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Craigslist is coughing up some gems lately.

Reasons I Like My Cats More Than Any Man I Have Dated in the DC Area – 23 (For Anti-Cat Man)


Reply to: XXX
Date: 2009-01-27, 10:00AM EST

Dedicated to the old, cat-hating man…I’ve provided a list of reasons that my two kitties are better than any of the men I’ve gotten involved with in the DC area.

• My cats have never taken me on a date to the 7/11.
• My cats have never pretended to be the love of my life, then disappeared into thin air without even the courtesy of a post-it note explanation.
• My cats have never lied about being Navy SEALs. Not once. Actually, my cats don’t lie AT ALL.
• My cats are ALWAYS in the mood to cuddle.
• Cleaning up after them is much easier than cleaning up after a man.
• My cats have never drunk half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s then tried to break my arms.
• My cats have never lied to me about being married to try to get me into bed.
• They’re not afraid to show their love and affection, which is unconditional.
• My cats are VERY intelligent.
• They aren’t obsessed with Asian women.
• They would NEVER intentionally hurt me.
• They clean themselves daily.
• They aren’t insecure.
• They’re very low-maintenance.
• They have never betrayed me.
• They like ALL different kinds of people…blonds, brunettes, redheads. Because they’re not fixated on narrow, exclusive sets of physical attributes.

So when faced with the decision of whiny man versus loyal cats, I’ll go with the cats any day…

******

She sounds like one of my exes. Always bitching. Her standards are way too high. What’s wrong with 7-11? With the right attitude and cocky smirk a guy can turn a microwaved burrito into a cherished romantic memory for the girl.

How much you want to bet she completely forgave him and had a squirting orgasm that night after he tried to break her arms in a drunken stupor? Women… their tales of woe fall on deaf alpha ears.

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Reader and prolific commenter Obsidian was interested in my take on this article by a white woman who discusses her preference for black men.

Black skin is thick and lush, sensuous to the touch, like satin and velvet made flesh. There’s only one patch of skin on a white man’s body that remotely compares to nearly every inch of a black man’s skin.

I have no idea what black man skin feels like, since VK won’t let me run my hands up and down his chiseled biceps and give a squeeze for good measure, but I remember the skin of the last black woman I slept with — it was wrinkle-free and taut but also somewhat rough in spots, like sandpaper. The softest female skin I have ever touched was on an Asian woman.

And I had the socially acceptable explanation for my craving. I used that paucity-of-available-white-partners rationale to explain my relationships with black men for several years. A white woman past forty is often passed over by her white-male contemporaries. She goes younger or ethnic or foreign-born or down the socioeconomic scale or darker or she spends lonely nights at home with her cats. Black men are happy to get the babe they couldn’t have when she was twentysomething and fertile. The laws of the marketplace do prevail. It’s not me, it’s them being the white guys who weren’t after me anymore, or so I claimed.

That’s a lie. The truth is, I attract about the same percentage of available white men my age (and far younger!) now as I did when I was thirty and that’s not including the unavailable white men who want to play around anyway.

Enough white men want me that I was hardly facing enforced celibacy, but I don’t want them.

Let’s take a look at the author’s photo, shall we?

grossoldhag

Here’s a video of her, for more accurate judging. Hint: She’s not the hottie standing on the right.

The only lie here is the lie she is telling herself. There is no way this gross disgusting old hag who hit the wall so hard she is on the other side of it is attracting any sort of white man except the bottom of the barrel dregs who will dump a fuck in her distended flabby hole because they can’t afford an internet connection to whack off to porn outside of the public library. Her looks are relevant to her claim that she is freely choosing black men in favor of white men — she is holding up her desirability to white men as proof of her options in the sexual market and her freedom to choose which men to fuck. A simple, revealing photo utterly discredits the core underpinning of her argument by anecdote.

The truth here is, unfortunately for her, quite unflattering. As her repulsive ugliness has worsened with age and fat, her options have been severely curtailed. If she is finding solace in flings with black men, it is because

  1. the white men she finds attractive no longer feel the same about her, and
  2. the black men she finds attractive are more willing to overlook her market value-destroying flaws and fuck her. At least for one night. Heh.

