Ha, windmills tilting back. Excellent. 
[quote]Fibinachi wrote:
[quote]SkyzykS wrote:
[quote]Fibinachi wrote:
A-rod, I graciously accept your compliment on my writing style.
My brain shorted everything after that in a rush of internet validation, but I’m sure that was all just as completely relevant.
Orion, it was fun to bicker with you - so do be well. Although, again, you might want to get that noogenic thing looked at. I hear some doctors have a cream?
Otherwise, good luck training to all of you. [/quote]
Now how in the world could you have tracked Orion down to this thread?
[/quote]
Basic Internet Magic.
Well, that, and Wordpress has a link feature that traces down direct entry references, so the owner of the blog can see who links to the entries.
So instead of stalking someone on Google, I just followed a link the blog operator posted. And now I’m here. Nice place. Dig the colour scheme.
Yes. I lift the cup filled to the brim with the tears of anguished men and I drink from it to sate my shrill harpy tendencies to post things in nattering rhyme. Turns out, all I need to not speak in
a form of metric
that doesn’t involve
inane dissymmetric snark
is oppression of the male gender. This may be a joke.
Anyway, csulli, I’d love to answer your question about MRAL - but Big Kahuna apparently beat me to it. And in turn, undercovered a deeper mystery. So enjoy trying to solve that instead. It’s like John Galt for the 21st century.
Who is Torvus Butthorn?
( Dun dun duuuuun )[/quote]
Hey butch.
MGTOW says hello. I am not on that site as I lurk every now and then but I think the likes of WomanHater would say the following.
“keep up the hate, nobody cares about some old hag rambling about her inability to get a real man”
[quote]harrypotter wrote:
Hey butch.
MGTOW says hello. I am not on that site as I lurk every now and then but I think the likes of WomanHater would say the following.
“keep up the hate, nobody cares about some old hag rambling about her inability to get a real man”[/quote]
All i get from reading those posts on that site is that unless your good looking enough to were women actively approach and open you sall good. But if you actively try to approach your a ugly loser.
[quote]Fibinachi wrote:
[quote]SkyzykS wrote:
[quote]Fibinachi wrote:
A-rod, I graciously accept your compliment on my writing style.
My brain shorted everything after that in a rush of internet validation, but I’m sure that was all just as completely relevant.
Orion, it was fun to bicker with you - so do be well. Although, again, you might want to get that noogenic thing looked at. I hear some doctors have a cream?
Otherwise, good luck training to all of you. [/quote]
Now how in the world could you have tracked Orion down to this thread?
[/quote]
Basic Internet Magic.
Well, that, and Wordpress has a link feature that traces down direct entry references, so the owner of the blog can see who links to the entries.
So instead of stalking someone on Google, I just followed a link the blog operator posted. And now I’m here. Nice place. Dig the colour scheme.
Yes. I lift the cup filled to the brim with the tears of anguished men and I drink from it to sate my shrill harpy tendencies to post things in nattering rhyme. Turns out, all I need to not speak in
a form of metric
that doesn’t involve
inane dissymmetric snark
is oppression of the male gender. This may be a joke.
Anyway, csulli, I’d love to answer your question about MRAL - but Big Kahuna apparently beat me to it. And in turn, undercovered a deeper mystery. So enjoy trying to solve that instead. It’s like John Galt for the 21st century.
Who is Torvus Butthorn?
( Dun dun duuuuun )[/quote]
I like where this is going. Welcome.
[quote]SkyzykS wrote:
[quote]krazykoukides wrote:
[quote] Argenti Aertheri wrote:
And ?wtf is an MRAL?? from some guy who thinks his biceps are impressive enough to make a bicep selfie his avatar.
[/quote]
I lol’d so hard.
No love for csulli :([/quote]
Great! They’re using the interwebs against us.
Nice going Orion. Now we’re going to be the laughing stock of teh internetz!
[/quote]
No way.
The competition is way to stiff.
Lets wrap this up with a fairytale:
The Littlest Feminist trotted through the jungle alone. “I am a big girl,” she told herself for the hundredth time. The jungle was dim. The canopy of trees overhead blocked out the sun. The jungle was large. The jungle stirred with strange noises. The Littlest Feminist felt small. “I am not afraid,” she said as her heart pounded in her chest, as her hands began to shake. “I am a big girl.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed and began walking again.
