Women

December 21, 2008

Women are not actually attracted to men. There is a vague idea of what a man is physically, and some are better than others aesthetically speaking, but the purely physical appearance of a man is almost inconsequential unless he is horribly ugly or outrageously attractive. Women are attracted to status, money, how much a man smiles and laughs, how many friends and resources a man has, how full a man’s life is–how many “cool,” “exciting” and prestigious things he is doing or connected to. They are interested in how other people view him–how many people want to be around him, how other people interact with him and whether their interactions convey that he is special and amazing. They want him to be extremely outgoing and aggressive, they want him to demonstrate his status over other people by dominating them in various non-violent ways. A woman’s attraction to a man is a function of her jealousy at the thought of another woman having that man. She doesn’t care who he actually is or EXACTLY what he looks like physically, she only cares about the VALUE of the life he has constructed around himself.  A woman basically is a greedy materialistic prostitute. Although that sounds vulgar, it’s true. She trades her physical self to buy into the success a man has created for himself.  As a man, I fall in love with how a woman is physically. I fall in love with simple parts of a woman. Like the way her hair falls around her face, the line of her neck, her shoulders. They way her ears might peek from her hair. Her eyelashes. The size and shape of her hands, her fingernails. The way she walks, the way she looks when she is tired or annoyed, the sound she makes when she sneezes, coughs, or cries. The way she sits in a chair. The way she breathes while experiencing different emotions. The way her lips move. A million little things. Sure, a huge part of my attraction is mental, but the powerful seed of love that builds within me and crystallizes is based greatly on visual things that set off torrents of emotion and need. It seems to me that women almost cannot think for themselves. Their estimates of worth are based on other peoples’ estimates of worth. They don’t really find an object beautiful on their own. The object becomes beautiful when other people let her know that it is beautiful. I’m completely unable to reconcile the differences between men and women. It seems like success with women is equal to spending half of your life working to create a giant illusion, something vastly tiring and annoying, while sacrificing your own true self and your own interests. We construct our lives around nest-building. We’re like male birds building nests and showing them off to attract mates. It’s pathetic. Everything we do is to get women. It is a fucking shit deal. Someone needs to invent a drug which has no hormonal imbalance side-effects but is able to erase a man’s sex drive and attraction to women. It would increase productivity rates to incredible heights. I’d be free and happy. I’d feel complete.

Delicious Pancakes

November 11, 2008

So this girl invited me over to her house early one morning. She said she need help with math, and offered to make me breakfast for all my trouble. I figured hell free food and time with a OK looking girl why the hell not. So I get up around 5am to get at her house around 6. It was kinda hard finding the place because it was sorta tucked in back of this big forest. I get to her house and ring the door bell, only half awake. She answers the door in a very small tank top and short shorts. “Oh, hay you made it, come on in.” She said looking tired as well. I couldn’t help but wonder why she would want me to come some early if she wasn’t used to the hour ether? “Sorry about the mess and the time, this is about the only time everyone else is out of the house and I wanted to be alone with you.”

“Alone but why, I thought you needed help on math.” I said then felt instantly stupid. She smiled sweetly and offered me a seat at the table. “I have a big family, and they tend to be very nosy we wouldn’t have gotten anything done had they been here.” I nodded and sat down in doing so I got a very nice look at her ass which was actually very nice. “Do you like?” She asked me and I thought I had been caught, “Wait what?” I asked trying to keep my cool. “Do you like pancakes? I’m told I make some of the best, I even add different kinds of fruit to them. Also, I have some bacon and eggs going as well. Shouldn’t be much longer.” I nodded and she walked back into the kitchen, as the door opened I smelled the most wonderful smell ever.

I couldn’t help but follow her in the the kitchen where I saw some of the best looking pancakes I had ever seen ever. I couldn’t help but smile a big smile as I wondered what they would taste like. “I’m almost done, do you want orange juice or apple juice?” She asked me I told her apple and she poured me some from a chicken shaped kettle on the counter. I took it and drank it happily it was had the right amount of sweetness. “Why don’t you go and take a seat, we can get started after we eat.” I did as she said and sat down at my seat at the table.

Minutes later she appears with a bunch of big plates of food and sets them on the table. Then begins to dish out food for me putting over 9000 light and fluffy, blueberry filled pancakes on the plate in front of me, and some bacon and eggs on a separate plate. “There you go if you want more when your done with that just ask.” She then started to get some food of her own and I put syrup on my pancakes and took a big bite. It was the best thing I had ever tasted, ever. I hadn’t even realized it but I was making a horrible face despite how awesome they were. “Oh, is something wrong?” She asked me sounding really concerned for me, she got up and started rubbing my back. “No it’s just usually, I only have Reese’s for breakfast.” To which she screamed. “Candy, for breakfast?” “No.” I replied. “Reese’s puff cereal, it’s candy for breakfast!”

Abortion

October 19, 2008

Month One: Mommy, I am only 8 inches long, but I have all my organs. I love the sound of your voice. Every time I hear it, I wave my arms and legs. The sound of your heart beat is my favorite lullaby.

Month Two: Mommy, today I learned how to suck my thumb. If you could see me, you could definitely tell that I am a baby. I’m not big enough to survive outside my home though. It is so nice and warm in here.

Month Three: You know what Mommy, I’m a girl!! I hope that makes you happy. I always want you to be happy. I don’t like it when you cry. You sound so sad. It makes me sad too, and I cry with you even though you can’t hear me.

Month Four: Mommy, my hair is starting to grow. It is very short and fine, but I will have a lot of it. I spend a lot of my time exercising. I can turn my head and curl my fingers and toes, and stretch my arms and legs. I am becoming quite good at it too.

Month Five: You went to the doctor today. Mommy, he lied to you. He said that I’m not a baby. I am a baby Mommy, your baby. I think and feel. Mommy, what’s abortion?

Month Six: I can hear that doctor again. I don’t like him. He seems cold and heartless. Something is intruding my home. The doctor called it a needle. Mommy what is it? It burns! Please make him stop! I can’t get away from it! Mommy!! HELP me!! No…

Month Seven: Mommy, I am okay. I am in Jesus’ arms. He is holding me. He told me about abortion. Why didn’t you want me Mommy? We would have been so happy together.