There’s one word to describe the guy in this video — balls. Via Dennis Mangan, an Austrian MP unloads on the rank hypocrisy of the Turkish ambassador and the vile stupidity of the open borders one-worlder assimilationist suicide cult.
“Mr. Ambassador, enter the Orient Express and go back to Istanbul, your wonderland!”
If only we had a few men with big brass ones like him on this side of the Atlantic, instead of the smarmy, unctuous faygalas like Barney Frank, Lincoln Chafee and Harry Reid we seem to endlessly be stuck with.
Europe is waking up. Will America follow? Or is it already too late to make a difference? There’s hope and change in the wind, all right…
This is a pickup attempt in a dentist’s office, as we were both waiting to have our teeth cleaned. The lawyer chick returns! (Lawyer chicks are very diligent about keeping regular dental appointments.)
I’ve devised a formula for determining the strength of a relationship and its long term potential based on the time it takes for me to feel comfortable farting in a girlfriend’s presence.
TTF (Time To Fart) + SOE (Sense Of Embarrassment) / LOF (Loudness Of Fart) + NOF (Number Of Farts per episode) + FDS (Farts During Sex) = RS (Relationship Strength)
The variables in the formula are converted into numerical values.
TTF is the number of months that have passed without a farting incident in her company. 1 = one month, 2 = 2 months, etc. A particularly brazen man would have a TTF of 0.033, indicating he farted in front of her on the first date.
SOE is based on the embarrassment I feel for farting around her. An SOE of 0 is… zero shame! An SOE of 10 is crippling embarrassment, and a burning guilt for violating my precious lady’s modesty so vulgarly.
LOF is based on decibels. An LOF of 10 (admittedly a somewhat subjective measure) is an ear-splitting fart that scares the cat. An LOF of 0 is an SBD.
NOF is the number of farts I feel comfortable releasing immediately after the first one has escaped. An NOF of 3 farts within a short time window indicates comfort with the act of farting in my girl’s presence. A high NOF of 20 suggests a sadistic pleasure with watching my girlfriend’s eyes tear up.
FDS is a simple binary value for noting whether I am comfortable farting during sex, which is an inopportune (or not, you scoundrel!) time to fart that is particularly loathed by women. An FDS of 0 means I clench tightly when I feel a fart coming on, while an FDS of 1 means I help push it out when a fart is about to announce itself during tender missionary lovemaking. (It is especially funny when she can feel the vibrations of my fart against her pudendum.)
I didn’t include smell in the equation, because that’s an uncontrollable factor.
Once calculated, a high RS number means I hold in my farts when I’m with my girl to the point where I risk intestinal embolisms. I would not dare risk annoying her with an errant tush toot. Our relationship is likely a strong one that will last well into the second year.
A low RS number indicates trouble, as well as warm gas, brewing. I fart freely around the girl without remorse because I take her completely for granted. She loves the shit out of me and I know it, so I feel comfortable farting loudly, and often, in her presence, even when I’m piledriving her. An extremely low RS usually happens when I am dating below my level, and is an indication that I will cheat or dump her in short order.
Example 1:
TTF = 1 month
SOE = 0 (shameless)
LOF = 5 (kazoo)
NOF = 3 (tommy gun)
FDS = 1 (pumping motion moves gas along)
1 + 0 / 5 + 3 + 1 = 1/9 = 0.11 RS
The man in this example has a very low RS. He is probably porking a cow and has her make him a ham sandwich on Valentine’s Day.
Example 2:
TTF = 20 months (permanent damage resulted)
SOE = 10 (tried to blame it on dog)
LOF = 1 (clenched hard to prevent noisemaker, but mouse squeak escaped through restricted opening)
NOF = 1 (but it was a 30 second doozy of sweet relief)
FDS = 0 (violate such a sacred moment? never!)
20 + 10 / 1 + 1 + 0 = 15 RS
The man in this example has a very high RS. He is a beta provider who is with his first ever girlfriend (and sexual partner). He will ask “how many licks?” when she tells him to eat her out during her period. As long as she isn’t too far out of his league, he will likely marry this girl and die from a backed up fart that snaked its way to his brain.
