Friday, 22 February 2013
Dublin Nightlife: Drinking Fighting Schmoking Away...
Coppers again. Dem fucking cunts. Always fucken Coppers. The meat in the room's sandwich, imbibed peoples formicating to and fro de fucking bar. It's too fucken tumultuous in here. When there is a crowd, paradoxically I become more cognizant of my own self, in other words, I always end up thinking, "Dis be Franco and he is standing in Coppers drinking some whiskey while some voluptuous beures waddle by to the tables where dere sackless men are waiting jovially. I look around. I count. 27 peoples directly in front of me. 18 are male. 9 are women. 3 of those women are horizontally challenged.
Bigger fucken sausagefest than a Polish butchers.
So let us try another place. Maybe the stench isn't so bad, the room not so stifling.
No such luck.
Soon toos be gone Ovie=SAUSAGE.
Night game is enormously difficult in de Big Smoke. For every lassie who wants to play Debbie Does Dublin, we have three laddies wanting their fucking hole like mad so they do. The game is changing. We sweep a nightclub and some fucking knobjob thinks 21's is a good idea. Besides the assortment of beta men with hawaiian t-shites and beer shields all away tucked in the corner, there is the little problem of asymmetric information.
A group of ugly Irish lassies, wearing ostentatious clothing purchased in de Dundrum shopping centre, clowing themselves up and hitting Dublin streets and piling into a bar. Two of them. Cockteasos. Their plan for the night? This is what I'd like to call the Facebook Effect. Basically what you see is small groups of lassies done up, cleavage exposed, grabbing men's asses all that stuff, and once they have the attention of all the lads, start fucking taking pictures of themselves. Remember the incredible time when we did the same thing as we did every fucken Friday? Damn right! And fair fucks to these lassies, it works everytime. Because Irish women are ugly as well, it is common to see two fives being lavished with attention from a group, say, six, seven, sycophantic betas. If a lassie takes out the camera, forget it. The Facebook effect. She just be having you on man, and when she gets her hands on de Facebook, the whole world will know of her snowflakiness. This is of course, the age of narcissism, an epoch where women (and men) would rather spend their time masquerading as celebrity shrills, ironic poses, obstreperous facial expressions, and of course, asking the fucker with the shaved head and the massive fuck yous big bushy beard to have their photos taken with him. Of course, Franco dinnae do that shit for free does he.
Excess supply of men. You fucken idiots, you're distorting the sex ratio and making it worse for the rest of us. You're also encouraging pretty shitty behavior and letting the fatties off hook free. So we're just going to get more narcissism now. Of course, obesity makes everything better. But it is ridiculous as well if you think about it. If a lassie is engaging in de Facebook Effect to a egregious degree, then she's going to be one solipsistic piece of bum, and that's not exactly relationship material by any stretch. If a lassie is sleeping with you right there after the first night, then you can simply forget about all of these guff. That's why the situation is so utterly fucked up for beta males. Not only are they cursed with excess competition, asymmetric information and whatnot, the lassies they be looking to pull are completely unbloodyrelationshipable, and that is what beta males, more than say alphas are content to do. They don't know they're sleeping with poison ivy. Lonely, loathsome cat pyknic ladies purr unequivocally. I'm not against a bit of slutdom either, but it is clearly the wrong way to go after them conjugal bells. The answer to this is what kind of lassies would be in the good, sound out, feminine category? Well, bookish lassies. Day game. Truly daunting shite without the veneer of mild inebriation to ameliorate your social skills and the settings surrounding it. Lassies for relationships are the oasis in the desert at this stage of the game.
And just so you know, I'm not letting the older ones off either, once a slut always a slut en aw. Talking to this early 30s lassie out with her friends in the smoking area. Good looking, tall, witchy lassie. Here on a fucking hen party thing and wanted to get away from it all. Ask her a few questions, just fucking stood there literally and we have liftoff. A few hours later, she's giving me a handjob, after having spent the three previous hours taking about her darling husband and how she loves him and how so like, she likes travelling sooooooooooooooooooooo much. To think that this man's probably at home sitting in his stuffed armchair, reading the newspaper, while his aging wife is wanking off a man a decade her junior in the back seat of a car, makes one look at the whole thing with fucking disgust and apathy and just outright distrust for long term relationships. The baby seat and cookie crumbs in the back made for extra emotional fun. Handjob for Franco, hubbie finds it, divorce, kids lives fucked. Heh, it doesn't feel as bad as it should. Once you've slipped into the darkside ken, there's no turning back for any of us, you're there and you're never getting out. You think Roosh will be able to form a stable one on one relationship without the itch? Fuck that. The masses were never ever meant to see the abyss in this form. God is dead, and we are paying for this fucking shit dearly ken.