As for any of you men who were married in the 1960s or before (and) are still married – congrats and good for you. Unfortunately, times have changed because men have allowed radical feminists to change the culture, courts, and laws enough that it is much more difficult to find a suitable wife in America, and so that marriage guarantees only two things: 1) The spouse who earns more (usually men) will pay the other spouse money, sometimes for life, should there be a divorce regardless of who broke the vows, and 2) The man will be financially responsible for any child born to his wife, whether or not he was a party to the conception. The temptation to be paid for the rest of her life and free of the constraints of marriage has proven too much for plenty of women, who are much more likely to file for divorce. There is no legal obligation or peer/societal pressure for a woman to be a good wife, while men are still expected and required by law to be the financial providers.
I didn’t mean to kill myself, it was more like awakening from slow starvation to find I’m a ghost.
Something this morning triggered it. I was starting another day at the hated job. Defying random odds, 4 out of 4 of the cutest/hottest women were in the break room at the same time and I realized, as if I’d been shot, I’d made zero progress and was not interesting to any of them, wouldn’t have fucking mattered if I’d set myself on fire.
I figured I’d done all I could do with each of them, including showing sincere interest. We’d certainly accrued enough shared hours in Hell together. I’d even “been myself” around them. Maybe that did me in. Probably.
The proximity of the women was just the trigger. The explosion and death came from knowing that if I had 2 years or 10,000 more I’d be no closer to my definition of victory than yesterday.
So I died by the hand of my own dreams. I’d committed suicide, with nothing left to do but kill the body at leisure, everything else gone, used up, robbed, seized, stolen. Barring necrophilia I’ve had my last kiss and certainly last lay.
My death was the opposite of a pebble rippling the skin of a still lake; it was a boulder hurled down from the the sky only to slip underwater without a splash.
I wish I could tell you death is the end, but in the afterlife everything looks exactly the same, everyone acts the same as before and my greatest fear is here: there’s still a long list of shit that has to be done.
Yet part of me is excited about having ended it All. Everything stayed the same, yet changed, in very subtle ways. I have the rest of my death to see them, find them, catch them.
“I don’t want to get any messages saying, “I am holding my position.” We are not holding a god-damned thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy’s balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose; like shit through a tin horn!”
oh, the voice of reason is trying his best to ruin my dream of being alive when they discover that bigfoot is real. bastard. — Dirty Howie
.
Got this email from Howington after I pointed out the suit in the freezer recently found was probably a hoax to sell some new movie (or as it turns out, $500 “Bigfoot” tours from the hoax-holes who “found” the creature).
If you think about it, why do they have to test the DNA of this thing? You could just cut off an arm and skin it…no special effects people on earth could fake all the necessary bones, blood vessels, muscles, tendons, etc., as well as DNA.
Anyway, of all the legends and unsolved mysteries, BIGFOOT is the most worthless.
Does BIGFOOT have a spaceship and alien technology that could solve the energy crisis?
Does BIGFOOT have a time machine or live underwater in a cool place like Atlantis?
Does BIGFOOT have the secrets of quantum physics or keys to unlock hidden worlds and dimensions?
NO.
Know what BIGFOOT has? BIG FUCKING FEET. Oh, and he’s COVERED in HAIR at a time every queery-bare-chested, pretty-boy dickweed in media has NO body hair (update Dec 2008: add Obama to the list of dauphines).
BIGFOOT is a REAL man’s legend lost in the 70’s with Burt Reynolds while the mascot for the 21st century is a giant, gay, vegan, non-smoking pink dolphin.
What if we did catch a live BIGFOOT? He can’t speak, draw, write or play basketball. He probably can’t even wipe his ass…the government will just put him on the Endangered Feces list and lo, another USELESS WELFARE ANIMAL Joe Sixpack has to pay for.
BIGFOOT should stay gone unless he’s got a working fusion reactor in his cave.
Fredricks finished his gig and is now unemployed. I left a message on his website:
Employment and unemployment are cellmates in the same hellish prison.
With hooks for hands I pause to admire my typed handiwork,
a kite made from trashbags and used zen.
Nothing profound on the screen, outside, inside,
just calm, labored breaths
after eating too much peanut butter
and cursing Asshole God for another Lotto ticket
wasted.
Originally titled “The Ponytail Man”, the name of this post has been changed to reflect the more popular name for this absurd historical character. 14 APR 14
Apologies to the few who already read this post. I never thought to youtube the Ponytail Guy, whose purported name was “Denton Walthall”.
I put this up so that people who initially remember Denton the Ponytail Guy from a “town hall” meeting will have a slightly easier time finding or referencing him. Very likely the Ponytail Guy (aka Ponytailed Loser, Ponytailed Asshole, Ponytailed Mamaluke, Ponytailed Chooch) was an audience plant working for the Taxocrats.
The Second Clinton-Bush-Perot Presidential Debate (First Half)
This takes place in the first half of the Richmond debate. The October 15th “town hall” format debate was moderated by Carole Simpson.
PONYTAILED LOSER: And forgive the notes here but I’m shy on camera.
The focus of my work as a domestic mediator is meeting the needs of the children that I work with, by way of their parents, and not the wants of their parents. And I ask the three of you, how can we, as symbolically the children of the future president, expect the two of you, the three of you to meet our needs, the needs in housing and in crime and you name it, as opposed to the wants of your political spin doctors and your political parties?
SIMPSON: So your question is?
PONYTAILED LOSER: Can we focus on the issues and not the personalities and the mud? I think there’s a need, if we could take a poll here with the folks from Gallup perhaps, I think there’s a real need here to focus at this point on the needs.
(After Bush 41 and Clinton both idiotically agree)
PONYTAILED LOSER: Could we cross our hearts? It sounds silly here but could we make a commitment? You know, we’re not under oath at this point but could you make a commitment to the citizens of the US to meet our needs, and we have many, and not yours again? I repeat that. It’s a real need, I think, that we all have.
I’m ashamed to admit that way back in ’92 while I watched this live, I believed in what the Ponytailed Plant was saying, his begging our would-be leaders for assistance that, per the Constitution, he was not entitled to receive and they were not entitled to give him. It was the naivety of youth that made me believe this gross display of spinelessness was worthy of a free people, or that it would have any heart-softening effects on men (and women) the Constitution was put in place to protect us from. In answering this simpering hippie doofus, George Bush Sr., perhaps not understanding how stupid and outrageous the Ponytailed questions were, totally shit the cot. Perot did only marginally better. Only Chill Clinton seemed prepared to soothe the poor long-haired “child” in a convincing manner.To the best of my knowledge (a few dozen Google searches) Ponytail Guy has never been heard from again, suggesting he was indeed an audience plant to make Slick Willie look good.That was then. Today there’s less need for audience plants; the useful idiots of the mainstream media have given up all objectivity and are the direct descendants of Ponytail Man, existing only to make the Taxocrats look good. Today you are instructed to vote for Obamarx, the latest loving father who promises to take care of you, the infants.
Observe the ‘cat’, one of the worst drawings I’ve ever seen. Is anyone even trying anymore? It really steams my clams that someone got paid to draw a cat with hound dog JOWLS.
Can YOU do better?–chide the critics. Hells yes. I drew my cat head with the MS “Paint” program in about 4.5 minutes. Unlike the Marmashit feline (more like FAUX-line) mine looks like a cat, falling well within the parameters of the Artistic Zone.
When will these fools learn that any job worth doing is worth doing half-assed?
Passion and shame torment him, and rage is mingled with his grief. - Virgil
The writer is very much capable of such feelings as love, affection, intimacy and caring. These feelings just don't involve anybody else. --bastardized
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