Tag Archive: loving


How to be outrageosly rich?

How to fuck 1450 chicks in one year and become rich?

How to become incredibly happy and rich, of course?

In our age, the postmodern neurotic period, we have like tons of selfhelp books in every corner. Some of them are actually good but the majority are total trash. The sad thing about it is the fact that on the wings of consumerism, selfishness and self-pity on which we are flying, we are looking for turbofast and hypereasy solutions which will bring us to a general bliss, with minimal effort. And of course, that book also must have a part where it`s author is convincing us how we are actually wonderful but the others just don`t see it. But they will, after the author`s secret advice. Sure.

Why am I bothered with it? Because of the conversation I had the other day. Here it is.

She: „Will you take me to the library?“

Me:“?!? I have to take you? Why?“

She: „Because I need a book, and you are the only one that I know, that does things like this. Goes to the library and borrows books. You know, really reads.

(Here I felt like a leper, like a total freak, a weirdo. I`ve become „the-one-who- goes-to-library-and-really-reads“. What will my neighbours think? I will be socially excommunicated!)

Me:And what book do you need?“

She: „How to have a really good fight, or something“.

Mazel tov!

The thing is that she and her man are constanly fighting. 24-7. Waking up, you son of the bitch, dressing, you idiot, going to work, why are you late you moron, coming home, where`s my lunch stupid, afternoon chilling, I can`t stand you, watching tv, you heartless bitch…. A true idyll.

And from all the things in the world, all moves, solutions – they want a selfhelp book named How-to-have-a-really-good-fight. They don`t remember when they talked normally last time or when they spent an hour in pleasant silence. But they do want the fightings to continue on completely another level.

The thing is that they are appropriately deaf. Enjoying in their own voices that much, and not having a clue that, just maybe, the other side has some rights and needs too. So they scream. All the time. And now, with the help of the good book, they will have the possibility to throw in some quotations too like: „No, no,no, you jerk! On the page 47 it says that….“.

You get the picture.

I, on the other hand, am waiting for another book to come out – „38 things on which you may conclude that you are a selfish manipulative child and for which you may bitch slap yourself“.

Till then, it looks I will take others on a library tour. I have the license.

Helping them to find the way for their desired destination, Selfishville.

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Before I start, here`s a short messagge to a guy who loves dogs a little too much: THERE ARE NO DOGS FUCKING HERE. At least not in my posts.

Yes, I love sex and I really love dogs, but this two I don`t „combine“. Get it? Good.

I mean, some of mine ex-s I may classify as animals, but zoophilia is not my thing. (one of my ex-s was lying like a dog, the other one was often playing with his monkey, the third one ate like the pig,…Oh, and another one was so hairy that he looked more like a bear…but still-no sodomy here)

Talking about sexual deviations and the thrill that they bring, we will easly slip into the problem. To cut to the chase, let`s say that people who are in it, have a fear of rejection. Simple as that. They are grown up but their cojones haven`t followed them. Instead, they developed in some other form. Hm.

For example, I know a guy who often fantasies about gang bang. The 1 on 1 action it`s just not enough for him. But he freaks on 4:1 formation. And he just can`t see that, THAT is incredible fear and hate towards women, and so protrutedly supressed homosexuality that is…unbelievable. Which he can`t admit to himself. Not in a million years.

But considering that he lives in a very macho culture, where homosexuality wears a big negative sign, he have „flipped over“ the thing on a way that according to him s more…appropriate.

Because this way, the woman is still a very degraded  and very irrelevant object, while the male sexuality is almighty.

Imagine several naked male bodies, their prides and joys which dangle and only one little woman. Hm… There is something…fishy in the scene. You like women? Really? And again, hm…

Soooo, there is no chance in hell that you enjoy in that nice male bodies which are petting on you? Oh! That`s grues you say? Aha! Right.

Of course you don`t. Everything is alright, baby. Hush.

And then the frog turned into a princ and the dragon….

The resume is: it is nice to be kinky a bit, as long as you don`t exaggerate. When the things become just too weird. Like dogs, sheeps, calamaries… Then it`s time for somebody to shout „hold your horses!“ what is too much is too much.

And to you, dog man, you are a sick puppy!

Female post

This is a female post.

Post for women.

So I would reccomend to all the guys just to leave and not bother with it.

The Almighty knows that I don`t fall for brands. I`m just not touched by all this grand names.

I know that lots of woman save, starve and doing whatever they can, just to get that dark piece of signatured desire. Because they want it. They want it bad. I presume that then, that fabulous piece, represents the compensation for something far more expensive, like selfconfidence or sometimes even love. Just to get that feeling…

But, how it usually goes, when you are not sighing and trembeling about something, that something simply walks into your life. Without any stress. And so, day before yesterday, a red Dior bag walked into my life. A very beautiful red Dior bag. It was given to me, I said thank you, took it and left.  When we were left alone, the bag and me, I looked at it more carefully. A very simple design, the way I like it, but fantasticly red. And it`s mine.

Considering that at the moment I really didn`t have a clue where am I going to take it, I`ve just  drop it on the dresser. And then we looked at each other for a while. The bag and me…

She, so joyful and playful, tipically French, with that joie the vivre sparkling from her, just stands there observing me with glee, asking „where will we go, the two of us?“ with the inevitable giggling. I am sitting on the armchair, returing her the look and smiling gracefully, just how you should with fine ladies, and answering her that I don`t know. Because I really don`t. Don`t have a clue.

And then I discovered something else – that I feel like a highlander in her presence.As a lumberjack, to be more precised. I do because, in the past few months, I have totally neglected my female appearing dimension.

The external, easy fixing, high heel-make-uping, shining, colorful, sexy, seducing dimension. The one with mandatory dressing up from at least half an hour of carefuly picking clothes, make up and shoes. I have replaced it with I`m-in-a-hurry-give-something-practical-and-comfortable dimension.

How it happened? You know, first I`ve decided not to buy any new clothes for a while because my closets are already bursting from it, then I got so many engagements for which that dressed up look it`s just not practical, so I`ve just pushed the fine pieces at the back and placed the comfortable clothes at the front. Easy peasy.

So I`ve post-poned the good looks for some other times. Left my feminality in post tense.

And I must say that I did almost fanatically. Because it is really not important that I look good when I have so many things to do! OK, I don`t wear flanel without the bra and I don`t wear sweat pants but I definitively don`t look raveshing.

But it is important. For a woman. To feel sexy. To dress up, look herself in the mirror and loves what she sees. To feel like a fine expensive artwork.

And now I know why that wonderful red thing came  into my life – to wake me up. With that shiny red colour. On it`s gentle non-verbal way, it touched that unfailing point of femininity. And brought a sanguinel playful breath of personal pampering and caring.

Love. The word is love.

Because I`m here. In all dimensions.

Also as a fine dressed up babe who looks herself pleased in the mirror.

Because I deserve it, vol.3.