Moving along to the rest of the article…

I want black men. They want me. We look at one another and exchange a visible frisson of sexual energy in the lingering glances.

A small percentage of people do have an overcharged attraction for different races. But there’s not much we can generalize from this one old hag’s fetishistic sexual drive because she is not choosing in a free market with all options open to her. There are many delusional pretty lies humans tell themselves when cold hard reality is staring them in the bloated face. She may want black men given the structural incentives in place, but do they want her? Or, as I suspect is more likely, do black men see her sloppily flirting with them and think to themselves “Oh yeah, that white broad is gonna be an easy lay.”

Even in a time when nearly 40 percent of single Americans have dated outside their race, that deliberate seeking of the specific other makes some people, especially black women, damned mad.

Black women are mad because they’re looking at black men fucking fat old heifers like you and wondering what the hell they’re thinking.

We are what they denigrate and castigate: white women and black men who choose one another because of our racial differences. They resent our taking their men.

Define “taking”. I doubt in her case it means any commitment longer than a few nights together, away from the public eye. A man’s got a rep on the street to keep.

Black men are two and a half times more likely to marry a white woman than a black woman is to marry a white man.

Here are my thoughts on interracial dating. Despite all the sound and fury, I don’t see too much of it. Most people date *long term* within their race. There are likely evolutionarily mediated reasons for this. Women are more racist than men in the realm of dating. They are less open to having relationships with men of different races, while men are bigger whores who will happily fuck a cute chick from any race. (Commitment is another matter.)

So in the bigger picture, I don’t see many white woman-black man couples strolling around the city holding hands. In comparison, I see about three times as many white man-asian woman couples. These are my observations in DC and in major cities on the East coast; the numbers on the ground might be different in other parts of the country. Of the BM-WF couples I do see, I notice two different types: The Maury Povich who’s-the-daddy fat white trash girl with the thug, and the hot blonde, usually European girl with the handsome, well-dressed, and educated-looking yuppie black man. There doesn’t seem to be much middle ground between those two types.

From casual conversation, my white guy friends don’t find the general population of black girls attractive. Their preferences are decidedly skewed toward white chicks. I only know one white guy who has yellow fever. He proudly proclaims it, too. From my conversations with black women, they are even more racially provincial. I get the impression that black women don’t find men outside their race at all physically attractive. I’m an outlier, in that I’m the recipient of a lot of flirty attention from black women. I think if I were an even blacker dude than I already am, I would clean up with black women. King Kong ain’t got nothing on me.

So this is why black women are screwed, it would seem. Available black guys are hooking up with women of all races, white and Asian guys don’t much like black girls, and black women only want to be with black guys. I can’t think of a worse recipe for resentment and bitterness. Since men do some choosing in the sexual market (though men are not as choosy as women on average, neither are they mannequins standing around waiting for women to pick them out of the crowd), the choice by white and Asian men to overlook black women is going to have repercussions.

Why don’t black chicks dig white guys and vice versa? In a word: testosterone. Blacks have more of it, and more androgen receptors, than other races. The same testosterone that imbues black men with attractive masculine features and musculature makes black women look less feminine. On average. This isn’t an assertion from anecdote, because in my personal life I know quite a few really cute black chicks. I’m judging based on general observations and what I’ve heard from men of all races when the subject came up. Since women are attracted to men with lots of testosterone (for fucking, at least), it stands to reason that black women would want men who have more of it relative to their own. Here, few white and even fewer Asian men qualify as acceptable partners for black women.

I have demonstrated that the fundamentals of female beauty are universal. Men all over the world love 0.7 waist-to-hip ratios, clear skin, youth, feminine faces, big eyes, luscious lips, breasts and ass. Adjusting for racial idiosyncracies, a beautiful black woman’s face has more fundamental similarity to a beautiful white woman’s face than to an ugly black woman’s face. However, there is an important caveat. I now believe that there is a slight preference among men of the major racial groups for women of their own race. In general, black men, all else equal, would rather date long term a hot black chick than a hot chick of another race. To illustrate, black guys prefer the bigger rumps that are a hallmark of black women. The same intra-race mechanism apples to white, Hispanic (who?), and Asian men. They all have marginally peculiar preferences for the specific beauty of women within their own race. I would not be surprised to learn that Asian men like flatter asses.

