In a flash Fake Winehouse was able to transform the height of our hetero-normative experience back into something she was more comfortable with, her own safe space of gender neutrality, with the magic words: “get this shit off me.” Tossing her the tissue box, big girl can clean herself up, I chastised her for breaking the narrative, something usually reserved for slightly longer than fifteen seconds after sex.
Winehouse may have rolled her eyes, but the fact of the matter remains: sex is the narrative of attraction. For the red-hot 20 minutes I spent with Amy, she behaved like the ideal submissive, adhering to my direction and following my lead. This was what she wanted in the moment, appealing to her basic female nature. After, when her big girl brain came back into focus, the feminist was suddenly disgusted with herself, and, “get this shit off me,” was her way of re-framing the horrifying mess she’d made by treating me like an Alpha male- the real truth of which may be up for minor debate.
Sex is like editing together a documentary film. Everything is based in reality, but it’s up to you to put together the story. Initial attraction may be there, but if you don’t string things together the right way, you’re not getting laid.
If the Democrats were smart they’d co-promote their convention with Marvel. After all, they share the same audience. Take a look around and you’d see so many fat, sweaty women along with their low-t lady boys that you could easily believe you were at a gross comic book convention.
Girls with blue hair and the horny geeks who love them.
The Democrats come off like the victim of a bullying long-con where the cool kids managed to convince the nerds that they were seriously hip, and then can sit back and with the losers strut around like imbeciles.
Obama’s real legacy isn’t as America’s first black president, but it’s first geek in power, and now the loser’s club finally has some confidence.
Modern black magic is understanding human nature. In a world of unreality where people are unconscious to the invisible currents that guide them, having the ability to identify these forces can allow you to tell a tremendous amount about someone from a few scant details. Street hustlers and psychics have exploited this idea for years, because it works; we are not unique snow-flakes, we are predictable animals.
Take a family where the mother is much prettier than her daughters- what does that tell you? The mother traded her beauty to marry a genetically-inferior beta-male with money and ended up with snaggled halfie daughters. The woman does not respect her husband-she resents him- and this unhappiness manifests itself in perpetual anger and passive-aggression where she subtly attempts to destroy all those around her.
Beta-dad entered the relationship with the best intentions, unconscious to the fact that he was defeated from the outset. After years of his confidence being eroded through his demon-wife’s poison drip of emasculation, he fluctuates between anger and shame, and thinking that maybe giving more, listeningmore, and being more empathetic may turn it all around and fix the relationship… All while his wife longs for the memory of the last big-dicked real man who made her tingle.
There was never another time historically where having a conversation about the basic nature of reality- what we encounter in our lived experiences- would have made much sense. Rather, it would have come off as insanity, but here we are in our horrifying alternate-1985 wasteland engaged in a perpetual argument over what should be the prologue of the story.
Reality should be our starting point, the toolkit and blueprint for human greatness, not a prolonged debate.
But what the fuck is reality? Tough to know in a world of misinformation and unreality, served by people raised on the same deliberate bullshit. Modernity is a nice sounding hypothesis playing out in real time, but without an end-date to honestly access the damn thing. The people who drew it up are long dead, and what’s left are loudmouth idiots and unreality profiteers.
There was a gleam in her eye when “Ghostbusters” (2016) came up in the group’s discussion. She corrected the speaker, a male, who didn’t make an elaborate point to reference the movie’s notorious gender component- “the new Ghostbusters” he offhandedly called it, but this was “girl Ghostbusters,” she said with pride. After all, she was a high school Science teacher and this was a victory with which she could attach herself.
This attachment was the point, existing independently of the movie. She may not see it, nor should she have to- her attachment to “girl Ghostbusters” had served to bolster her identity. The actual film is an afterthought- a big budget leftist talking point. Beyond all the fuss, “Ghostbusters” is a pile of crap with regurgitated jokes, so who really cares?