As she walked she heard the noises: the animal calls, the wind, the hoots, even a howl. “That doesn’t scare me,” she whispered gulping down some air.
She stopped. The sound of rustling in the bushes beside her drew her attention. Her head snapped. She heard the growl and saw the body fly through the air. White and black and orange stripes flew at her. The jaws, the teeth, the fangs. She froze, transfixed, rooted to the spot. A tiger, her mind conjured.
Then she heard a bang like thunder. She saw a flash of light like lightning. A rifle shot loud enough to shake her ears. The tiger roared a pathetic forlorn moan and instead of a glorious pounce it’s body crumbled. Its momentum ceased.
The Littlest Feminist turned around, wondering if Daddy had come back to find her. He probably needed her help, she thought.
“Daddy?” She called in the direction of the gunshot. But it was not Daddy that emerged from the bush but a strange boy.
“Are you lost?” the strange boy asked.
“No,” she said, “Yes, I mean but I’m not scared.” And she realized that she wasn’t scared anymore. She was so brave.
“We need to go,” the man said. “Follow me.” He gestured.
“You’re not my boss,” The Littlest Feminist said, stamping a foot. She pointed at herself. “Big girl,” she said. "Got it? She huffed. “I don’t need you.”
“You’d be dead right now if I hadn’t followed you here.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” the Littlest Feminist said again and then walked over to the tiger’s body. The tiger lay clumped in the dirt, drawing his last breaths. “Bad tiger,” she admonished. “That’s a bad tiger. No more tiger’s attacking little girls. You understand? You’re mean and I won’t have it. Bad tiger.” She kicked the tiger again and hurt her toe though she didn’t say anything lest her bravery fail. The tiger’s chest lifted one last time and then never rose again. “I killed it,” she exclaimed. “I’m a hero.”
“I think I had something to do with it,” the boy said.
“Don’t be so silly, boy. You have such a big ego.”
“I shot it!”
“All you think about is yourself!”
“Are you on medications?” The boy asked quietly.
“Only prozac, lithium, and paxil.”
“Only?”
“Well if things were fair I wouldn’t need to take so many but things aren’t fair. Boys don’t understand stuff. See you’re a bicycle.”
“What?” the boy asked, scratching his head.
“A bicycle. Boys are bicycles and I got feet so why would I need a bicycle?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Boys and fishes and girls. You wouldn’t understand these things. Not a boy, no. It’s very sophisticated feminist stuff.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I read it in one of my coloring books.”
The boy stared at the Littlest Feminist for a long time. He stared as one stares at an alien object. Then the tension in his eyes waned. He seized the Littlest Feminist by the hand began leading her through the jungle
“I’m being oppressed,” she said, though his touch was gentle and she had to admit that she felt a sudden stirring deep inside her. She pushed it down though as a sign of her oppression.
The sun soon rose and the canopy of darkness lifted slightly. They walked through the whole day, the boy eventually dropping her hand. She followed at her own pace, letting him think he was leading.
Later the boy stopped. “Look,” he said pointing up into the trees. Yellow, ripe bananas dangled just out of reach overhead. “Hungry?” He asked. The Littlest Feminist nodded. “I’ll get us some food.”
He tried to leap up and grasp at the bananas but they were out of reach. “This won’t work,” he said. He thought for a moment. “Alright, why don’t you stand on my shoulders.”
“Why don’t stand on mine?” The Littlest Feminist asked.
“Sure,” The boy said.
It took two tries before the boy realized it was hopeless. The Littlest Feminist was too little. She kept dropping him. The second time he slipped off her shoulders he landed and hit his head on something. The Littlest Feminist laughed.
“Why don’t I get on your shoulders?” The Littlest Feminist said.
The boy rubbed his head and stood. He nodded. The Littlest Feminist came over and he knelt down. She crawled up on top of him and he was surprised how light she felt. “Hold still,” she commanded. He hoisted her up. He spread his legs and planted his feet. She was easy to carry.