I know I am this way. My roving eyes are overwhelmingly pulled in by hot white chicks. I see hot Asian and black chicks, but it’s clear to me where my strongest preferences lie. Is this because white chicks are, again on average, better looking than chicks of other races? Or is it because of my inborn endogamous sexual preference for girls of my own race? I don’t know. I suspect the latter. But I do have some personal observations that buttress my tilt toward women of my own race. For instance, whenever there is a news story from the Congo, or Rwanda, and throngs of people are swarming around the cameras, I don’t see a single woman in the crowd I’d want to bang. But when there is a camera pointed at Red Square or Stockholm, and girls are streaming past, I have trouble finding a fertile age woman in the crowd I *wouldn’t* want to bang. In places like Tokyo, the urge to merge with the locals on camera is less cut and dried. There are a few Japanese girls who make the grade.

The class of the women has an effect as well. There was this time I was driving through the hardcore DC ghetto (nothing like an adventure), and a large public housing apartment complex had caught fire. The traffic had stopped, so I was idling by the smoking building while hundreds of residents who had been evacuated were milling about the sidewalk, waiting for the firemen to finish their job. My most vivid memory from that incident, and one that sticks with me to this day, was just how brutally ugly those women were. I mean, “make a documentary of it” ugly.

All right, back to the article…

But in truth, black sisters, we’re after the sex, not the ring, and these guys aren’t the marrying kind anyway.

Squeeze those sour grapes, old bag. Of course she’s written off the ring. No man who isn’t a complete loser would commit to her decrepit carcass.

Black men have more energy, style and edge than white men. They know how to flirt, a nearly lost art among the rest of us. A black man is so damned sexy because he knows how to make a woman feel sexy.

This is true if we restrict our sample size to has-been fat white women who faint with joy at the slightest attention from any man. While I believe that black guys on the whole do have better natural game than white guys, their often aggressive style of flirting and their whiff of dangerous edginess can be a turnoff for younger white women who are repelled by displays of brute machismo. My experience suggests that SWPL white girls and especially Asian girls in their 20s are more receptive to subtler mating cues. This is why Mystery has rarely run game on black chicks.

They make me feel like a woman, both respected and desired.

Translation: No white man desires her enough to make her feel like the woman she was 20 years ago and in an alternate universe.

This brings up another interesting angle. Are black men less picky than white men? If so, that would explain the author’s sudden conversion. My view: Black guys are indeed less picky when considering short term flings and one night stands. They seem to be more forgiving of wear and tear on white women, such as the accumulation of fat and waddles. Like other men, black guys are probably pickier when choosing which women get to be their number one girls. Who are the pickiest men? The alphas, of course.

On we go dissecting this disaster…

My current lover,…

Translation: My current one night stand.

On another night in that same bar, a different black man, an artist, knelt and kissed my knees.

Beta.
Correction: Kissing this old sow’s gnarly knees? Omega.

They look better than white men, they touch and kiss and make love better than white men.

Silly cow. When a man finds you physically less than ideal, he isn’t inspired to please you in bed.

Statistically, their penises are only a fraction of an inch bigger on average, but they seem bigger and harder.

I notice my hardness varies by the girl’s looks. The hotter she is, the firmer I get. With this old broad, I’d have to enlist David Alexander’s pornified pud to do the job.

By the way, I remember reading a study from some years ago that purported to show that package size does indeed vary by race, with blacks the largest and Asians the smallest. Commenters are free to find any links proving or disproving the stereotype.

White men over 40 have lost their waistlines and their zest for life if they ever had it.

White women lose it even faster. Has this shoggoth looked in a mirror lately? On the larger point, I agree that sedentary black men keep their dainty figures longer than sedentary white men. Black women, otoh…

Society overvalues the white man, leaving him angry and bitter when he realizes, around age 40, that he’s not all that.

If this isn’t a picture perfect example of projection, I don’t know what is.

With the exception of some Italians, white men don’t turn me on anymore.

