I was talking

  • to this chick who was interested in me, once, and she began to describe her masturbation. To her the man she visualized was “a black shape with no face, just a guy.”
  •       This is typical of women. In a desperate bid to avoid elevating a man’s status above what she deems acceptable, she tends to fantasize not about real men with names and faces that she knows from her life, but strangely disfigured “fantasy-men” who have no names over their heads. The chicks, who can climax to straw-body men, probably better than they do with real men, do not like making men important.
  •       An important strategy for all women is not making men feel important. Stephen King, probably the greatest and most important author of the latter part of the Twentieth Century, tells of how his wife has no sense of his value. She continually “normalizes” him to “regular man levels,” even though he is the source of all her wealth, her fancy cars, the clothes to cover her grotesque land-whale body, and the jewelry that hardly belongs on her senior citizen body. He — a naturally gifted author who has worked his ass off to get where he is — will excitedly tell her of a great idea. And she will say, “That’s nice, Steve. But we still need bread for the house.”
  •       Women just cannot stand their men being better than them. That is the real fantasy — the land of equality that dwells between their boobs, in a beating heart that imagines a woman’s role in a relationship can ever equal a man’s.
  •       When they do fantasize and climax, everything they imagine is spoon-fed to them by Romance novels. The great savants of the female race are those semi-honest women who can semi-intelligently write out the degraded and boring sex notions of women. Chick Lit gives women permission to swoon over the rape fantasies so many of them love. Women’s scribblings make women feel complicit in a group hug that devolves into millions of separate furtive finger fucking expeditions, one hand on the clit, the other finger hooked inside the pussy. Women, who seem to do nothing on their own without female-group-participation, unlike all men who just figure out as individuals what they like, continue the habit of conformity into their bedroom. Is it a valid fantasy? Let’s ask the group what it has to say!
  •       The slit between women’s legs has no imagination. I strongly suspect, ultimately, all women’s fantasies are derived from what men want. This makes sense. Trickle-down thinking is the only way to legitimize the fantasies of women. As the ultimate herd animals, they need a thought-leader. All women’s activities are aligned with or opposed to men (generally opposed). Sex is a white space of the mind with utter silence for women without the input of men.
  •       Because chicks have an emptiness between the legs — and not a presence — on top of no imagination to conceive of what a replacement sexuality would be, they are often surprised by sex, left floundering by the act. They glom onto their man like a barnacle on a ship, often inert, frequently useless.
  •       I recall seeing a porn where the relatively cute blonde was on all fours and positioned doggy style and she tried being the aggressor and thrusting back. Although there is nothing impossible about this, and might be a rainy day kind of thing to try out, the chick flubbed it incompetently. There was no grace to her movements, no way for her to find the source of her pleasure, even though she was impaled upon it.
  •       Another porn I saw was a nicely big-titted brunette riding up and down on the man’s rod. Spoiling the moment, she was moving like an automaton, like a creature pulled by strings and devoid of creativity. I know there are limits to the possibilities of sex, but why is it that every woman who tries something new can’t see the most basic possibilities before her?
  •       Seeing the most basic possibilities. Being unrealistic about the world. Leaning on the broad shoulders of men. It makes one wonder how women can write original, meaningful, fun novels at all.
  •       My theory is very simple: women are telepathic and force and bend men to write their novels for them. There is simply no other explanation. How can an utterly unoriginal species like them create the most artistic of all works of art: a 500-page novel? They simply can’t. I have known thousands of women, from my three sisters (miserable that reality) to my mother to all the girls I’ve banged to girls I’ve talked with … not once have I heard a single, even brief original thought from them.
  •       When I joined a chess club, do you know how many women were there?
  •       Guess?
  •       It kinda jibes with my theory about telepathic domination and mind-rape.
  •       There were zero girls in the club. And that’s because it’s too hard to get a mind to think out the moves for them. And, left on their own, they just can’t do it.
  •       At university engineering, females are capable of rote memorization of facts, like the force behind a compressed spring, but as teachers of them will note, they complain and screw up when original engineering is called for. Again, no originality and no thinking-around-corners, just as they can’t work out how a queen should be positioned 5 moves down the game and up the column when you’re defending a pawn’s advance to promotion.
  •       Women’s interest in relationships (correction: their DESPERATE NEED FOR THEM) and therefore marriage leads them to sell their asses in sex, although very often they have no orgasms. They hype their pleasure, cling for dear life, and hope to anchor men to them. This has a mixed so-so result. Sometimes trading sex for love works, sometimes it doesn’t. Women never seem to learn from the results, though. Considering how often women are bottlenecks in sex, stopping the whole process from happening, it’s a faint miracle any sex ever happens in this world, even throwing in the big neon sign of MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE which is all they really want.
  •       Female masturbation thus is like a vestigial organ like the appendix. You wonder why they have it since they’re so bad at everything sexual, and suppress anything real and natural any chance they get, or lower it to a transactional value.
  •       When I was living homeless on the U.B.C. campus scooping up chicks and fucking and being sucked off by them, it was clear to me the best place and times to go after chicks are the university.
  •       While chicks are at their masturbatory heights at uni, they’re also learning the ropes about sex and relationships. Having had only one or two boyfriends at most in high school, they never got to learn about men, especially the jerkboy bastard charmers they really want to win over. Squeezing their two tits together and confidently (not) approaching these winner-men, they try anything they can to get the husband-of-their-dreams ™.
  •       In the privacy of their bedrooms, they try and cum. It’s easier with their hand than with real men, and I don’t think real men care. Pounding away at their unresponse, unreacting cunts, you wonder, why am I giving a shit about this bitch anyway? I just want to get my load off and run.
  •       In this abnormal world, which should have been based on love and sex and a sense of naturalness, we have twisted relationships between men and women, where stunted men and mercenary, evil women clash between the sheets, barely able to sustain relationships because neither of them (unless they’re famous) have any options.
  •       Speaking of which, it always made me wonder why Brad Pitt didn’t just fuck young chicks publicly, and trumpet it. In South America once, literally crowds of hot, dripping bitches were screaming, “Brad Peeet! Brad Peeeeeet!” and they would’ve tore their blouses off for him.
  •       Yet if you check the dating history of Pitt, he seems definitely to have been a monogamous male in exclusive, non-cheating relationships with chicks like Paltrow and Aniston, before crashing on the shoals of the Island of No-Tits with mastetctomy loser Jolie.
  •       That makes no damn sense to me. If I were the world’s hottest and most popular rock star, you can bet your ass I’d be collecting all the money from the bank accounts of the hottest young chicks, and getting them to sexually service my sweet hot ass in mass orgies involving only ovulating chicks so I could put some buns in the oven. Hell, get them to suck my seed out of their cunts and share it around to light their fires pregnantistically.
  •       I’d even sell sex tapes of myself. Men would love to purchase them to see real orgasming, wet women, and women would love to purchase them to see pretty new me, with my perfect body and angelic face and dark aspect.
  •       Anyway *chopping my hand sideways* until women start masturbating to my popstar videos, there’s always Mr. Shadowy-NoFace in the women’s solitary sprint to depressing cunt-quiveringocity.

~/Xwarper