Saturday, 20 July 2013
Like a fiend among fiends said to me on a fine summers day: it was the best of times, and Franco ye daft cunt, it was the blurst of times as well. Every cunt chuckles, a prescient quip though, in this, the strangest of theaters, the 21st Century Irish wedding.
A couple of days ago, been a while since I've been lucky enough toos bear witness to a couple coming together in the finest of holy matrimony. Funny how the Irish wedding has gone en aw. No communion given out at this thing, which be all green eggs and ham, cause they've taken the Christ out of Christianity with dis thing. Ianity. Betaianity. Cakeianity. GayshowhowfuckenwiththetimesIaminanity. Rapscallions, ageing aunts living vicariously through the lassie in white, all is green and all is gold, people are happy, this phantasmagorical event, dream on ken and keep dreaming when those stars are extra bright.
Uncanny. Freud's fucken description of a short story called The Sandman. See, there was this offness to the wedding. Kinda like perfectly good bit of white bread with a small bit of mold in the crust, there wasn't enough to throw out the baby with the bathwater, but even the body language cross examining the witnesses, there was just a sense of, well, deliverance, lamentation.
The lassie was 38 and the lad was 30. He was chumpy, she was the witchy type of lassie who has de thousand yard man stare. He's a good bloke, just chumpy. She, well, yous cans indoctrinate a plethora of people with gender social construct Judith Butler arse and whatnot but the uncomfortable, frothy feeling that needs a castle of lies to conceal it can never hold up for too long. I'm 22. I'm inexperienced as shite when it comes to this kind of stuff, but the lassie upon talking to her was showing a lot of red flags about the past. The kind of language that rolls off her tongue. Her reaction to me. The body language. The gut feeling ken, it is a wonderful feeling.
Here's a secret and it is almost foolproof. If you want to find out how good a couple's relationship is, ask them, while their together, how they met one another. If the lassie launches into a tirade with some bit of a grin on her face, then it's golden. If not, well...
I'm not judging my cousin, he be a good bloke en aw. I'm just worried en aw ken. I mean, my opinion of marriage is pretty simple, even a phaggot from bodybuilding.com can understand it. It's for kids and how they turn out. Love is wonderful and important and sunshine out de fanny en aw but it only seems to only last so long and won't prop up a long term family, yet a cunt never gets dis do they not? Second, people always like to think they're king kong motherfuckers and whatnot, but you have to have good social skills with women. You have to be able to spot the red flags, or you're fucken out on your arse ken. Game over. Rotating polyandry and the state have yous in a vice like grip...paying child support for your fucked up spawn and Larry the motorcycle guy.
"Yeah, well I was working in The Golden Spunk strip club for a bit..." EJECT
Say what yous will, but a Maude Flanders lassie would probably be alright, no?
Weddings are weird man. Parents, uncles, aunts and friends say shit you'll never hear said again. Odd sparks of sexual attraction flicker and die out the next day. Marching bands into hell with Frank Sinatra tunes. Left foot cross to the right. Harmonic functions in pattern. But the whole night, like I said was just really off and I've been at a couple of weddings meself where this moldy smell, cigarette smoke in old clothes kind of thing, was all around. It was like a sendoff to a brother, fucking the Lord of the Rings cunt in the boat, rather than marking what was once one of life's most important rituals with copious alcohol consumption.
But also, the event got me thinking right. See, the manosphere likes to go on about how the average lassie's value fucken tanks after around 30 or so, and I certainly agree with that, but to what extent is it? Now, bell curves and outliers and whatnot and all that jazz, but in my own social circle this is the fourth fucken wedding I'm at least cognizant of, that the woman is at least three years older than the bloke involved. Maybe my social circle have a genetic disposition towards gamma behavior but even so, it is certainly worth questioning all the same. I would wager dollar to donut that weddings like this have actually increased in number. Some of us here have the cop on to stay out of the game, or at least attack the game with a cache of weapons behind it, but there's this quiet desperation to the whole thing that is not so easy to decipher. The lads I know that have an extra decade on me, despite knowing the deal, are either feeling the pinch of social ostracism or are married themselves. Is there even a marriage strike, or is it blown up to a bigger extent? Even the quality of the lassie comes into question. Ziggy zaggy cultural marxism. Soon, it becomes socially acceptable to marry older lassies who have done their time on the carousel. God forbid men don't get 20 year old hotties and women don't get masculine men anymore! No! That be sexist! Fuck it, replace divorce with lynching divorced men, and you fuckos would still get married! Won't happen to me, but son, you will not escape the bell curve, Beta hat. Skingin.
I get talking to a young lassie. She's smiling. She's brushing her hair back. She's talking about studying sociology. She's smoking a cigarette with de palm exposed. She laughing. She's talking about school, some bitch being a bitch to another bitch. She seems genuinely happy for the bride. And dis cunt be thinking, surely tae fuck none of this is going to end even remotely well for the pair of us.