Liveblogging American Idol

9:12PM – is it me or does no one speak grammatical english anymore? sometimes i have to remind myself how overflowing with the bounty of stupidity most of humanity is. 

9:14PM – girl in pink dress looks 10 years older than her age. plunging neckline ineffective on such a small bosom. next!

9:16PM – interesting how the judges listen to the auditioners with their left ears turned towards them. i’ve read that the left ear picks up musical tones better than the right ear, which is better at spoken words.

9:18PM – old bald queen singing. at least, he better hope he’s a queen cause no woman will have him.

9:20PM – whoa. super smoking hot little minx. you’re going to my bedroom! decent voice. -5 points for the dopey extra long sleeves covering her hands. like beauty, a good singing voice is mostly a genetic blessing. this girl is a walking billboard for low mutational load.

9:28PM – retarded nerdboy dresses as sci-fi nerdgirl. over to you, triumph!

9:30PM – creepy love song for paula dude. it’s a put-on. i like it. “peter faulk her”. haha! what a goob.

9:33PM – another cute girl. looks like a slender scarlett johansson. nice rack. put her through.

9:39PM – commercial for ‘moment of truth’ tv show. i’d be unstoppable on that show. “do you think fat people are repuls…” “yes.”

9:40PM – when the background music changes to melodic acoustic guitar that means a good singer is coming up.

9:41PM – 9:40PM observation confirmed.

9:49PM – bitter star wars girl is up. proof that being 24 and thin is not a guaranteed golden ticket to hotness. of course at age 44 she’s gonna be a chieftain warpig. she’s from CT. figures. in general girls from new england are uglier than girls from other parts of the country.

9:54PM – hot blonde. you’re going to hollywood!

9:54:30PM – oh wait, two kids? hollywood rescinded.

9:56PM – “seacrest short!”

Read Full Post »

Beta Game

If you are a pussywhipped beta whose girlfriend will get tired of having you as a girlfriend… if you stop mid-wipe after taking a shit to do her bidding… if your balls climb up into your chest cavity every time she chews you out… if the thought of her being displeased with you gives you a full diaper, then you need to make it your life mission to haul into orbit the one thing that tells her you love her and will never ever not let her get her way.

For two billion lifetimes’ salary and undiscovered advances in physics, you can impress her with a diamond star. At a diameter of 4,000 km you can virtually lock in that she’ll never cheat on you in front of your face, because she’ll be too busy angling it in the light to show off to her yenta friends.

Planet-sized diamonds are forever.

if this is cubic zirconia i’m dumping your ass!

On my entitlement scale, a woman who would want, or need, such a diamond would be a 10+ American living in Manhattan who mainlines Cosmo and Jimmy Choo.

Not to be deterred, the forces of light have gone on the attack with a class action lawsuit against De Beers for unlawfully monopolizing the sale of diamonds. A proposed settlement is in the works. Now it’s your turn, betaboys. Since women will never willingly give up their prerogative to drain a man’s finances on a useless rock for the privilege of giving him access to the same pussy once a month, it’s up to you to grow a hairy pair and take a stand. There are two ways you can do this:

1. Just say no. If she walks, then at least you’ll know your company was worth less to her than a piece of jewelry. End result: keep your dignity intact.

2. Buy her a “fake” (AKA unmined) diamond and don’t tell her it’s not a De Beers-approved product. She’ll never know and you’ll be able to spend more of your money on worthwhile consumer goods, like sexy lingerie for your mistress. If she even asks if the ring is real, then you will have proof that her priorities are out of whack.

I predict this will never happen. The world is just too bottom-heavy with lickspittle betas.

The engagement ring is meant as a symbol of love and commitment. It is cheapened when a gargantuan price tag is put on it. A colorful piece of string tied around her wrist would work better.

Read Full Post »

Buy Low, Sell High

I had this friend who was a money-chasing alpha in the financial sector. He kept a framed crisp dollar bill and a magazine photo of a random hot blonde hung side by side on the wall in his room. If you asked him why, he’d say, pointing to the girl and then the dollar, “She’s there to remind me why I’m working 15 hour days earning THAT.”

He viewed life like it was a giant business transaction, which means he was closer to the truth than all of history’s great philosophers. He’d usually start off making a point by saying:

“I’ve been in the business 5 YEARS and lemme tell you…”

Ocassionally he was in the business 10 years, but when he got on a roll he was too funny to correct.

In his view, love was the same as stocks; you bought low when she was still young and more interested in you than 401Ks, held on while her stock (firm ass) continued to pay good dividends, and sold high when her P/E ratio began to droop and you could afford to diversify in high risk international stocks and start-ups.