You won’t be missed, bowlingballhead.

While women my age scowl and frown at these aging, Upper West Side Boomers pushing strollers as the hand of the thin, blonde wife 20 years their junior rests lightly on their arm, I feel a kinship with the old goats. We are the same, me and that bald white guy, drawn to the exotic other, not caring that the object of our desire has no childhood memory of a Kennedy assassination or a typical WASP Sunday dinner of over-roasted beef, lumpy mashed potatoes and soggy vegetables.

This woman is hurting inside, deeply. She has secretly wanted that Ozzie and Harriet white picket fence life since forever, but now it is too late, if there ever was a chance. But the objects of her affection ignored her true wishes. There, there, lumpy mashed grandma taking random dick in bars and waking up to an empty bed and fridge. I’m sure all those older white guys dating younger women are JUST LIKE YOU. Except not.

Halfway through the first glass of wine in my last date with a white man, I realized that little clouds of sadness and self-pity were regularly fluffing off his psyche like the dust clouds kicked up by that dirt-smudged “Peanuts” character as he walks through Charlie Brown’s life. This guy was at least mildly depressed…

No wonder he was depressed. He was on a date with a beluga whale.

What did he think would entice me more: That he assumed sex was probable because I’m a sex journalist or that he would need chemical help if sex did occur?

This broad is the gift that keeps on giving. Sex journalist? Why is it always the ugliest women in this “occupation”? It’s like taking advice on losing weight from the world’s fattest man.
And, yes, the poor guy would need chemical help to get it up with you. I’m thinking an IV of distilled super viagra directly into the penis vein, and a brick wall with a hole drilled in it between you two.

I cannot even imagine a black man bungling an attempted seduction in such a sad way.

I cannot even imagine the omegas who are happily chowing down on her cheesy old lady labia.

I recently came out of my racial-preference closet and told my friends, “I love black men. I’m not attracted to white men over 40, and I’m not dating them anymore. Really, it’s not them, it’s me.

Translation: “I recently gave up trying to attract white men who aren’t trolls and told my friends “I love black men because some of them are so horny they look past my disgusting body to masturbate into my cavernous hole. I’m telling myself I’m not attracted to white men over 40 because it makes their rejection easier to swallow, like my black lovers’ loads. Really, it’s not them, it’s my ugly roast beef face.””

My work here is done.

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How Old Is She?

A woman recently uploaded this photo of herself to Craigslist Rants and Raves (DC edition) asking random strangers on a board renowned for its sadistic cruelty to guess her age. (Craigslist RnR is the new American art form.)
howoldisshe

The guesses ranged from 38 to 47. I bet those were not the answers she was hoping for. Had she included her face, it would be an open and shut case. This is a classic example of “I’m not grossly fat like 80% of women my age, so guys will think I’m much younger than I am” female game.

I will now explain why this version of female game fails every time. This is what men immediately notice with just a split second glance:

howoldisshediagram

Veiny, saggy, pendulous boobs held in place by super strength, high tensile, steel reinforced megabra.

Half acre areola spread. (Like the ears and nose, the areolas continue growing with age until they consume the entire breast. See: Old issues of National Geographic.)

Flabby triceps. Shapely upper arms on a woman are like a canary in the coalmine — when they start crapping out the total war of age related destruction is right around the corner.

Undulating ripples of flesh along the obliques. The middle-lower back along the sides is quick to betray the effects of fat accumulation, muscle atrophy, and weakening of the collagen/elastin matrix.

Wrinkly wenis. The back of the elbow is a dead giveaway of the ravages of aging.

Stomach pouch. Where’s the joey?

***

You cannot con the cock. Men have eagle eyes that can spot a woman’s fertile youth from an altitude of 5,000 feet. This is why plastic surgery continues to be such an abysmal failure in this day of rapidly progressing modern capitalistic medicine. The subtle cues of feminine youth and beauty are highly resistant to rejuvenation by the brute force of hatchet, axe, and laser.

To those women who don’t want to believe what I say, think about it like this: As perceptive as you are at ascertaining the betas (sometimes within two seconds before the beta even opens his mouth) from the alphas, we men are just as perceptive, if not moreso, at separating the hot stuff from the has beens.