The Littlest Feminist stood atop his shoulders and she felt big. “This is what a big girl feels like,” she said. She stared around at the jungle. It wasn’t so scary after all. She was tall and strong. “This was a great idea,” she said. “I’m glad I thought of it.”
The boy offered no protest.
Then something changed in the Littlest Feminist. She looked down at the boy and it was as if he were invisible. He was not a boy, she decided. He was something else. She tried to name it but got bored and then forgot about him entirely.
She felt so tall, so strong. “I’m so tall,” she said.
“Get the bananas,” he said.
“Taller than you are. And smarter too.” She stared around the jungle, thrilled with her new found glory. She ignored the protests in her belly, that feeling that something was missing, something was not quite right. Daddy? No, she did not need a daddy or a little boy. She was a fish or was it a bicycle?
“Bananas,” the boy shrieked and though she was light at first, her weight was beginning to tax him.
She looked up, remembering the bananas. She pulled one off the vine. She peeled it and stuffed it in her mouth then dropped the peel. She pulled another off the tree and ate it.
“Hurry up,” the boy said. His knees began to wobble.
The Littlest Feminist started to stuff herself with the fruit.
“Save some for me,” the boy protested.
“Don’t be so needy.”
“I can’t do this much longer,” he said. He was straining to stand. Her shoes were digging into his shoulders.
“I’m so tall,” she remarked, “And these bananas are so good.”
“I’m going to fall,” the boy called out.
“I’m going to stay this tall forever,” the Littlest Feminist said.
Then the boy’s legs collapsed. He fell. The girl’s weight crashed down on him and their bodies tangled with each other. “Rape!” The Littlest Feminist cried.
“Get off me,” the boy ordered. They untangled themselves and stood.
“I was taller than you,” The Littlest Feminist said, noticing that she had to look up at the boy, which gave her butterflies in her belly which she righteously destroyed. “What did you do to me?” The Littlest Feminist asked. “I was taller than this. Taller than you. I could see so far.”
“You were never taller than me,” the boy said.
“You tricked me,” she complained.
The boy pointed. “We’ll come to my village if we keep on this direction.” And without waiting for her to follow he set off through the jungle.
Not soon after, the jungle cleared and a village came in sight. “I made it,” The Littlest Feminist declared, pleased with herself.
“You’re so arrogant,” the boy said.
“You’re just a bitter loser.”
“I’m done with you,” the boy said and walked away.
“Why are you so angry?” She asked but the boy ignored her and trudged off toward the village. “He’s just intimidated by a big girl,” she reasoned. But he was getting really far away and she didn’t want him to get lost without her so she ran to catch up to him.
Arrogant, she thought. He was wrong. She wasn’t arrogant. She was humble. She was the most humble!
[quote]EmilyQ wrote:
Ha, windmills tilting back. Excellent. :)[/quote]
Na, its just one lonely mill, I think they operate best in packs.
Or gaggles, what do I know.
[quote]harrypotter wrote:
Hey butch.
[/quote]
How do you know she’s ‘‘butch’’?
She could be as feminine as a supermodel.
Tell me how hating men like you makes her butch?
Explain this shit.
[quote]DarkNinjaa wrote:
She could be as feminine as a supermodel.
[/quote]
I don’t think they would take very kindly to you insinuating that a supermodel is the apex of femininity lol
That feminist tale was unexpectedly satisfying, the prevalent but never enclosed thought process was very well done and the script was expertly crafted.
The sexual tension made me moist, I give that story five equality protest signs with a low-fat caramel machiatto on the side.
[quote]DarkNinjaa wrote:
[quote]harrypotter wrote:
Hey butch.
[/quote]
How do you know she’s ‘‘butch’’?
She could be as feminine as a supermodel.
Tell me how hating men like you makes her butch?
Explain this shit.[/quote]
Hate men like me? They hate all men, including the men that would fuck the likes of you silly. The ones that laugh at your pathetic attempts at physical subjugation and make you tingle in the right places.
Anyway, if these women were feminine then I have been grossly mis-led. I have never met a woman who was feminine yet took pleasure in dismantling the arguments of men based on them being male. I do understand butch but obviously you dont because it does not mean the look of a woman, her attitude is also included and women like her (and maybe you) are butch.
Dont get your g-string in a twist dear, I’m just a man.