Someone working deep inside the Clinton campaign must really fucking hate her guts. Old Hillary is gearing up for an appearance on the Ellen show alongside the entire cast of the smelly-like-farts “Ghostbusters” (2016) re-make. I am praying to Jesus that she comes out with the stupid uniform on, personalized with CLINTON across the left breast; she can have her own proton pack, maybe some impromptu CG will be employed. Please God, make her the honorary fifth Ghostbuster.
Don’t just finger me, God; I want it all the way in.
This stupid movie has the stink of death, and for Clinton to attach herself to it almost certainly means that someone working for her is either certifiably retarded or absolutely insane… but why is this movie so particularly hated?
After all, “Ghostbusters” is a movie and movies are bad.
While pacing an empty classroom after hours, door shut and blinds drawn, dictating a clumsy outline for why the movie “Overboard” (1987)- yes, “Overboard”- provides sufficient evidence for the success of a Trump/Sanders dream ticket, I can’t help but feel like I’m sneaking pop-rocks after brushing my teeth. I’m in too deep and I’m clapping wildly at show ponies. Dogs jumping through flaming hoops. Hot dogs and Easter candy. Junk food. Bullshit.
None of this means anything, but I can’t quit Donald Trump.
I’ve become a political junkie cheering for a puppet show. I want to see Ravishing Rick Rude with the WWF gold- taunting the fat, out of shape, low-T, liberal sweat hogs. I want the mere words “President Trump” to be a passive aggressive trigger striking rotten disdain into the hearts of all who oppose.
The dynamic between Black Lives Matter and the police mimic Batman and the Joker in “The Dark Knight” (2008). By their own premise, Black Lives Matter purports that poor black people are perpetually naughty children who inevitably deal with the police. These naughty children have no standard of behavior to meet nor rules to abide by- they are inherently naughty. The police, who make their careers handling violence, have rules and standards to meet, and even when the situation is crazier than usual, if those rules are broken it’s cause for outrage and demands.
One side of the equation is given a ready-made excuse for lacking accountability, the other side is burdened with limitless accountability. One side is expected to be unpredictable while the other is held to the expectation of perfection.
“A Nightmare on Elm Street” (1984) is about suburban invasion, and Freddy Kruger is a rapist. Suburban horror was a response to the 1950s idealism of “darn good people living in darn good neighborhoods.” While normally this type of cultural critique would annoy me, Progressives attempting to deconstruct a system that works for the majority, the foundation of horror is about the inescapable.
The suburbs, on their own, will not solve the problems of a damaged culture nor will they filter out the dangers inherent in reality; the suburbs are not walled, nor are they caged. Danger can find its way, and most particularly when the foundation of the family has been turned toxic.
Freddy Kruger is the Progressive response to Dracula. While Dracula played on the beta’s anxiety of being usurped sexually by the handsome and powerful Alpha, after the Sexual Revolution this anxiety was pushed below the surface (yet is still very real). If a woman has no restrictions on her sexuality, and realizing that sexuality in terms of selective promiscuity has become what defines the fully realized woman, fearing the powerful Alpha seducing women away from the pandering beta, and in-turn, ruining these women as prospective wives and mothers, must be redefined as the vile beta rapist.
“Hollywood only makes two movies. The Boy’s Movie and The Girls’ Movie.” – Delicious Tacos
Modern Hollywood has a genius racket going where they actually now sell boy-movies written as girl-movies. Hollywood has hijacked and redefined the boy-movie to primarily appeal to girls in its writing and thematics with the idea that boys are only looking for familiar shapes and colors.
A boy wants to believe he’s seeing a boy-movie. This idea is easily satisfied by putting Iron Man or Spider-Man on the screen. The shapes are familiar and the boy is happy. This is all the boy is getting. Anything further is intended for girls (and maybe the social conditioning of boys).
While I should have called it a day after seeing Nolan’s masterful “The Dark Knight” (2008) in theaters, I maybe had one too many beers on the forth of July, and was convinced to venture once more to the movie-house and see “Terminator: Genisys” (2015), and of course had quickly realized that I had been had.