I THINK HE’S OFFENDED. SHAME.

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This guar sounds very offended, y?

Shem. he he must feel so bad he can’t even spell rightlyly.

The implication from this exchange is that he was just being ‘nice’, so why am I so horrible. This type of male also frequently admonishes you when you ‘can’t accept a compliment’ when they give you unasked for advances/sexually suggestive comments, aka ‘compliment’.

Y do I use valguar language, poepoepolol?

Because it is not I who cannot accept a compliment – it is you who cannot accept rejection.

Fuck off.

THE PERFECT MODERN RELATIONSHIP!

img_4743Who sends a fucking minion (dancing) to do their work for them? Modern, grown-ass men, that’s who!

What happened to conversation? Talking? Exchanging word and ideas, not emoticons? What happened to making an effort? To sending flowers – even those fake internet ones guys send you in your inbox. (Look, I’ll still tell you to fuck off, but still.)

The entire modern idea of courting and relationships seem to have changed, partly due to the internet. Whereas more information and connectivity seems like it should logically lead to more intense and meaningful liasons, it seems to have the opposite effect. I spoke to Miss Violet, a renowned sex writer and on-line dating expert. She told me that it appeared to her as if men don’t really want to ‘date’ on on-line dating sites. “They are too lazy.” she surmised. Futher reading led me to a plethora of pieces suggesting the modern idea of romance and relationship is expedient, not designed to last long with parties not prepared to commit, overcome problems or have a desire to go beyond the ‘honeymoon phase.’

So the moment the endorphins quieten down. you dump the person, holding them up to unrealistically high expectations, while feeling entitled to have the ‘perfect’ romance because idiots like Oprah Winfrey and Tony Robbins have been telling people that they are beautifu l just the way they are, are entitled to be who they are and love themselves for whom they are and that they can demand that acceptance from other people and that they should not settle – because they are, well so bloody special.

Put in another way, men go onto the internet to wank. Every time you answer a ‘hi’ or acknowledge the fucking minion, they have a little emotional pieltrek. But they are too bloody lazy to do it themselves, so they want to see you do it vicariously.

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The above exchange is thus the perfect modern relationship and probably only lasted slightly shorter.

“Hi.” (Walks into the room and woos woman)

“Sends Minion” (Entertaining courtship and liason, which has woman in stitches, but soon blows over when she realises something has gone awry.)

“Fokof” (Woman finally realises man is not good enough for her and is, in fact, a twat)

“Jy ook.” (Man convinces himself it is not his fault and walks off in a huff.)

 

So listen here, old Walglike Wallie, go and wank in your own time onto your own computer. Stay away from mine.

Poepol.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DO YOU HAVE A LICENCE FOR THAT PENIS, SIR?

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How desperate, pathetic and needy can one despairing/wretched penis carrier be? I suppose as fraught/pitiful as a vagina carrier.

This man approaches me with a ridiculous proposition of ‘cuddling whit him’. Can’t spell. Probably can’t cuddle. Has no clue, but lots of entitlement. Then when he is rejected, becomes a pathetic/pitiful/pitiable wretch.

On the bright side, he is not stupid. He just spelled the word ‘smart’ incorrectly. Go check it out.

What I want to know? DOES HE HAVE A LICENSE FOR HIS FUCKING PENIS? If he does, the license – and the thing- should be revoked. Oh wait! My license system has not been introduced yet. Here is how it should work:

All men should have their penises chopped off at birth. Don’t stop at the foreskin. Then, when they demonstrate the ability to be able to think without it and operate it responsibly they can apply to have it sewn back on. Maybe I’ll allow him to vote as well.

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But wait, there’s more! After I tell him to ‘fuck off’ he justifies in his own head that HE stopped the communication. But he hasn’t. He is still contacting me.

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This guy has not passed the test. Choppity-chop. Splurt. And it is not as if I didn’t give him a chance to get his learners’ license. I was kinder to him than most at the outset.

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Pass the fucking meat cleaver.