[quote]Chushin wrote:
[quote]Big Kahuna wrote:
That feminist tale was unexpectedly satisfying, the prevalent but never enclosed thought process was very well done and the script was expertly crafted.
The sexual tension made me moist, I give that story five equality protest signs with a low-fat caramel machiatto on the side.
[/quote]
Geez, do you have rate EVERYTHING?[/quote]
Not everything, just when words are missed during sentences or say, unnecessary emphasis through all caps.
That’s another -5 points from our friendship Chush. I hope you learn from this kerfuffle, Asian friendo of mine.
[quote]Chushin wrote:
[quote]Big Kahuna wrote:
[quote]Chushin wrote:
[quote]Big Kahuna wrote:
That feminist tale was unexpectedly satisfying, the prevalent but never enclosed thought process was very well done and the script was expertly crafted.
The sexual tension made me moist, I give that story five equality protest signs with a low-fat caramel machiatto on the side.
[/quote]
Geez, do you have rate EVERYTHING?[/quote]
Not everything, just when words are missed during sentences or say, unnecessary emphasis through all caps.
That’s another -5 points from our friendship Chush. I hope you learn from this kerfuffle, Asian friendo of mine.[/quote]
YOU one SICK dude, my friend!
Put THAT in your calculator and cogitate on it! :-)[/quote]
Needs more sarcastic humour.
(^ It’s that easy)
(^ But that helps too)
[quote]harrypotter wrote:
Hate men like me? They hate all men, including the men that would fuck the likes of you silly. The ones that laugh at your pathetic attempts at physical subjugation and make you tingle in the right places. [/quote]
So, are you saying those women are lesbians? I mean, who sleeps with something, someone that you hate?
[quote]harrypotter wrote:
Anyway, if these women were feminine then I have been grossly mis-led. I have never met a woman who was feminine yet took pleasure in dismantling the arguments of men based on them being male. [/quote]
Oh really? You need to get out more, you poor soul. Do you meet many WOMEN these days or, are you still chasing after universities babes?
[quote]harrypotter wrote:
I do understand butch but obviously you dont because it does not mean the look of a woman, her attitude is also included and women like her (and maybe you) are butch. [/quote]
Butch is mostly based on the look of a woman. As an example, you see a woman with a manly swag walking down the street, and, I bet, you think ‘’ Butch’'. You don’t even know her but you’ve already judged her on her appearance. However, nothing proves she can be as aggressive as a guy.
But I agree, the aggressive, masculine behaviour is part of the definition.
I’d walk down the street, you’ll have no idea that I’m ‘‘butch’’. I’m extremely feminine in appearance but my behaviour is one of a beast. I don’t walk like a man. But I hit like one. HARD. And I’m glad a man like you, hate that
[quote]harrypotter wrote:
Dont get your g-string in a twist dear, I’m just a man. [/quote]
Meh, I get my g-string twisted all the time, you know? Sensitive clit and all. It satisfies me better than a bitter cock.
[quote]DarkNinjaa wrote:
[quote]harrypotter wrote:
Hate men like me? They hate all men, including the men that would fuck the likes of you silly. The ones that laugh at your pathetic attempts at physical subjugation and make you tingle in the right places. [/quote]
So, are you saying those women are lesbians? I mean, who sleeps with something, someone that you hate?[/quote]
In defense of that argument, I’ve always wanted to horrifically violate Ann Coulter out of pure hate and unrelenting disgust/contempt. Not sure if I’d repeat that given the chance though, guess I’ll have to spend time sleeping with more people that I loathe and see how that pans out.
Huh. That was a really good story, thank you. It made me think about a lot of things.
In return, I’ve written you this short fable - I hope you’ll find it just as instructive and full of wisdom as the tale you gave me
“Where the hell am I”
In the distance, a faint explosion. Rattling staccato of gunfire. Screaming.
“And why the hell is everything so fucking dark”
Something crunching gravel.
“Aw fuck, did I get drunk again? Swear to god, Jim, if I?m stealth-drunk before 8 again I?m never having another drink this entire week.”
The crunching stops, pausing mid-rhythm. Footsteps, probably ? which is a good clue as to why a voice interjects after the initial grumbling subsides.
