as her face fills with contempt because you don’t agree that deep inside every man is a rapist. Women want to be seen as equals but they are not willing to shake the “I’m a helpless victim” mentality.
Postscript: Full text of “A study of patients presenting to an emergency department having had a spiked drink” published in the peer reviewed Emergency Medicine Journal. Number of girls who are going to read it: zero.
I tried out Love Cafe after a reader recommended it. It’s about the size of your average coffee shop with a little nest towards the back that you can hide out in for 8 hours or so without having to buy too much.
The coffee was good—the baristas did a little foam swirl which was a nice touch, but the reason people come here is for the cake. A single slice costs up to $7. They can get 10 slices out of one cake so I can only imagine the profit margin out of something that probably costs two bucks to make. And people were lining up to pay for this luxury cake. They were in their twenties and dressed and acted like me and my friends. :paranoid:
I’m convinced you can take any product, triple the price, and sell it to yuppies who feel special for spending their money. They already do it with tap water, ice cream, coffee, and smoothies. I’m going to do it to steak and cheese sandwiches. I’m going to charge you $20 for one sandwich that has locally raised produce and meat. And you are going to fucking love it and come back for more because it makes you feel nouveau rich. I will have free wireless internet too.
At Love Cafe cake temperature is so important that they have laminated informational cards to tell you when you can eat your cake. If you don’t wait 15 minutes until your cake warms up, an employee takes your slice away and asks you to leave. My slice of New German Chocolate cake was very nice and I’ll be back because I fit the targeted audience for luxury cake and espresso beverages.
Who: Arjewtino, KassyK, Virgle Kent, me
When: Thursday, March 1 @ 7PM
Where: Front Page in Dupont Circle (main bar)
Bucket of 6 Coronas for 10 bucks. :cheerleader:
I’m tired of seeing and hearing the phrase “Support the troops.” It’s meaningless unless you explain what type of support you are talking about. You can want to support the troops but have two completely different outcomes in mind.
Do you mean support the troops in fighting the war? In this case you want to pump more money into weapons and send more troops to back up the ones already there.
Or do you mean support the troops in increasing the likelihood they will survive in the next year? In this case you want to remove them from the bullets and bombs in Iraq and send them back home to comfortable suburbia where they are more likely to die falling down in the shower than getting hit with an IED.
I’m not sure how “Support the troops” has come more to mean “Support the war” instead of “Support life.”
I don’t like people who have a Blackberry. It shows they are uncreative slaves who volunteer to be leashed like dogs. If you really are talented enough to get the big office and the slave device, what’s stopping you from being top dog and starting your own business? It’s cause you are not top dog, you are a slave. Management is just trying to make you feel special with a $100 radiation device so you won’t complain about coming in on the weekends. Is it a coincidence that lawyers, the most loathsome people on Earth, are number one fans of this gadget?
As for girls who have a blackberry, I would never date them.
Blackberry -> Email -> Internet -> Computers -> Virgins males -> Parent’s basement -> Real-life Dungeons and Dragons role playing
Therefore a girl with a Blackberry is just like a virgin male who plays Dungeons and Dragons. She is doing well in the male-created and dominated corporate environment because she is more masculine than me, and I have hair on my ass. Do you think she is going to stay home to cook and clean and take care of little Dakota? The number to Speedy Maids is going to be permanently attached to your refrigerator.
“Honey, is it okay if we order out again? I’m so exhausted from all that sitting down at work.”
If the United States President doesn’t have a Blackberry then you don’t need a Blackberry.
I hate my job. And it’s all because I went to Italy.
Two years ago a friend of mine was studying in Rome and invited me to visit. I was comfortable with my routine here, working 40 hours a week to make someone else rich so I can spend two days of freedom on the weekend sleeping in and trying to get laid. But over there I really enjoyed the idea of exploring this different world without having to work. Why does it only have to be two days of freedom every week? Then I went to Venezuela and it was even better. I was taken out of my comfort zone where fun wasn’t served on some tour package platter. The simplest things like eating a meal or catching a cab turned into adventures. And the girls—so hot. :tard:
I started to dislike my job after Venezuela, until I read a couple job interview books (in the bookstore, of course) and found a new gig that paid a lot more. But the extra money only kept me happy for a couple months. Maybe it’s not the companies I don’t like, but the idea of working for a company. I don’t like following orders from a boss I wouldn’t spend my free time with—someone I don’t respect. And I definitely don’t like spending a third of my waking life in an office building.
Spain made it worse. I was sure I didn’t want to commit my best years working to save enough money when I’m too old to enjoy it. I don’t want to play golf or bingo, ever.
Most of us are on the capitalist path: to go to school, get educated, become a good worker peon, spend money on consumer products, and die. My immigrant parents thought this would be best for me, so I can’t fault them for pushing me into getting a college degree to have a life that is easier than 99.5% of all human beings in the world. But I just don’t think it’s for me.
White Dade makes a good point:
As soon as a good, Angry Young Man blogger finds himself a girl, that nasty edge he had goes down the drain faster than a used condom on a Sunday Night. I guess it reasons, though. All the great writers are either depressed or suicidal when they do their best work, so when something comes along that brightens your outlook on life, your work suffers. How fucking selfish.
My potent, productive rage comes from not having what I want. The day I get into a happy committed relationship is the day my writing looks like Chaco’s (an awesome friend and writer!). :bigsmile:
Alright the haiku reviews are a bust. I just don’t find them to be useful. I will regroup.
I’ve been following the Carlos Mencia–Joe Rogan drama. Rogan has been accusing Mencia of stealing other comedians’ jokes, and recently went on stage during a Mencia performance to call him out. He made a video of the confrontation which makes a pretty good case that Mencia is indeed a joke stealer. It’s 10-minutes long but worth it (look for the Amazing Racist cameo):
So The Comedy Club in L.A. banned him and his agent let him go. But not Mencia—Rogan. Because Mencia has large audiences willing to pay to see him, Rogan has pissed off the people that Mencia is helping enrich. It doesn’t matter how noble or honest your cause is—if you get in the way of the green, you will be stopped by those who have power. Lesson in this is to always have a savings account, just in case your character gets you in trouble.
—Joe Rogan’s blog