My goal here isn’t to mindfuck you for my own personal amusement (although that is part of it). I have a larger purpose — to end the dark reign of truth-killing platitudes and feelgood lies of uplift that particularly afflict the weak minds of women and which do nothing to prevent the day of reckoning but do everything to slow progress toward fighting the noble battle against the final judgement. I dream of a world where women remain beautiful for their entire lives, bringing decades upon decades of enjoyment to men like myself for whom beautiful women are one of the great pleasures of life. It is an unholy tragedy that a woman’s bloom should wilt so soon. Aging is a wicked disease, like cancer or Parkinson’s, and must be treated as such. So the next time your older friend asks you if she’s still “got it”, tell her the truth.

“No, your prime years are over. But you’re a wonderful shopping companion.”

You will save her years of roaming the dating wilderness searching fruitlessly for the elusive alpha who would commit to her. Stand tall with pride that you spared the world another deluded mangy cougar. Teach her the valuable lesson of settling.

Ladies, your window is small. Get crackin’!

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Commenter Just Looking sent me this jpeg. Take a look.

obaby

After I suppressed my vomit reflex, I analyzed this pathetic photo in detail. It really says so much, and none of it good. I believe this photo encapsulates everything that has gone wrong with America, and with modern Western civilization.

First, we have an aging SWPL mother-to-be. Judging by the crows’ feet, bad skin tone, and sloppy slabs of fat rolls around her hips, she looks to be about 40. If she is younger than that, then she hasn’t aged well. Her pregnancy was likely the result of many visits to fertility clinics and untold numbers of tears. She probably had to abort three Downs fetuses before getting a clean bill of viability from the amniocentesis.

Next, we see that she is a fervent Obama supporter. So fervent, in fact, that she had Obama’s logo (seed) painted on (implanted in) her belly (womb). She is in deep, deep love with Obama. So deep, that I’m positive she would happily cheat on her husband/boyfriend/cohabitator/sperm donor to give Obama the thrill of pregnancy sex, and wouldn’t worry at all about his thrusting presidential penis banging a hole in the head of her unborn child. She would cum harder with Obama in one orgasm than in all the orgasms combined she has had fucking her alpha flings in her 20s and making soft love with her grateful beta provider chumps in her 30s. She would let Obama film it and would beg him to call her fetus “Baby Barack” while he was pumping her.

“That’s right, bitch. You like that right there, don’t you? Yeeeeah, you do. Where dat man of yours? Not here! Where? NOT. HERE. BITCH! I’m gonna let this kid know who’s boss. BAM! Fuck yeeeeeah, just like that, all up in his happy home. Who knockin’ at yo door, baby barack? Who knockin’? I’ll tell you who. The man you wish was your daddy. Lick the tip when I’m in there.”

Finally, we have to wonder about the man (and I use the term in the loosest possible way) in this woman’s life. Only a supreme castrati of cosmically immense betatude would accede to the mother of his child slapping an Obama “O” on her distended belly. It’s basically admitting his lower status. It’s saying “Yes, I know you would fuck Obama if he snapped his fingers, and then laugh in my face about it afterwards. And that you subconsciously desire our baby was his instead. Shall I leave my shriveled balls on the nightstand, or just feed them to the goldfish?”

What makes this truly tragically hilarious is that the lesser beta probably *encouraged* her to do this. I bet he came up with the idea and painted it himself, while sipping his organic pig’s scrotum tea for artistic inspiration. Beta males like this vote against their own interest. They vote for candidates, typically liberal Democrats, who would assure their irrelevancy. Alpha males vote libertarian or areligious conservative, preferably paleo-.

An alpha father of her child would let nothing near his woman’s pregnant belly except his own hands and satisfied smile.

All this points up what a disaster it has been for the country since women got the right to vote. The slow, steady implosion of the greatest nation in the history of the world started with suffrage. People think my blog is satiric, but I am dead serious. The facts speak for themselves. When women cast the majority of votes, and especially when a growing number of those female voters are longtime SINGLE women, the country eventually devolves from a center-right powerhouse of beta organized Protestant work ethic and Enlightenment ideals of ceaseless discovery into a limp-wristed, creatively exhausted, kowtowed, leftist, indebted nanny state, and then, in time, is overrun by less faggy patriarchal foes.