“Uh, excuse me? Who is Jim”
Sniff. Sniff. That smell in the air? is that lady scented body wash? You haven?t worn lady scented bodywash since ?Nam, and that was for camouflage. That?s your story, and you?re sticking to it, no matter what fucking Jim says.
Yeah. Definitively some fragrant shit here. Probably raspberries or something. It?s always fucking raspberries with these broads.
“Mister, your helmet is? It’s the wrong side around. I think you’re covering your eyes”
Figures, that. The Lord ain?t merciful enough to strike an honest man blind these days. Have to stare at all the overwrought metaphors that apply to reality. Or something. Maybe it?s overwrought analogies? Fables? Similies, maybe. Goddamn, in this hot piping mess you?ve lost track of your linguistic training. Hells bells.
?Look, I?ll just? turn it around. Okay? Don?t move. Just stand still. It?s stuck. And sticky. Why is your helmet stick?nevermind. Hang on?
OOoh, that one loosened up some knots. And the harsh glare of reality shines down like a bad, inefficient light bulb haphazardly screw into the ceiling. Which on closer, squinting inspection makes a lot since that’s exactly what it is. You shake your head and knock lose some cobwebs. The broad takes a few hurried steps back, almost tripping over a fallen ladder.
“So what happened down here? And how long can it take to screw in a light bulb”
No fucking clue what she’s yammering on about. Maybe it’s some Vietcong plot to trip you up. You’ve wisened up to those tricks a long time ago. No one?s getting the drop on you, except maybe yourself from a ladder. Because that’s how foxy you are - you’d need to be you to catch you unaware.
You may have muttered that last sentence out loud. The broad is staring at you, suspicious-like.
“I didn’t quite catch that. Sounded a little tautological. Is everything all-right?”
Damn wimmin’s intuition. She’s on to you. Quick, quick, say something clever!
“Issat allright. I’m all good. Bout as primed as napalm”
“You sure? Your voice sounds like two slabs of granite slapping together”
“Raw masculine deep-throating skills?”
“I’m not sure that means what you just thought you said”
“Course it did. I?m a killing machine with a doctorate in poetry on the side. Battle poetry.”
“I’m going to call security now. I think you might have hit your head with that fall”
“HAH! I’m invincible. No gravity going to outfox a sly old devil like me. No Chinese KGB–”
“Russian”
“What?”
“Russian. The KGB is Russ–”
“No Russians get the drop on me. I?m far too steely eyed and cool for that.”
Damn right you are. Greatest GI slash poet slash electrician slash rock quarry worker this side of the Moon.
Now all you need to do is exfiltrate this basement and reach HQ somehow, let them know the nefarious plots a-plotting in this wretched hive of scum, villainy and mildew.
Damne could be a liability though. Need to get her with you. Can’t hurt a broad. Unsportsmanslike.
“What’s your name, toots?”
“That’s really not appropriate and also it’s Stacy”
“Right-o. Well, I’ve got to get out of this den and back to base?”
“Base? This is a library. You were screwing in a light bulb. I?m telling you, you took a fall and I think you’re having some kind of flashback?”
“FLASHBANG! GET DOWN!”
You hit the ground with a meaty thud. The meaty thud of testosterone and muscle fed on protein and pain. Stacy, possessing all the survival instincts of a deer in the headlights stares at you for a while, then shakes her head. You think she might have sighed.
Damn wimmin.
Ain’t no place in a warzone for the sensitive sex.
You get off the floor, dust yourself off. Okay, so maybe that wasn?t a flashbang. Good news. The pounding in your head is not the effort of highly advanced NASA-Illuminati agents. Clearly these damn Russian imposters haven?t got the tech they need to constrain a man like you.
“Right, toots, we’ve gots to dash. Take me to the exit!”
“This is a library. The exits are marked with arrows. Just get out of the room and follow the arrows. It’s not that hard.”
“And leave you behind to tattle to some washed up drug cartel torturer getting his Sunday school certification in interrogation 101? Pro-tip. Use a blowtorch. No, you’re coming with me. Move it, hut hut hut”
“That was the most confusing sentence I have ever heard”
No time for words now. Gotta split. You grab Stacey and make for the exit, who seems overcome by equal parts your raw sexual charisma and confusion. The green arrows help you. Rows of book cases shield you from prying eyes (Vonnegut? Fitzgerald? Fucking commies), and you can hear the subdued whispering of plotting Nazis in the corner. This place is a bonafide opium den of misery.
