Long story short: an illiterate nutjob started posting comments both here and at my other blog. I posted them to a private Facebook group of mine for the lulz, and my good friend Davis Aurini decided to do a dramatic reading of one.
Music sucks, except if I happen to like it. Because of this irrefutable fact, I’ve decided to enlighten you unshaven, Pantera-loving ogres with music that is actually listenable, enjoyable and requires an IQ above 100. Here are my favorite albums of 2012. There was a lot of good shit that came out this year and a lot of bad shit, so let me wade through the sewer of indie rock and pick the gems out for you.
This is a guest post by PseudoPseudonym.
Woe is the man with the empty wallet, who shall he hire to clean his house? Shall he do it himself? Nay! Nonsense, man shall not stand for that! But who to hire as he has little money? Alas no man will take this job! Only the likes of an ugly woman shall thirst for his money and his scrotum. These voluptuous and curvy demons of scorn will work twice as hard as the wenches with features of goddesses.
From his wallet come forth mere nickels, which the dog happily laps up. For too long has his wallet been sucked dry by succubuses which lack wit, but are gifted buxomly. He shall learn from his mistake, save his hard earned scraps for other worthy establishments.
We live in the Age of Equality, in which every dipshit is told that he’s shpecial and that his opinions are worth listening to. Language is muddled and definitions are confused. As a result, thinking itself becomes muddled and confused.
Like the conflation of “male” and “man.”
MRAs and other losers call me “anti-male” because I don’t support their little pity parade, and they’re right. I’m not pro-male, I’m pro-man. There is a difference.
This is a guest post by Eden’s Thaw.
There are only a few shopping days left before Christmas, which means—if you’ve got game—you probably haven’t even thought about what to get your girl(s) yet. Don’t fret though, this guide has got you covered whether you can’t even remember her name or are itching to put a ring on her finger.
One Night Stand
I would say nothing, but with all the regret rape nonsense it might be a good idea to leave her with a parting gift, like a piece of gum for the road. You can pay for her taxi fare if you’re feeling generous. I would recommend Uber in that case, so that you’ll a) have recorded proof that she accepted a ride (and a driver who can be subpoenaed to testify that she didn’t have any black eyes) and b) being shuttled around in a private, luxury car will leave her with good vibes. Call it Poor Man’s Derek Jeter game.
Dear Fat Hipster Girl,
It was quite a shock when you came onto me at the Soft Moon concert a couple of nights ago. Thanks to you, I’ve now calculated that I have a 25 percent chance of getting sexually assaulted at any concert I go to. It seems that girls who mosh next to me have an irresistible urge to manhandle my fleshy bits. I wonder which god I must have pissed off to be condemned to this fate.
Not that attention from women is unwelcome, mind you. I just wish it’d come from girls who are attractive and single.
I am an extremely lazy hitchhiker, mainly because I like to sleep in. I’m the kind of asshole who waits until thirty minutes before check-out time to roll out of bed. Fuck your hemming and hawing about “Circadian rhythms”; I know my body, and I know I function better getting up late.
Unfortunately, sleeping in isn’t possible when you’re hitchhiking in November, in a part of the country where the sun sets at four in the afternoon.
With that in mind, I pulled myself out of bed at 5:30 in the morning the Monday after Thanksgiving, brushed my teeth, grabbed my gear and trudged out six miles to the nearest hitching spot. With the temperature five below. Destination: Rapid City, where I could meet up with a couple of friends of mine and get some long-awaited R&R after two straight months of 5am wakeups and manual labor.
This is a guest post by Dr. Illusion.
For any of you who don’t know much about me: I’m an electrician and I work in an Industrial environment. I talk a lot on my blog about how people need to step up and be accountable for themselves, and to themselves. I just wanted to take some time and give examples of people doing just the opposite, and how annoying the consequences are. I’ll be using a lot of examples from my job. So, here we go.
Someone fell down from a decent height and hurt themselves. That sucks, I understand. But instead of saying, “Damn, I should have been more careful,” they sue their employer. Now, I have to wear a body harness with a lanyard if I’m four feet or more off the ground. What makes this really stupid is that the lanyard is six feet long. So, if I did fall off the four foot step ladder I would hit the ground before my lanyard stopped me. Brilliant.
A few days ago, I Tweeted a link to an article at Roosh’s new joint, Return of Kings. (Speaking of which, I’m always auto-posting links to interesting articles to Twitter, displayed on the front page of my blog: compelling reason to visit every hour of every day.) One of my followers responded with this:
What is it about PUA that makes it a magnet for douchebags?
Ah, “douchebag,” the favorite insult of the weak and sunken-chested. If you spend more than thirty minutes perusing Jezebel, Slashdot and other feminist/nerd hangouts, you’ll be confronted with not only a million uses of “douchebag,” but a million different permutations of the word: “douche-nugget,” “douche-canoe,” and the like. What is it about this slur that they love so much?
Colin Liddell has reposted my Right Stuff article on the futility of modern democracy at AltRight:
Can you vote for civil servants? No, you can’t. In fact, whenever the electorate tries to exercise any kind of oversight over the civil service (seeing as we pay their salaries and all), they immediately take to the streets crying and bitching about how they have an inviolable right to give themselves bigger and bigger paychecks at our expense.
Click here to read the rest.