In this election, unmarried women voted for Obama by a 70 to 29 percent margin.

“if not for the overwhelming support of unmarried women, John McCain would have won the women’s vote and with it, the White House.”

Unmarried, alpha-chasing urban sluts are the force driving the United States of America to the brink of self-immolation. I thank this new sexually liberated femicentric culture for affording me a bounty of pussy, but you will never catch me footing the bill for one of these aging Whole Foods harpies. And you can bet I would see to it that any woman I’m dating and fucking would not plaster a political candidate’s logo on her body.

There is only one lever she should pull, and that is my cock.

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37 year old woman: “So you just got out of prison? For killing a guy? Ha ha, that’s all right. I’m cool with that. I’ll buy dinner this time, and maybe you can get next time? Or not, I could just get it next time, too. Aren’t we having fun?? Fun fun fun!! Me and my three eggs are having the best time!”

It’s funny cause it’s… no, no, wait. It’s not funny at all. It’s just sad.

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I predicted that Sarah Palin’s most fevered foes would be the modern single urban childless feminist:

But Sarah Palin’s worst enemy is not the mincing liberal betaboy, oh no. It’s the childless, career-tracked, urban slut machine, government-as-daddy-and-husband-substitute, spinsterette. Palin shits grizzly-sized dung all over that lifestyle with her outdoorsiness, large brood, and prole tastes. The thing about her they really can’t swallow are her FIVE kids. There’s no better way to remind a hip clubgoing single chick in the city who loves to travel and sip pinot noir of her impending infertility and genetic obsolescence than with the image of a woman who’s chosen not to ignore her biological imperative in favor of playing the field indefinitely.

Palin makes blue state SWPLs nervous because she is the chill up their spines that they are being outbred into insignificance.

Commenter Sebastian Flyte forwarded a NY Sun article to me confirming my prediction:

“All of my women friends [editor’s note: Samantha, Carrie, Miranda, and the fat friend Rosie O’Donnell], a week ago Monday, were on the verge of throwing themselves out windows,” an author and political activist, Nancy Kricorian of Manhattan, said yesterday. “People were flipping out. … Every woman I know was in high hysteria over this. Everyone was just beside themselves with terror that this woman could be our president — our potential next president.”

Ms. Kricorian allowed that she was among those driven to distraction, upon occasion, by Mrs. Palin’s nomination. “My Facebook status last Monday was, ‘Nancy is freaking out about Sarah Palin yet again,'” the writer said.

Facebook! Fuck her fiercely with a ferret. Here’s a Facebook status update for these freaked out feminists: “My life is a joke. A triviality. A nothing. A barren womb of emptiness. Politics is my religion substitute and gives me a belief to cling to when my life is a meaningless, mindless void of handbag shopping and mimosas.”

There. Much better.

“What I feel for her privately could be described as violent, nay, murderous, rage,” an associate editor at Jezebel, Jessica Grose, wrote just after the Republican convention wrapped up. “When Palin spoke on Wednesday night, my head almost exploded from the incandescent anger boiling in my skull.”

“I am shocked by the depths of my hatred for this woman,” another commenter, CJWeimar, wrote.

This is an endless font of humor. Recall what Devlin said about women who delay childbirth:

“Motherhood has always been the best remedy for female narcissism.”

When you have your own children to raise, the sight of a mother on stage at a political convention won’t fry your neural network with murderous impulses. This kind of acute self-absorption naturally places great emphasis on fighting those whose lifestyle choices mock your own.

“It is impossible for me not to read about her in the newspaper in the subway every morning on my way to work and not come into the office angry and wanting to kick things,” a commenter using the name ChampagneofBeers wrote. “My boxing class definitely helps.”

Oh christ, the stereotypical absurdity never ends. I can picture this broad in the latest trendy gymwear, huge oversized boxing gloves, grunting ridiculously while swinging like a tankgrrl at a punching bag and cursing red state women who rub her face in her failure with their large broods. I bet the next time she storms out of class fired up with righteous anger and belief in her jujitsu boxing skills, she makes the mistake of giving some homeless bum lip and winds up knocked out when he takes a swing at her.