“So what’cha doing in this Archive of Atrocity, Stacy? You some kind of womens libber”
“No, I’m a chemical engineer. And I was just checking up on you and the light bulb, since you’re the–”
“Hahah. Chemical engineer. Listen, sweetcheeks, I didn’t go to Korea and bleed just so some broad cold brew up meth in her basement!”
“Your flashbacks are highly inconsistent, you know?”
“Inconsistent… Or Incredible?”
You wink.
Stacy stares.
You wink again, raising your eyebrows even higher.
Eye contact is maintained for three seconds, and then she shakes her head once again and just kind of slumps. Hah. Never did get anyone to out-stare you ever since you had your eyeballs replaced with marbles.
You round another corner and come face to face with a man in tweed, reading a book on what appears to Jamaican poetry. Seeing your sweat soaked form and the woman you?re dragging along, he manages a momentary startled sound before you step forward and brain him with a copy of the tax code. He crumbles without a sound.
Damn hippies.
Never had a much of a spine.
“What the hell was that for?”
“He’d have yelled for the others. And those damn zombies would have been right on us!”
“Could you at least fucking stick to one traumatic flashback incident and not mix and match from I’m counting nine? Ten different movies?”
“So yeah, zombies. Gotta brain 'em before they flock on ya. Besides, he was reading poetry. What kind of zombie does this? Archive’s messed up, I tells ya!”
“Jesus Christ, Steve, get a grip.”
“Oh I"ve got a grip. On this tax code. My new favorite weapon. Only two things are certain in life. Death and taxes…”
You wait a beat.
“To the face!”
Stacy starts shaking.
“Because I hit people. With it. In the face. It’s a pun.”
She’s still shaking.
Women. Not a sense a humor in them. You grab her by the shoulders and give her a gentle squeeze. Up close, she smells of raspberries and terror.
“Don’t worry. I?ll get us out of here. No aliens going to outsmart me.”
“Ah? Al? What? What the? What?”
“Yeah, aliens. Figures, anyway, they’d be the only ones who could arrange all this. Damn Greys.?”
You take another deep breath of raspberry. Good stuff, actually, when you get used to it. Maybe you could find a manly deodorant with the same scent.
“Look, Steve, I want… Could you at least have tried talking to them? Rational discourse? Just say: “Step aside!” and that solves that? You can talk to other people without them getting, you know, unconscious.”
“Ah, precious sensitive folk. Talking’s for chumps and diplomats in fancy suits. Talking never solves anything. You think Abraham Lincoln built this great country with speeches?”
“Actually, yes, I’m pretty sure he…”
“You think Martin Luther King freed my people—?”
“That’s wrong. And racist. And silly. And fuck you, Steve.”
“You think Gandhi ever solved anything with speeches?”
By the time you finish talking, Stacy’s wrested herself lose and run in the other direction. Damn traitor. Guess you?re on your own now.
Just you, the unconscious zombie CIA agent, and all these books. With all that learning. Pressing in. You twitch.
All those words contained in pages written by other people who aren?t you saying things you haven’t read and can’t read because who reads these days and who has the time and thinking about all that wasted ink just makes you mad and suddenly you’re staring at the ceiling.
You black out.
Game over, man. Game over.
[quote]Big Kahuna wrote:
[quote]DarkNinjaa wrote:
[quote]harrypotter wrote:
Hate men like me? They hate all men, including the men that would fuck the likes of you silly. The ones that laugh at your pathetic attempts at physical subjugation and make you tingle in the right places. [/quote]
So, are you saying those women are lesbians? I mean, who sleeps with something, someone that you hate?[/quote]
In defense of that argument, I’ve always wanted to horrifically violate Ann Coulter out of pure hate and unrelenting disgust/contempt. Not sure if I’d repeat that given the chance though, guess I’ll have to spend time sleeping with more people that I loathe and see how that pans out.
[/quote]
You and Henry both.