“You gotta remember to allocate your resources! Don’t invest everything in one pussy.”

Whenever conversation got around to cars, he would always give us this dire warning: “Don’t buy a new car, it’s a depreciating asset!”

“Depreciating asset!” “Depreciating asset!”

Then his former friend-turned-cutthroat-enemy coworker bought a new BMW and one month later he was pulling out of the dealership in a brand new SUV, telling us he could blow red lights now because he got the optional invisibility package.

His idea of romance was to buy one giant scented candle and put it on a cutting board in the middle of the living room.

“I got some candles for the ladies.”

Money, girls, work, status, beer funnels.

I don’t think I’ve met a happier person than him.

Read Full Post »

Mystery

Why do some men use the toilet to piss, splashing droplets of urine all over the seat, when there are two perfectly good, AVAILABLE, urinals nearby?

You suck, toilet pissers.

Read Full Post »

The View Is Mind Rot

The English woman who was jailed in Sudan for letting a kid in her class name a teddy bear Muhammed is profusely apologizing for causing offense to fundamentalist freaks:

I was very upset to think that I may have caused offence to people – very, very upset about it.

I’m just an ordinary middle-aged primary school teacher. I went out there to have an adventure and got a lot more adventure than what I was looking for. I never imagined this would happen.

Mrs Gibbons added that she was “very sorry” to leave Sudan, where she had had a “fabulous time”.

It is a beautiful place and I had a chance to see some of the countryside.

As a representative of the decaying, degenerate West this woman comes close to embodying the sad state of its people. A bunch of filth called for her death over a teddy bear name and she is sorry for causing them emotional distress.

Holy fucking christ.

This is what happens when a culture is utterly feminized and castrated. You show your soft underbelly at the slightest provocation hoping the bully will leave you alone, and when he doesn’t you apologize for instigating him to steal your lunch money. The fighting spirit of the West is gone; the death of the fucking spirit will follow.

At least she enjoyed the countryside. Fabulous!

The National Organization for Women said they were “not putting out a statement or taking a position.”

Handy Translation: “Now that we American feminists have completely neutered our men into submission we secretly get moist for the Saracen barbarians who would put us in our legs-spread, ass-up place. And we can perfectly rationalize this under the rubric of multiculturalism.”

The View chimed in with this gem:

WHOOPI GOLDBERG: You’d think if you’re going overseas, I mean, we had this discussion yesterday about people coming to America and learning the customs and knowing what is cool, and what isn’t cool. But I find that maybe we are not- and I say we just as European and American, we’re not as anxious to learn the customs before we go places. It’s just one of the reasons we’re called the ugly Americans.

If you get jailed or stoned for consenting to a kid naming his teddy bear after a mythical pedophilic figure you are an ugly American for not making the effort to learn about your tormentors’ randomly murderous impulses.

Whoopi Goldberg, you are a dumb fuck. 100% dumb fuck.

Here is something no one will ever hear on The View:

Some cultures are superior. Some are inferior. We half-brained old bags of The View are awfully glad we live in a superior culture so that we may broadcast our nonsense without fear of public execution.

Given that the audience for The View is mostly middle-aged menopausal hausfraus well past their expiration date the upside is that men won’t be looking to bang them and therefore won’t need to pretend to take their idiotic opinions seriously.

The downside: These hausfraus vote.

Read Full Post »

Feminists And Game

A commenter by the name of dizzy (judging by the spittle she sounds like a maladjusted feminist battleaxe with a neurotic fear of masculine desire) attempted to downplay the effectiveness of game in response to this post.

The guys who wrote the “game” books capitalized on an early information disparity. But the market has adjusted. Now it’s pretty common knowledge among women that the guy who’s being all charming and cocky and maybe using a few “neg hits,” learned it all from a book. (Actually, the “neg hits” are the real tell). And we’re not… what you’d call… impressed.

She is woefully behind the times.  Neg Hits are a tiny part of the player’s arsenal and, in fact, have been supplanted by much more advanced tactics.  What’s important is the attitude behind the Neg Hit, not the specific words used.  The seduction material and techniques available to the average guy now are so vast not even a bitter cunt on the lookout for game would detect when it was being used on her.

What’s more, even girls who KNOW game is being run on them STILL FALL FOR IT!  I’ve had girls say to me “Some guy read my palm yesterday!  But I still want you to read mine.”  That is the Achille’s Heel in all women — they cannot control their attraction impulses anymore than men can, so when men say and do certain things designed to light up the sex centers of her brain she will respond to them positively.

