Dating Faux Pas: The Embarrassing Moments We’d Rather Forget
Type d'évènement
Caisse locale
Description
Moments in Dating We'd Wipe Away if We Had the Chance
Lies Damn Lies and Wonderbras.
Pole Position
The Goggles
Kinky Dating
The Art Of The Breakup: 10 No-Nos For The Dumper
The Dumpee Survival Guide
Chick Logic (Or the Lack Thereof)
Why Women Shouldn't Make the First Move in Dating
Tam the Bam July 26, 2014 at 10:19
“In the next Civilization we have to remember what happened and refuse to give them the vote no matter what. Their “sacred stubbornness” translates to mulish stupidity when it comes to issues.”
Then it would be necessary to devise a civilisation miraculously not dependant on the irrepressibly hopeful yet doomed strivings (surplus, in Boozy Karl’s terms) of “betas”.
Chief shackle in their chain and indeed oftentimes the cat’o’ninetails being the oul’ Trouble’n’Strife herself, plus kids, McMansion, life insurance and superannuation plan, you know, all the crap.
Or “elites” just ain’t gonna happen. Perforce the Best Men may gang together and exterminate the lesser, and seize their just desserts, incl. all the laydeez. Then what? Breed their own sons to be servants? Or live offa the women? How, exactly, when it is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of a fortune will spunk it up the wall in a heartbeat, and come back screaming for Moar! Better! Faster! Now! In fact Yesterday!
Women are the Absolute Event Horizon of all endeavour, prudence, foresight, planning, assets, credit, equity, moderation, even civility and tolerance itself. A unidirectional vortex of infinite demand, if you let them.
And one of their chief demands, once the betas have fixed the basics of a culture and The Fear has retreated or been banished beyond the city limits, is power in the form of “equality”. Especially the useless special-snowflake daughters of the upper classes, who regard themselves as better than .. well.. everyone. And they are listened to, for the sake of short-term domestic peace. Once they’ve got that vote o.n.e., they vote as a Herd. With the Herd. For the Herd. And to hell with consequences. Somebody else’s fault. That man over there will do.
“Civilisation” (i.e. the capacity for our species to self-organise in a way which maximises our population relative to the planet’s possibilities) absolutely requires that the ordinary spear-carrier is allocated a faint hope of staying at the genetic poker-table in the form of a willing female mate (only because “willing” is easier and cheaper, in the long run; there are other ways, ethnographers have revealed). Or else they will be inclined to hurry History along a bit, and conspire together to take matters into their own hands, or rather, spears. Nothing to lose.
Or else it’s back to the jolly old jungle, no humans alive nearer the poles than the Tropic of This or That, and the lucky “alphas” strolling around ruling “the world”, scratching their arses and shagging every no doubt delighted female that comprises the masses that they run across. And wondering what’s for dinner, or if it will rain, and a woman will bring him a banana-leaf to put on his head, plus the occasional outbreak of mortal combat if he happens to meet another guy.
Lies Damn Lies and Wonderbras.
Pole Position
The Goggles
Kinky Dating
The Art Of The Breakup: 10 No-Nos For The Dumper
The Dumpee Survival Guide
Chick Logic (Or the Lack Thereof)
Why Women Shouldn't Make the First Move in Dating
Tam the Bam July 26, 2014 at 10:19
“In the next Civilization we have to remember what happened and refuse to give them the vote no matter what. Their “sacred stubbornness” translates to mulish stupidity when it comes to issues.”
Then it would be necessary to devise a civilisation miraculously not dependant on the irrepressibly hopeful yet doomed strivings (surplus, in Boozy Karl’s terms) of “betas”.
Chief shackle in their chain and indeed oftentimes the cat’o’ninetails being the oul’ Trouble’n’Strife herself, plus kids, McMansion, life insurance and superannuation plan, you know, all the crap.
Or “elites” just ain’t gonna happen. Perforce the Best Men may gang together and exterminate the lesser, and seize their just desserts, incl. all the laydeez. Then what? Breed their own sons to be servants? Or live offa the women? How, exactly, when it is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of a fortune will spunk it up the wall in a heartbeat, and come back screaming for Moar! Better! Faster! Now! In fact Yesterday!
Women are the Absolute Event Horizon of all endeavour, prudence, foresight, planning, assets, credit, equity, moderation, even civility and tolerance itself. A unidirectional vortex of infinite demand, if you let them.
And one of their chief demands, once the betas have fixed the basics of a culture and The Fear has retreated or been banished beyond the city limits, is power in the form of “equality”. Especially the useless special-snowflake daughters of the upper classes, who regard themselves as better than .. well.. everyone. And they are listened to, for the sake of short-term domestic peace. Once they’ve got that vote o.n.e., they vote as a Herd. With the Herd. For the Herd. And to hell with consequences. Somebody else’s fault. That man over there will do.
“Civilisation” (i.e. the capacity for our species to self-organise in a way which maximises our population relative to the planet’s possibilities) absolutely requires that the ordinary spear-carrier is allocated a faint hope of staying at the genetic poker-table in the form of a willing female mate (only because “willing” is easier and cheaper, in the long run; there are other ways, ethnographers have revealed). Or else they will be inclined to hurry History along a bit, and conspire together to take matters into their own hands, or rather, spears. Nothing to lose.
Or else it’s back to the jolly old jungle, no humans alive nearer the poles than the Tropic of This or That, and the lucky “alphas” strolling around ruling “the world”, scratching their arses and shagging every no doubt delighted female that comprises the masses that they run across. And wondering what’s for dinner, or if it will rain, and a woman will bring him a banana-leaf to put on his head, plus the occasional outbreak of mortal combat if he happens to meet another guy.
Début de l'événement
13.11.2021
Fin de l'événement
22.11.2021