Even some prominent figures admitted to being overcome by anti-Palin feelings. “I am having Sarah Palin nightmares,” an acclaimed playwright and writer, Eve Ensler, wrote on the Huffington Post.

Eve Ensler: divorced, ugly, 0 biological children.
She’ll need to call her next play “The Nobody Wants My Vagina Monologues”.

“I think a lot of women felt insulted by the idea you could just take any woman,” a longtime editor of women’s magazines, Bonnie Fuller, told The New York Sun. “A lot of women feel it was a very cynical decision. … What got some women’s backs up was the idea she didn’t earn her stripes. It’s been so hard for so many women to get ahead both in business and in the political worlds and she just seemingly slips in.”

Oh, Palin earned her stripes. The problem is that she didn’t earn the *right* stripes as dictated by the Loony Kommissars of the Crusty Cunt Revolution. Send her to the reeducation camps!

Ms. Fuller also said she and other women were troubled by Mrs. Palin’s decision to have her daughter, Bristol, 17, on stage at the Republican convention, despite news reports about her pregnancy.

Cute, young, pregnant teenagers drive these ugly shrikes right over the edge. How dare they not delay childbirth and devote a decade of their most fertile years to climbing the corporate ladder alongside the boys?

Ms. Grose posited that some of the anger was because Mrs. Palin, a former beauty pageant winner, resembled a high school homecoming queen. “She has always embodied that perfectly pleasing female archetype, playing by the boys’ game with her big guns and moose murdering, and that she keeps being rewarded for it,” Ms. Grose wrote.

Jealous much? High school never ends. Adults just dress up their status jockeying with social niceties.

“Their entire image of themselves is based on the fact that they are paving the way for women. What do they see? Women getting ahead, women being empowered who don’t agree with them,” Dr. Santy said.

Fear and ego are being disinterred for public scrutiny. The id monster emerges from the depths of its subconscious lair. And what do they fear most of all?

Judgment.

Palin’s attractivness, femininity, fertility, and “wrong” politics are the perfect storm to batter the psyches of the SWPL modern feminist. I have loved every minute of this national Rorschach test. It has paid truth to everything I’ve written about the blue state vaginacentric culture in which I swim and exploit for my own uses and pleasures. I hope it never ends.

To fathers everywhere I say: Continue sending your daughters to the big city in droves. I, and those like me, will be waiting.

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Exhibit A:

Is it smarter to spend $20K on an engagement ring or just get your fiancee’s name tattooed on your ring finger?

tattoos are forever.

tattoos are forever.

Exhibit B:

Is it smarter to get knocked up at 17 with many more years of fertility and tight vagina left, or spend $28K a month on fertility treatments at the age of 42 in hopes of giving your rich mother a long shot at one non-downs syndrome grandchild?

the touching end of a genetic line.

the touching end of a genetic line.

one and counting...

one and counting...

Maybe these lower middle class proles aren’t as dumb as yuppie ironic hipster SWPLs believe. Levi saves $20K by not supporting the diamond cartel and can probably scrounge up enough money working the oil fields to buy a starter home in the wide open spaces of Alaska for his new family before he hits drinking age. He could glorify his genetic heritage with ten more kids by the time Bristol reaches 30, still looking good.

Meantime, Martha Stewart’s haggard 42 year old divorced upper class careerist daughter cries herself to sleep at night in the gravity boots hoping the intracytoplasmic sperm injection will find a garbage egg still clinging to usefulness and insert itself in romantic union. She probably haughtily scoffed at Bristol’s teen pregnancy and “low class” lifestyle.

Ask yourselves — who is really smarter? Whose lifestyle would you prefer? When you wake up in the middle of the night, divorced, childless, with nothing but memories of your wild sexcapades, your Pier 1 furnishings, and your color-coordinated cat to keep you company, and you feel a chill go down your spine and the hair rise on the back of your neck not knowing why, ask yourself my leetle questions once again and see if maybe… just maybe…
you had it all wrong.

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