Given this, the guys who are still buying the books will end up taking home: 1) The girl who is too dumb to know to protect herself (usually, funny enough, because she’s husband-hunting and all her friends gave her a copy of that “He’s Just Not That Into You,” book, so she thinks she’s got you on the hook).

Any man who runs this stuff in the field will tell you it’s often the more intelligent women who lap up the sexy vibes created by a skilled player.  Smart, educated girls LOVE the back and forth of shit testing and teasing.  More importantly, they love to BE LED because they are exactly the kind of women who lead others around all day at their soul-sucking corporate gigs.  They YEARN to feel FEMININE again because they get so little chance during their humdrum lives to feel that way, and a player who understands the basic polarity of men and women can offer her that experience. 

2) The girl who is just dumb.

Wishful thinking.  In reality, game is LEAST effective on the really dumb girls.  For them, it’s best to go caveman.  Stupid girls respond better to ham-fisted come-ons.

3) The girl who knows what you’re up to and subscribes to the school of “use him right back.”

Another numbnut who thinks women can be like men.  Revenge fantasies to the contrary notwithstanding, women are not wired to enjoy the pursuit of pumping and dumping men.  The way a woman “uses” a man is to string him along in LJBF land with the faintest promise of sex while never actually delivering the goods.  But then, a guy who runs game and has ascended the ranks in the Order of the Player knows enough to avoid falling into that trap.

4) The girl who knows what you’re up to and hates herself enough to try to convince you to stay, just stay, with her, for the night…

Riiight.  Because, you know, every other girl I’ve slept with hated herself.  That’s the ticket!  I have a better theory.  Maybe they all fall for a guy with game because… Satan made them do it.  Has about as much evidence.

The truth is that there are very few girls who hate themselves.  They may be insecure about this or that physical flaw, but in the big picture their egos are impenetrable fortresses of self-regard.  They clearly outstrip men in the ego stakes.  Anyhow, sluts who sleep around for validation don’t require game to close.  Simply acting like an asshole with them will work.

So either you “win” against someone who’s not playing, someone who is, um, handicapped (all due respect to the disabled) in the dating competition, someone who is making a fool of you, or someone who is crazy.

Third prize: you’re fired!
You may wanna re-check your assumptions, Sparky.

Good job. You’re the man.

Soon you will call me master.

Now go back to gaining money and power in order to get laid, as god intended, and I’ll get back to the kitchen and start making your sam-mich.

There is no god.
Money is not necessary to get laid.
And you can’t make a sammich without my lunchmeat.

Read Full Post »

How The Mighty Have Fallen

I have this old friend who used to be a guy’s guy.  Loved guy stuff , did guy things, and nurtured fierce loyalty to his guy clan of close buddies.  He was a ferocious looking beast with a barrel chest as deep as it was wide who could hip check and shoulder blast his way through any club crowd to get to the bar or a girl he wanted to meet.  His bumpngrinding was legendary.  As was his profuse sweating, which beaded up in great rivulets on his expansive simian brow as he danced under the hot club lights, stopping only to dab at the torrent of perspiration with fistfuls of cocktail napkins.  He was a magnificent distillation of pure testosterone.

We called him Silverback.

Then he met a girl, and suddenly Saturday afternoons were dedicated to throw pillow shopping.

Then he moved in with this girl, and his high-flying nightlife rompnstomping days were over.

Then he married this girl, and he dove headfirst into climbing the corporate ladder knowing one day he’d have to support a family in that perfect city for raising kids… Manhattan.

Now we hardly ever hear from him except for those times when his beloved is busy doing her own thing and he has a minute to spare in between catering to her needs.  This usually amounts to a 1.5 minute interim phone call from a park bench while he’s waiting to pick up his wife from her vegetarian yoga class.  Or, even better, a 30 second shout out from inside a cab when it is obvious from the background sound of his wife sitting next to him talking to someone else on her phone that he has been granted a brief window of opportunity to call a buddy.  The phone call invariably ends as soon as his wife’s call is over.

Me:  So how much time you got left to talk?
Silverback:  Come on, man, you know I can talk as long as I like.
Me:  She’s still on the line, then?
Silverback:  She does her own thing, I do mine.
Me:  OK, so how’s the new job going?
Silverback’s Wife:  Hey, honey, that was XXX.  Who’re you talking to?
Silverback:  Gotta go, bro.  *CLICK*

Now his wife is pretty, and young, and headstrong, and probably out of his league, so it’s understandable that he’d bend a little to accommodate her lifestyle.

But to go from Silverback to this? 

take me boutique shopping! 

The crack of that whip echoed through the hills and valleys of the Kingdom of Manhood.

Read Full Post »