On average, most of my relationships have an RS of between 0.8 and 1.2. If you regularly maintain RSs in the 0.01 to 0.15 range, you are either slumming it with heifers and calling yourself a player, or you are a super alpha who can get away with passing wind in your HB10 girlfriend’s face while she’s rimming you.
If you regularly score RSs in the 10 – 20 range, you are a platonic friend who has yet to realize it. You will not get anywhere with women until you first learn how to treat yourself to a satisfying blast of gas.
BONUS VIDEO!
This is a reenactment of an actual conversation. It happened in bed, but Xtranormal does not offer a bed scene as a backdrop.
the day humans will stop existing is just around a hundred years after the first realistic sex robot hits the market.
Unless reproduction is industrialized and severed from the mating market after the appearance of that first lifelike sexbot, this commenter is likely correct. Here is an older post about the probable ramifications of sexbots on human society and dating.
When sexbots become realistic enough to compete with attractive human women in the bedroom, then what you will essentially see is a sex ratio that is numerically skewed in favor of men. Basically, the world will become one giant liberal arts college campus. Men will stop running traditional game and instead run “present and accounted for” game.
That is the nerdiest smackdown ever. If this wasn’t C-span I could swear it was Comic Con. Probably the most eloquent way of saying “That bitch is a ho”. Although, I wouldn’t mind tapping her Yale degree because she is probably a superfreak closeted S&M mistress and that’s my kind of political maneuvering.
I’m telling ya, YouTube commenters are the new American comedy art form. More:
typical fat guy’s laugh in the background.
Funny, fat guys DO have a distinctive laugh!
What was your reaction when you watched the video? If you’re like me and most people, you felt a mix of contempt, cringing revulsion and pity. You probably thought “wow, what a loser.” You vowed never to let a chick get under your skin that badly. A fleeting moment of sympathy made you wish this spazzy nerd would learn some game and start dating girls who didn’t look like Philip Seymour Hoffman.
There’s no doubt this dude is a lesser beta, perhaps even a greater omega. And this judgment is not solely a reflection of his unfortunate looks; his attitude, mannerisms, and, of course, total lack of amused mastery peg him as the needy, desperate, no-game-having betaboy he is deep in his soul. He has failed spectacularly the live TV version of the Jumbotron test (the worst way to fail). If he fumbles with nerdo Randian women, it is because of these latter characteristics, and not because of his looks.
His exceptional intelligence cannot compensate for all his negative traits. If anything, his smarts may be working against him. It’s easy to imagine his big brain spending week after week excessively analyzing his breakup and thinking up ways to rectify his pain. In a moment of pique — her body which he once penetrated (assuming he did) now mere inches from him on a televised panel — his unruly emotions took control of his mind and steered all that IQ in an embarrassingly unproductive direction.
This is what happens when you don’t have a clue how women operate. He exhibited the opposite of amused mastery — distressed incompetence. Vaginas all over the land snapped shut on cue.
Now that her label is finally starting to play the album for select critics, it’s easy to fathom why its contents have been closely guarded, all fears of leakage aside. Some of the lyrics are startlingly candid, even by the standards of Taylor “Naming Names, Taking No Prisoners” Swift.
And listening to “Dear John,” the scorching song that is-from all appearances-aimed at Mayer, all we can say is: Joe Jonas, you got off easy. […]
And it might seem sensationalistic to focus on “Dear John” at the expense of the rest of the album if it didn’t feel like it might be her masterpiece to date, or at least the most bracingly, joltingly honest song you’ve heard any major performer have the nerve to put on record in years. Maybe not since John Lennon took on estranged partner Paul McCartney in “How Do You Sleep” has a major pop singer-songwriter so publicly and unguardedly taken on another in song. But while Lennon’s song came off as mean-spirited, Swift was motivated by vulnerability and woundedness, which makes her song far braver… and more cutting. […]
There may be those who’ll accuse Swift of exploiting her own romantic travails in this and other songs. But the extended bridge section of “Dear John” (and, at six and a half minutes, the entire song is fairly extended) packs such a cathartic punch, it really does transcend any tabloid associations. When Swift sings “I’m shining like fireworks over your sad, empty town,” anyone who ever felt manipulated or used and found the strength to move on may be cheering like it’s the 4th of July.
