Posts tagged ‘pitiful’

Keeping the gate

 … closed. Real tight!

(An experimental father blog post)

During my vacation I got to spend a lot of time with my son. 
Alone, out in the wild, where people are. 
Where mothers roam.

Running around in an urban area one day, a suburban the next, rural one on day three, zoo, aquarium, playgrounds. 
Everywhere you go as a dad with your child, you meet them. 
The Mothers. 
Especially the “MOTHERS”(tm). 
And everywhere you meet them, they give you a smile.

Nice. Isn’t it?

No.
It isn’t. 
It is no smile of joy, of friendliness, of kindness. 
No. 
This the contemptuous, belittling smile of a person about to drown a puppy.
If women were treated this way in hardware-stores, feminists would (rightly) tear them to the ground. 
Brick by brick.

With that one “smiling” glance they let you feel how superior they feel over you, how they see you as an intruder into their realm, their domain, their existence. How they despise your very presence there, and think, or feel, that everything you do is wrong, that you are wrong for even attempting to spend time with your child alone.

These women define themselves, and validate their entire existence, through the fact they squeezed a human being out their vaginal opening. 
There is no place for you, for a father, a man, in that world, the realm of the mothers.

Maternal gate keeping.

It’s a thing: 
》A father maybe plays with the kids under maternal supervision, is permitted to accompany the “MOTHER”(tm) and the kids to the playground. But, and this is the most important thing, a true mother never, ever, lets her children leave the house with the father unsupervised. 
A father does not feel or think with/for his children like a mother, thus can’t take care of the child(ren) like the mother.《
BULLSHIT!

All that is implied in that one smile they give you.

Dads! Rejoice. 
For these women lead the most pitiful life imaginable. Once the kids are old enough to leave the nest, once the menopause has begun to haunt their bodies, ravaging their self-validation with the undeniable fact that birthing is forever off the table, they have but a shallow empty ghost of a reason to live. Whilst we have memories of time spent with our children, the husbands (or lifepartners) of these despicable women will have memories of them spending time with children under maternal supervision that was as strict like a prison visit. 
Relax fellow dads. 
Smile back, and put all the pity you feel for these old hags who have lost the reason to live due to aging, in that smile. 
Give them the same pity, the same contempt and dispise they give you. Disrupt their self image, for they expect a shocked expression, a shy or hurt glance, shame in your eyes. If you hand them back what they dish out, they are disrupted.
Maybe, just maybe, you can draw a “MOTHER”(tm) back to the realm pf normal people, and make her a normal mother.

Take care,
A.

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Life ain’t that hard: Vacationing

It really is simple:
1. Pack your shit (underwear, pants, shirt, socks, hygiene products)
2. Board a Car/Bus/Train/Boat/Plane and go to your destination.
3. Relax. Maybe have some fun.

Of course you need to pack accordingly, if you’re going someplace shittycold like “I’m going skiing in the swiss alps!” you need warm stuff. If you’re going someplace nice like the Caribbean, pack your beach attire.

Of course, basic decency rules have to be observed. For example, a beach holiday with binge drinking and lots of (teenage) sex, is, once you have crossed the 25 year old threshold, creepy, desperate, pitiful.
If you ask me, and that’s why you’re here, it is always pitiful and desperate, once older than 25 the creepy adjective just pops up out of nowhere along with one or two or three or four VDs.

A city trip across Europe is a neat thing, but I have to caution you, this is only for the pseudo [insert adjective here]. Yes. Only for pseudos. Of any kind.
If you are truly interested in culture, you spend WEEKS at one location at a time, and next year you come back to the next stop on your planned route. Going through five cities in two weeks, is a pseudo cultural excuse to get drunk and sleep around. Again, past a certain maturity age (~25), creepy, desperate, pitiful and pseudo.

If your destination includes anything that could even remotely be called an animator – kill yourself.
Do it in the travel agency’s office, splatter blood all over the place, or do it ISIS style.
Who ever came up with the idea for an animator (not the kind making animated films, butnthe kind that is supposed to animate YOU) should be dragged a hundred meters through broken glass on incandescent coal at five cm/hour.
Finally you have time away from schedules, and calls, and colleagues dropping in on you, a boss demanding shit, customers yanking your chain – just to have to some underpaid, overenthusiastic asshat tell you what to do to have some fun?
Sure, it is not (always) mandatory – neither is the chat with Susan from accounting – but it is annoying, and you are paying to have this shitstain there…
So…Kill yourself!

If you are going to a spa, bring one thing above all – a good book. Not war and peace, where after five chapters you feel as if you just came out of a coma, because you have no idea what happened in those fove chapters. A good book. Something you can read and dive into. Sure, the massages and whirlpool and sauna and pool are places you won’t need it per se, but there are long stretches where you’ll need it. Unless you want to catch up on sleep.

At the end, if you are an allergic – don’t go on vacations on farms. Unless you have plenty of antihistamines in your pockets.
Your body weight in antihistamines to be precise.
Which is what I will be doing.
I am on vacation next week, family vacation on a farm…any Darth Vader impersonations of mine might end up here 😉

Have fun, A.