h/t John Wilder
Wilder meme-piles on the above NYTimes nonsense (but we repeat ourself) at his place.
We drop a frag on anything still twitching after he's done:
Male what?
The words you strung together have some meaning individually, but collectively we don't know what you're talking about. In a "Joe Biden and Kamala Harris are having an intellectual argument, and it sounds like some millenial's Furby collection speaking in a gibberish word salad while stray cats are giving birth" kind of way.
I suspect the best cure for male loneliness among the soy bois reporting it and who read the NYTimes is to knock that sh*t off, put that fishwrap back under the bird cage where it belongs, have a urologist re-attach your balls, and stop crying like a girl.
Chicks hate whiny crybabies who sit at women's feet looking for an answer to life's questions, they have no respect for them, and they replace them with actual men every chance they get. And when we say "every chance", well, we hate to be the one to break it to you if you thought they were really out with their friends five days a week, but it's time someone clued you in to why they aren't interested in you anymore except as a life support system for their credit card and a dog walker for their yappy little purse-mutt.
GTFO of the house, go shoot something, kill something, or build something (ideally, a solid brick BBQ for the animal you shot and dressed or the fish you caught and drove home from out in the wilds in your gas-guzzling 4WD pickup), and whichever you choose, generate enough carbon from your efforts to give Greta Thunberg a fit of apoplexy. When you get back, tell that whiny advice columnist you're staying with to turn off The Spew and make you a sammich.
And if she leaves you over that, be sure and tell her "Thank you!"
By the time she hits the wall, and realizes she's living in a middle-aged prison of box wine and cat hair long after her freshness date is a distant memory in life's rear-view mirror, and comes crawling back to you begging for a do-over, you'll be dating three Scandinavian stewardesses, and you won't be able to hear you ex's pitiful whinging over the sizzle from the BBQ, the scream of your power tools working on projects in your garage, the tune-up you're doing on the 4WD, or the screams of passion in your ear from Astrid, Helena, or Ingrid.
You're welcome.
6 comments:
This is accurate. This is true.
If Cottle can't handle this I would hate to mention Passport Bros in their presence. As to being lonely, some of the best times I have had is being alone running the dogs in the pine barrens.
"...you won't be able to hear you ex's pitiful whinging over the sizzle from the BBQ, the scream of your power tools working on projects in your garage, the tune-up you're doing on the 4WD, or the screams of passion in your ear from Astrid, Helena, or Ingrid."
Don't forget the blasts on the range from all the sweet firepower you were able to buy with the disposable income you had from not having to spend it on her and her stupid bullshit.
Out. Of. The. Park
Gotta go, shotgun needs cleaning.
Spot on! Woman are the gatekeepers. Yet for all feminism touted, and easy divorce where dad is reduced to a visitor and refused his unique ability to teach his sons and daughters his perspective, woman are getting exactly what they demanded (while also wanting to party like males): Guys playing video games, skinny jeans, and man-buns (hey, some can carry it off, but as a fashion statement? No.) when there is no demand from (real) woman that boys become men you get weak-minded guys who do not know which end of a screwdriver to use. YET, as my wife says when confronted with such males in public or viewing in movies - as you so rightly wrote - deep down, underneath all the assertions otherwise, real woman want an alpha male…a man, a gentleman, a protector, who do man stuff, and will replace their current soy latte dude for a straight strong coffee man when they realize Mr. Malleable is unambitious and weak.
Exactly. Though the Roman Legion idea isn't bad.
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