Taylor Swift is doing no different than Todd Seavey did to his ex-girlfriend on that C-Span panel: she is lashing out bitterly at an ex-lover who she feels wronged her. Substantively, her actions are the female version of Todd Seavey; the only distinction is the style in which each exposes their hurt and feeble stabs at revenge. (I say feeble, because I doubt very much John Mayer is going to lose sleep at being called out as a callous womanizer. The horde of groupies queueing up to sample his callous cock after hearing how he treated Taylor Swift is surely growing by the mile.) In fact, it could be said that Seavey is more admirable than Swift, for he at least lashed out at his ex while she was there to defend herself.
Here is an excerpt of Swift’s revenge lyrics:
Dear John/I see it all now that you’re gone/Don’t you think I was too young/To be messed with/The girl in the dress/Cried the whole way home/I should’ve known. […] It was wrong/Don’t you think nineteen’s too young/To be played/By your dark, twisted games/When I loved you so. […] You’ll add my name to your long list of traitors who don’t understand/And I’ll look back in regret I ignored what they said/’Run as fast as you can’
Notice how all the blame is shifted to Mayer. Swift removes any responsibility and accountability for her decision to fuck the alpha male. She is a mere womanchild, a vassal into which evil men have their way with her. (If true, can we revoke the right to vote from these womenchildren?) Todd Seavey’s bitterness flows from the same place — an inability to recognize that he bears responsibility for the impression he leaves with women.
Todd Seavey and Taylor Swift’s behavior toward exes IS ONE AND THE SAME. Their bitterness is a shared bond that crosses class, looks and celebrity.
And yet, what did you feel reading about Taylor Swift’s lash-out at John Mayer? The same contempt, revulsion and cold pity you felt for Todd Seavey? Likely not, if you’re honest with yourself. Certainly the women reading these two stories did not feel the same toward each antagonist protagonist. I bet the same women (and some manginas) who subconsciously lambasted Seavey for his bitterness were quick to offer sympathy and understanding to Taylor Swift. Just look at the way the story is told by the reporter, Chris Willman (presumably a man): “vulnerability and woundedness”, “startlingly candid”, “such a cathartic punch”. This is the reaction of someone who wants to offer Taylor Swift a shoulder to cry on. Todd Seavey will see no such shoulders offered; he will instead be cast to the icy wastelands where the tribe will mercilessly mock him from afar.
Your conflicting emotional responses to Seavey and Swift are no fluke. They are evolutionarily imprinted in your brain. All flows from the basic premise that eggs are expensive and sperm is cheap. From this premise, we subconsciously affirm that men are expendable, and women irreplaceable. One man can impregnate an entire tribe and keep the population growing. One woman is a population bottleneck that will mean the extinction of the tribe. And further on from that premise, we find ourselves offering comfort and uuuuunderstaaaaanding to Taylor Swift, while we offer nothing but sharp barbs and ridicule to the expendable Todd Seavey.
This is our reality, our world, our universe. Some human beings are worth more than others, and despite our grandiloquent litanies to the contrary, our actions tell us all we need to know, if we are willing to look with open eyes. Remember that the next time a palace guard of the old order tries to tell you what’s in your best interest.
Look at this guy. He’s the anti-affectation politician. Which means he’s 180 degrees from Obama. Where the Prez preens and postures, the Gov rumbles and wrestles.
Yes, superficially this is an egregious example of white knighting, but Christie manages the trick without losing alpha cred. Let’s look at what he has done here. First, he stepped in front of Meg Whitman to handle a situation she seemed to be handling on her own. His action essentially telegraphs “I can shut this guy down better than she can”. Second, notice the finger jabbing into the heckler’s face. Major alpha gesticulation. Finally, after receiving Christie’s verbal castration, the heckler quietly nods his head up and down in agreement with Christie’s rebuke of him. This is a very common beta tell; you will often see betas adopt a posture of submission to a more powerful male rival, and head nodding in agreement is a major show of prostration. In essence, Christie shook some branches, beat his chest and bared teeth, and the lower ranking ape assumed the position of servility.
Chris is a different sort of alpha male than Silvio, but there is no denying both men are alphas in station and in behavior. If Christie has some game and a lack of scruples, I’m sure he could clean up with the ladies despite his girth.
